Scripture Reading: Joshua 1-4

There’s something comforting about the image of an anchor—solid, steady, unseen beneath the surface yet holding fast when the wind rises and the current pulls. Whether you’re in a boat or simply in life, we all reach for something to steady us.

But what happens when God calls us to raise anchor and move? Or when He asks us to drop anchor not in what we can see, but in promises we haven’t yet lived?

In the opening chapters of Joshua, we encounter a people on the brink of promise—newly led, deeply vulnerable, yet wholly sustained by one thing: the unwavering presence of God. And from the commissioning of Joshua to the scarlet thread in Rahab’s window, from river crossings to stone memorials, we’re invited to see that when God is the anchor, movement is not a threat—it’s a testimony!

Anchored in God’s Commission (Joshua 1)

“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Joshua 1:5)

The chapter opens with a shift so weighty it must have echoed in Joshua’s chest—“Moses my servant is dead.” A generation had passed, and with it, the voice Israel had followed through wilderness terrain. And now, God turns His voice toward Joshua.

But instead of calling him to replicate Moses, God calls Joshua to remain anchored in something far greater: His Word and presence. This moment is not merely a leadership succession. It is a spiritual commissioning that reaffirms God’s unchanging nature. The man may change, but the mission endures—because the anchor is divine.

God’s charge is layered with instruction and comfort: “Be strong and courageous… for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9). And sandwiched between those encouragements is the anchor point—“Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips… meditate on it day and night” (Joshua 1:8). Joshua is being invited to lead not by strategy or strength, but by Scripture.

In today’s terms, we too face moments of transition—new roles, seasons of uncertainty, or responsibilities that feel far too heavy. But God doesn’t call us to bear them alone. He invites us to anchor ourselves in His promises. Just as Jesus reminded His disciples in His final commission, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20), we lead and live not from our capacity but from His presence.

So whether you’re stepping into something new or standing in the middle of the unknown, this anchoring truth remains: His Word steadies the soul, and His presence strengthens the heart.

Anchored in God’s Promise (Joshua 2)

“The Lord your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below.” (Joshua 2:11)

As the narrative shifts from commission to conquest, the scene unexpectedly narrows—from a nation on the edge of promise to a single woman within the walls of Jericho. Rahab’s name and past would have excluded her from many stories. Yet here, she becomes the pivot of redemption.

Her anchoring doesn’t come from lineage or religious training, but from faith birthed in reverence. She says plainly, “We have heard… our hearts melted… your God is God in heaven above” (Joshua 2:10–11). She had only heard of God’s wonders, yet that was enough for her to believe—and to risk everything.

The scarlet cord she ties in the window becomes more than a signal for rescue; it becomes a visible thread of covenant hope. Through it, Rahab anchors not just herself, but her entire household, to the God of Israel. Her faith becomes a shield and a covering, one that spans generations and ends up in the very genealogy of Christ (see Matthew 1:5).

In our world, where reputation often defines value and broken pasts disqualify many, Rahab’s story reminds us that God’s promises are extended not to the perfect but to the believing. As Paul declares, “It is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves” (Ephesians 2:8).

Faith remains the anchor. And like Rahab, we hang our hope on the thread of God’s mercy—sometimes trembling, always trusting.

Anchored in God’s Miracle (Joshua 3)

“As soon as the priests who carry the ark of the Lord… set foot in the Jordan, its waters… will stand up in a heap.”(Joshua 3:13)

After receiving their marching orders and witnessing Rahab’s bold faith, Israel is now called to act. The moment has arrived: the Promised Land is in sight, but so is the Jordan River—flooded and impassable.

And yet, God does not tell them to wait for the waters to recede. Instead, He instructs them to move while the current is still strong. The priests are to carry the ark—the physical representation of God’s covenant—and step into the water first. The miracle, He implies, will meet them in motion.

This moment is not just about crossing a river. It is about crossing a threshold of trust. When the soles of the priests’ feet touch the water, the river halts (Joshua 3:15–16). Not before. Not later. But exactly at the point of obedience. God demonstrates that He doesn’t just go with His people—He goes before them.

So often, we want God to clear the path before we take a step. But faith requires movement. Like Peter stepping out of the boat in Matthew 14, we are called to walk toward the miraculous, even when the waters still look wild. And just as Jesus held Peter above the waves, the same God who parted the Jordan holds us when we walk toward His promises.

We don’t anchor in visible guarantees. We anchor in the unseen, obedient faith that trusts His Word even before the waters part.

Memorializing God’s Anchor (Joshua 4)

“When your children ask… ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them…” (Joshua 4:21–22)

With every Israelite safely on the other side of the Jordan, the Lord shifts the focus. The miracle has passed, but the memory must be preserved. God instructs twelve men—one from each tribe—to carry stones from the riverbed and erect them as a memorial on the shore.

This act is not decorative; it is deeply spiritual. These stones are meant to speak across time, anchoring future generations in the reality of God’s faithfulness. “These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever” (Joshua 4:7). God knows our tendency to forget. He knows that awe fades and reverence can drift. So He commands remembrance.

In our lives, how often do we rush past the miracle without pausing to mark it? We pray through the storm, but fail to testify when the clouds clear. And yet, remembrance is a spiritual discipline. Like communion in the New Testament—“Do this in remembrance of Me” (Luke 22:19)—we are called to anchor ourselves in past deliverances so we don’t waver in present battles.

Even more, this memorial wasn’t just for Israel—it was evangelistic. “So that all the peoples of the earth might know…”(Joshua 4:24). When God moves, it is not only to bless His people, but to reveal His name to the nations.

We, too, are walking testimonies. Our lives are living stones (1 Peter 2:5), meant to declare what God has done. So let us not pass through the miraculous without pausing to build an altar of praise. What we remember, we reinforce. What we reinforce, we pass on!

Reflection

Across these four chapters, a pattern emerges—not of perfect people, but of a perfect God steadily anchoring His people through every season. Joshua’s calling was not rooted in charisma but in God’s commission. Rahab’s rescue did not hinge on her background but on the anchor of promised redemption. Israel’s progress was not powered by their plans, but by a miracle they could never orchestrate. And when it was all done, God ensured that the memory would not fade.

We are still living in this same pattern!

There are moments when God calls us to step forward, even while grief or uncertainty lingers. There are days when we cling to faith, even when all we’ve heard is secondhand reports of His power. There are times when we must act while the waters are still rising, trusting the miracle will meet our obedience. And then, there are sacred pauses—when God says, “Don’t forget. Build an altar. Mark this moment.”

As followers of Jesus, our lives are not anchored in ease but in eternal promises. He is still the One who commissions, who redeems the outsider, who parts impossible rivers, and who calls us to remember. And just as Rahab’s scarlet cord hinted at the blood of Christ, our hope is still tied to the One who anchors our soul, “firm and secure” (Hebrews 6:19).

So whatever chapter you find yourself in—whether stepping into leadership, waiting for deliverance, walking through water, or building an altar—know this: the same God who led Israel through these pages is holding you through yours.

Prayer

Father, thank You for being my steady anchor. In every commission, remind me that I do not go alone. In every promise, teach me to trust what I cannot yet see. In every miracle, awaken my faith to move before I understand. And in every victory, keep me humble enough to remember.

May my life be a memorial to Your faithfulness—visible to generations, proclaiming Your power, and rooted in Your Word. Anchor me in the truth of who You are. Let every step I take be tethered to the eternal.

In Jesus’ name, 

Amen.

What stood out to you in the Scripture reading today? I look forward to reading about your thoughts below!

I also look forward to sharing my reflections on Joshua 5-8, with you all, on Monday!

In Christ,

Mrs. O 🤍