Elam’s Shaking and the God Who Directs the Nations

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

Opening Statement

The headlines are not random. They are not driven by governments. They are not controlled by human leaders. Scripture shows that God moves nations like pieces on a board. What we are seeing today is not chaos—it is alignment. Elam is shaking as Jeremiah said it would. Nations are realigning as Ezekiel said they would. God is not reacting to history. He is directing it.

The Sovereign Hand Behind the Shaking

When nations tremble, the world rushes to assign blame to leaders, policies, or political miscalculations. Yet Scripture insists that the true cause of national upheaval is not found in the halls of government. It is found in the throne room of God.

Daniel declared, “He changes times and seasons; He removes kings and sets up kings” (Daniel 2:21). Isaiah wrote that God “brings princes to nothing and makes the rulers of the earth as emptiness” (Isaiah 40:23). Proverbs reminds us that “the king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord… He turns it wherever He will” (Proverbs 21:1).

These are not poetic sentiments; they are the spiritual mechanics behind every geopolitical tremor. Nations rise because God lifts them. Nations fall because God humbles them. And when a region shakes, it is not chaos—it is choreography.

The present turmoil in the land the Bible calls Elam is not a modern accident. It is the unfolding of a prophetic pattern spoken long before the nations of today existed.

The Prophecy Spoken Over Elam

Jeremiah 49:34–39 contains a sequence that reads like a spiritual blueprint for the region:

“Thus says the Lord of hosts: Behold, I will break the bow of Elam, the mainstay of their might” (Jeremiah 49:35).

The “bow” symbolized military strength, national pride, and the ability to project power. When God breaks a nation’s bow, He breaks its confidence. Many who lived through the rise of a dark ideology in that region testify that the breaking began decades ago. It did not start with the fall of rulers. It began with the breaking of the people’s will to endure oppression. They fled. They scattered. They carried their grief into the nations.

Jeremiah continues:

“I will bring upon Elam the four winds from the four quarters of heaven, and I will scatter them to all those winds” (Jeremiah 49:36).

This is more than metaphor; it describes diaspora. It is the story of families who fled violence and deception. It is the story of a people who became exiles in every direction. And it is the story of a remnant who never stopped praying for the day when the darkness would crack.

The Diaspora Rejoices Before the Land Does

Jeremiah’s prophecy gives unusual attention to the scattered ones. They are the first to sense the shift. They are the first to rejoice. They are the first to see the collapse of the old order.

This is the biblical pattern. When Babylon fell, the exiles rejoiced before Jerusalem was rebuilt. When persecution scattered the early church, revival began in the diaspora before it returned to Judea.

Jeremiah echoes this pattern:

“I will terrify Elam before their enemies… and I will send the sword after them until I have consumed them” (Jeremiah 49:37).

Fear, instability, and internal collapse strike the land, but the scattered remnant sees hope rising. Today, Iranians across the world—those who fled the cruelty of an oppressive system—are celebrating the weakening of the old structures. Their joy is not political. It is spiritual. It is the relief of a people who have waited in exile for the day when the night would break.

The Collapse of the Old Order

Jeremiah’s prophecy moves next to the downfall of leadership:

“I will set My throne in Elam and destroy from there king and princes, declares the Lord” (Jeremiah 49:38).

This is not about individuals. It is about systems. It is about spiritual strongholds. It is about the collapse of an order built on deception, violence, and pride.

Scripture consistently shows that when rulers exalt themselves, God brings them low. Nebuchadnezzar learned an important lesson. God declared to him, “The Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom He will” (Daniel 4:32). God spoke to Pharaoh directly. He told him, “For this purpose I have raised you up, to show you My power” (Exodus 9:16). Every proud empire eventually learns it.

The present instability in Elam’s region is not random. It is the shaking of an order God has judged. Nations surrounding the region are no longer intimidated; they are alarmed, unified, and increasingly resistant. This is exactly how Jeremiah described the unraveling: a nation whose aggression provokes opposition on every side.

God Establishes His Throne in Elam

The most astonishing line in Jeremiah’s prophecy is not the judgment—it is the promise:

“I will set My throne in Elam.”

God does not say this about many places. This is not political language. It is spiritual language. It means:

  • A divine visitation
  • A spiritual awakening
  • A remnant rising
  • A new identity forming
  • A region once dark becoming a place of light

Even now, the underground church in that region is growing. Even now, the scattered remnant is awakening. Even now, the spiritual atmosphere is shifting. The throne of God is not a palace. It is a people. And God is establishing His rule in the hearts of those who once fled in sorrow.

The Restoration of Elam

Jeremiah concludes with hope:

“But in the latter days I will restore the fortunes of Elam, declares the Lord” (Jeremiah 49:39).

Restoration does not require a new government. It requires a new spiritual center. Restoration does not begin with borders. It begins with hearts. Restoration does not wait for political stability. It begins when God’s throne is established among a remnant.

This restoration may come sooner than many expect. Not decades. Not generations. But in a season of divine acceleration. The scattered ones are already rejoicing. The old order is already shaking. The spiritual soil is already softening.

The Realignment of Nations

While Elam experiences breaking and restoration, the broader region historically known as Persia moves toward the alignment Ezekiel described. Scripture often speaks of the same land under different names in different prophetic contexts. Thus it is with Elam, which was part of the larger area known as Persia.

Ezekiel 38 names Persia as part of a future coalition:

“Persia, Cush, and Put are with them” (Ezekiel 38:5).

This is not contradiction. It is two layers of prophecy unfolding at once:

  • Elam — breaking, scattering, collapse, restoration
  • Persia — alignment, coalition, confrontation, divine intervention

The present moment is the Elam moment. The future moment will be the Persia moment.

Nations are sorting themselves into patterns Scripture already revealed. Some toward hostility. Some toward blessing. Some toward restoration. God is moving the pieces. The board is His. The timing is His. The outcome is His.

The Watchman’s Charge

A watchman does not interpret events through politics. A watchman interprets events through Scripture. The message is simple:

  • God is shaking Elam.
  • God is restoring a remnant.
  • God is collapsing an old order.
  • God is realigning nations.
  • God is preparing the stage for what Ezekiel saw.
  • God is sovereign over every headline.

The nations are not in control. The governments are not in control. The alliances are not in control.

The headlines will change; alliances will shift. But the Lord reigns. The Lord directs. The Lord restores.

While You Are On the Way

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

The Window That Closed

War never erupts in a vacuum. It grows in the soil of pride. It grows in the silence after warnings. It grows in the stubbornness that refuses to bend even when the ground begins to shake. The headlines coming out of Iran this week are not merely the record of a conflict. They are the final chapters of a story that began long before the first missile left the ground. They show the outcomes of a spiritual law Jesus expressed with unnerving simplicity. “Agree with your adversary quickly, while you are on the way with him…” (Matthew 5:25).

That phrase, while you are on the way, is the hinge on which this entire moment turns. Jesus was not giving diplomatic advice. He was revealing the way judgment works. There is always a window, a narrow and merciful one, where peace is still possible. A moment where humility can still soften what pride has hardened. A moment where the matter can still be settled before it reaches the judge, the officer, and the prison. Once that window closes, the process takes on a life of its own, and the consequences become the teacher.

The Headlines as Parable

For weeks, diplomats moved back and forth across the region, trying to pull the situation back from the edge. Warnings were issued. Opportunities for de-escalation were offered. Even Iran’s own foreign minister admitted that a deal was close. But instead of humility, there was defiance. Instead of softening, there was boasting. Instead of seeking peace, there was the familiar posture of ideological rigidity—the kind that has toppled empires and buried kings.

And then the dam broke.

Israel and the United States launched coordinated strikes across Iran, hitting missile sites, air-defense systems, and IRGC command centers. Explosions lit the night sky over Tehran. Iran responded with ballistic missiles aimed at Israel and U.S. bases across the Middle East. Air raid sirens wailed in Jerusalem. Airports across the Gulf shut down. Thousands of flights were canceled.

The wages of sin are always paid in human lives, and the innocent often pay the highest price. “For the wages of sin is death…” (Romans 6:23).

This is what it looks like when a nation refuses to make peace on the way. The matter is handed over to the judge. The judge hands it to the officer. And the officer carries out the sentence. Jesus’ imagery is not poetic; it is prophetic. It is what we are watching unfold in real time.

Persia’s Prophetic Trajectory

There is another layer here—one the headlines cannot see but Scripture has already spoken. Persia, the ancient name for modern Iran, is not a footnote in biblical prophecy. It is a named participant in the alignments described in Ezekiel 38–39. The nation is drawn into a conflict it cannot control. Its pride becomes the very snare that tightens around its feet. The current moment does not fulfill that prophecy, but it moves along the same trajectory. It reveals the same spiritual posture. It exposes the same refusal to bow when God extends the offer of peace. “Let them make peace with Me… yes, let them make peace with Me.” (Isaiah 27:5).

There are three sides to every argument: yours, mine, and God’s—and His is the only one that matters. Nations tell their stories. Leaders craft their narratives. Commentators choose their angles. But heaven is not confused. God is not taking sides in geopolitical disputes; He is opposing pride wherever it rises. He is resisting arrogance wherever it speaks. He is judging violence wherever it is embraced as policy or identity. He is calling His people to see through His eyes. They should not look through the lenses handed to them by governments, media outlets, or tribal loyalties.

The Consequence of Rejecting Peace

A Watchman does not predict outcomes. A Watchman names patterns. The pattern here is painfully clear. The window for peace was open. Pride closed it. Now the shaking has begun. The question is not which nation is right. The question is what God is saying in the shaking—and whether His people will hear it.

What we are witnessing is not simply a war. It is the consequence of rejecting the Prince of Peace. It is the harvest of choices made long before the first strike. It is the arrival at a destination. Each mile was chosen. Decisions were made one by one. Acts of defiance accumulated, all while the world was still on the way.

Closing Prayer

Father, teach us to walk humbly with You. Give us the wisdom to seek Your face while we are still on the way. Help us find You before the moment of reckoning arrives. Soften our hearts where pride has taken root. Lead us into repentance where we have resisted Your voice. Make us peacemakers in a world that rushes toward conflict. And keep us anchored in Your truth, Your mercy, and Your sovereignty. May we choose humility now, not after judgment has already begun. In Jesus’ name, amen.

A CALL TO THE WANDERER

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

The Shepherd Who Seeks

When someone goes missing,

the unanswered questions linger

—day after day, night after night

—refusing to let the heart rest.

When the sheep strays, the Shepherd does not shrug and move on. Jesus said, “What man of you… does not leave the ninety‑nine in the wilderness and go after the one which is lost, until he finds it?” (Luke 15:4). His pursuit is not casual—it is determined, deliberate, and unrelenting. He does not stop until the lost one is lifted onto His shoulders and carried home with joy.

The Lamp That Reveals

When the coin slips into the shadows, Jesus tells us the woman “lights a lamp, sweeps the house, and searches carefully until she finds it.” (Luke 15:8). She refuses to accept loss as final. She refuses to let darkness have the last word. Her lamp burns, her hands move —because value does not diminish simply because something is hidden.

The Father Who Restores

And when the son wanders into rebellion and ruin, Scripture says, “While he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion.” (Luke 15:20). The Father never stopped watching the horizon. His love outran the son’s shame. His embrace interrupted the son’s rehearsed apology. Restoration came faster than condemnation could speak.

These parables are not stories about human persistence—they are revelations of heaven’s heart. Jesus said plainly, “The Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.” (Luke 19:10). Whether the missing one is a mother like Nancy Guntrie, a friend who vanished without explanation, or a soul wandering far from God, the truth remains: no one is beyond the reach of the Shepherd, the search of the Spirit, or the love of the Father.

Nothing Is Hidden From God

Loss wears many faces, and Scripture refuses to limit God’s concern to only one kind.

Some are lost physically. Some are lost emotionally. Some are lost spiritually. But none are lost to Him.

David declared, “Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?” (Psalm 139:7). Even in the darkest places, “the darkness shall not hide from You.” (Psalm 139:12). What is hidden to us is never hidden to God. What is lost to us is never lost to Him.

Jesus promised, “There is nothing hidden which will not be revealed.” (Mark 4:22). He repeated it again: “Nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known.” (Luke 8:17). Paul echoes this truth: “God will bring to light the hidden things of darkness.” (1 Corinthians 4:5).

God uncovers what needs to be found. He reveals what needs to be seen. He brings into the open what the enemy tried to bury.

The God Who Restores

Restoration is not a side theme—it is the central promise of God’s covenant love.
Scripture does not whisper about restoration—it declares it again and again:

“I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten.” (Joel 2:25)
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)
“I will restore health to you and heal you of your wounds.” (Jeremiah 30:17)
“The God of all grace… will restore, establish, strengthen, and settle you.” (1 Peter 5:10)
“Behold, I make all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

God does not merely repair—He restores. He does not patch—He renews. He does not discard—He redeems.

Heaven’s Joy Over the Found

And when the lost one is found—whether physically or spiritually—heaven does not whisper a polite welcome. Jesus said, “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” (Luke 15:10). Restoration is not begrudging—it is celebrated.

We are not only recipients of this grace—we are participants in the search. We pray, we watch, we shine light into dark places, and we stand ready to embrace those who return, whether from miles away or from the far country of the soul.

Closing Declaration

What is lost will be found.
What is hidden will be revealed.
What is broken will be restored.
Amen!

HYMNS OF REDEMPTION

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A Passover – Season Devotional Series

Tell Me the Story of Jesus

Some hymns teach doctrine. Some stir emotion. But Tell Me the Story of Jesus does something deeper. It invites the believer to return to the center of the faith with childlike wonder. Written by Fanny Crosby, this hymn is a gentle, earnest request: Tell me again. Tell me slowly. Tell me like it’s the first time.

Crosby understood something profound: the gospel is not a story we outgrow. It is the story that shapes every other story. Her words carry the simplicity of a child and the depth of a saint. She doesn’t ask for theological complexity or poetic flourish. She asks for Jesus — His birth, His life, His suffering, His love. The hymn is a reminder that the heart never tires of hearing the truth that saves it.

The anchor comes from Luke 2:10:

“I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”

Crosby takes that angelic announcement and turns it into a lifelong prayer: Tell me the good news again. Let it steady me. Let it shape me. Let it fill me with joy.

As you listen to the meditation, you will hear the Irish flute, the accordion, and the acoustic guitar. You will also hear the shaker and the piano. Let it carry you like a traveling song. Let it feel like walking the dusty roads of Galilee. It feels like hearing the story of Jesus told around a fire. The story is passed from heart to heart.

This hymn is not about performance. It’s about remembrance.

Hymn and Lyrics: Tell Me the Story of Jesus

(Public Domain)

1
Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word;
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard.
Tell how the angels in chorus
Sang as they welcomed His birth,
“Glory to God in the highest!
Peace and good tidings to earth.”

Refrain
Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word;
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard.

2
Fasting alone in the desert,
Tell of the days that are past;
How for our sins He was tempted,
Yet was triumphant at last.
Tell of the years of His labor,
Tell of the sorrow He bore;
He was despised and afflicted,
Homeless, rejected, and poor.

3
Tell of the cross where they nailed Him,
Writhing in anguish and pain;
Tell of the grave where they laid Him,
Tell how He liveth again.
Love in that story so tender,
Clearer than ever I see;
Stay, let me weep while you whisper,
Love paid the ransom for me.

About the Hymnwriter

Fanny J. Crosby (1820–1915) was more than a hymnwriter. She was a messenger of Christ’s love to people most of society overlooked. Though blind from infancy, she walked with confidence. She stepped into New York’s rescue missions, tenement halls, and shelters. These were places where the poor, the addicted, and the forgotten gathered. She didn’t go to change systems; she went to tell people about Jesus. Her ministry was personal, face‑to‑face, heart‑to‑heart.

Her hymns were born from that same posture. Crosby never wrote by force or routine. She prayed until the Lord gave her the theme, the tone, and the words. Only then would she begin dictating the lyrics. Tell Me the Story of Jesus reflects both sides of her calling. She was the evangelist who longed for every soul to hear the gospel. She was also the prayer-soaked believer who wanted the story of Christ written on her own heart again and again.

Benediction Prayer

May the story of Jesus rest fresh on your heart today.
May His birth bring you joy, His life give you strength,
His suffering draw you near, and His resurrection fill you with hope.
And may the sweetest story ever told become the anchor of your soul.
Amen.

The Wayward Dresser

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A neighborhood finally sees the end of a long‑standing wooden menace

Somewhere in a small town in Pennsylvania — For months, a battered dresser stayed on a narrow strip of land. The township maintained this land. It lay sprawled there, unattended. Its warped frame and swollen drawers formed an eyesore. Residents could not ignore it, yet somehow never addressed it. It started as discarded furniture. Slowly, it evolved into a fixture of quiet defiance. The wooden intruder seemed to grow bolder with each passing week.

The dresser did not move or speak, but its presence carried a strange authority. It reclined on its side. It seemed to intentionally pose. Its puffed‑out drawers gave the impression of a chest lifted in pride. Neighbors walked past it with the same uneasy tolerance. It was akin to how one responds to a stray dog refusing to leave the porch. Drivers slowed down to stare. Children pointed out from car windows. Yet no one touched it. Not the landlord. Not the maintenance crew. Not even the township, responsible for mowing the very ground on which it rested.

Like Goliath standing in the Valley of Elah, the dresser’s power came not from action but from endurance. It simply remained, day after day, mocking the neighborhood with its refusal to budge. And like the armies of Israel, an entire community of capable adults adjusted their routines around it. They waited for someone else to take responsibility.

A Giant in the Grass

Residents described the dresser as if it possessed a personality. It seemed to smirk at passersby, daring anyone to challenge its claim to the land. Rain bloated its panels. Sun bleached its finish. Frost cracked its edges. Yet the dresser held its ground with the stubbornness of a giant that believed no one would ever confront it.

The longer it stayed, the more impossible it seemed to remove. What should have been a simple task gradually became a symbol of collective hesitation. The dresser was not strong, but it was unchallenged, and that was enough.

The Arrival of a David

The stalemate ended on an ordinary afternoon. A resident decided that the dresser’s reign had lasted long enough. There was no announcement, no committee meeting, and no official directive. A neighbor quietly offered a tool — a sledgehammer. This gesture was reminiscent of Jonathan placing his sword and shield into David’s hands before the battle.

With this borrowed weapon in hand, the resident approached the dresser. The resident had the calm resolve of someone who had reached the end of patience. The dresser, for the first time in months, appeared vulnerable.

The First Strike

The first swing landed with a sharp crack that echoed across the yard. A drawer burst open, releasing a puff of dust as if the dresser had been holding its breath. A second blow splintered a leg. A third sent fragments scattering across the grass. The giant that had lounged in smug defiance for months was suddenly reduced to a trembling heap of particle board.

As in the biblical account, once the first strike was delivered, help arrived from an unexpected source. A passing neighbor stepped out of her vehicle, surveyed the scene, and gladly joined the effort. Without hesitation, she gathered the fallen pieces. She carried them to the dumpster. She worked with the efficiency of someone who understood the importance of finishing what had begun.

Within minutes, the dresser was gone. The patch of ground it had occupied for so long stood empty. It was now restored to the quiet normality it had been denied.

The Moral of the Story

In the biblical account, Goliath stood in the valley for forty days, taunting Israel with his presence. He did not need to swing a sword or launch an attack. His mere existence, unchallenged, was enough to paralyze an entire army of trained, armored fighting men.

The dresser played the same role. It did not move, speak, or strike. It simply sat there, day after day. It occupied a space it was never meant to occupy. It grew comfortable in its defiance. It mocked the neighborhood with its stubborn refusal to leave. And like Israel’s soldiers, the community adjusted their routines around it. They walked past it. They ignored it and pretended it was not their problem.

That is the quiet danger of tolerated nuisances — and of unrepented sin. What begins as a small inconvenience becomes, over time, an obstacle that feels immovable. What starts as a minor irritation grows into a fixture of defeat. What should have been removed immediately becomes something we learn to live with.

Sin often arrives without fanfare. It simply appears, settles in, and occupies ground it was never meant to hold. It lingers. It mocks. It grows comfortable. It dares anyone to confront it. And the longer it remains unchallenged, the more unbeatable it seems.

The day the dresser fell is a reminder. Giants — wooden or spiritual — collapse the moment someone steps up. They take the first swing and refuse to tolerate what should never have been allowed to stay. Sometimes the greatest victories begin with a simple, decisive moment of clarity: enough.

When that moment comes, the giant falls, the nuisance is removed, and the ground it occupied is restored to peace.

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