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“He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness, for not by might shall a man prevail.” — 1 Samuel 2:9 (ESV)
Have you ever noticed how often we slip into thinking of faith like a kind of transaction? We tell ourselves, If I just follow God, do what’s right, and try hard enough, my life should go well. It’s subtle, but it’s there beneath the surface of our prayers and expectations—a quiet belief that blessings are something like a formula: faithfulness in, blessings out.
But this verse from Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel throws cold water on that idea—in the best way. It reminds us that God’s blessings are real, yes, but they aren’t rewards we can control or earn. God blesses, protects, and provides because of His grace and wisdom, not because we’ve met the right conditions. Faithfulness invites His presence—it doesn’t guarantee painless outcomes.
Hannah says, “He will guard the feet of his faithful ones.” That’s a powerful image. To guard someone’s feet means He’s watching their steps—their journey, their direction, their stability. But notice what’s not there: God doesn’t say He’ll clear the road or fill it with sunshine. He says He’ll guard your feet.
In other words, faithfulness doesn’t mean a free pass around trouble; it means protection through it. Hannah knew this personally. She didn’t live an easy life. She endured humiliation, longing, and waiting. Yet when she finally sang her song of praise, she wasn’t celebrating a formula that worked—she was glorifying a God who carries His people even when they’re weak.
Faithfulness, in this light, isn’t a guarantee of comfort; it’s a choice of loyalty. We love God not because He delivers outcomes we hope for, but because He is worthy of love, whether the road rises up or falls apart beneath us.
The second half of the verse says, “For not by might shall a man prevail.” The ancient world measured power in strength—armies, kings, wealth, or influence. We do, too, just in subtler ways. We measure it by success: net worth, high-status jobs, well-adjusted children, etc.
But Hannah’s prayer cracks through that illusion. Might—human ability, cleverness, or performance—doesn’t secure victory. In modern terms, you can do everything “right” and still face disappointment. And that’s not because God failed you; it’s because your success was never meant to be the sign of His favour.
The presence of blessing is a grace; the absence of blessing is not a curse. True devotion, the kind God honours, keeps its roots in love, not results. When we strip away the formulas and expectations, we discover something purer—worship that doesn’t hinge on what we get, but on who God is.
It’s worth remembering that this verse sits inside a chapter full of contrasts. Eli’s sons, who served as priests, were corrupt. They thought they could manipulate the spiritual system for personal gain. Hannah’s prayer warns that God won’t be mocked that way—He sees the heart and measures faith by trust, not performance.
There’s that warning again—the kind that humbles you if you’re listening closely. Devotion that’s built on outcomes is devotion that won’t last. But devotion that’s built on love will hold steady even when it hurts.
And for those of us walking quietly in faith, sometimes without seeing obvious “blessings,” Hannah’s words are deeply comforting. They tell us God is still guarding your feet. You may not see where the road leads, but your steps are not unprotected. The One who guards doesn’t slumber or turn away; He watches closely, even when you don’t feel it.
So maybe this verse invites a deeper kind of trust—a letting go of the transaction mindset. Instead of asking, “Why hasn’t God blessed me more?” or “What did I do wrong?”, we can start asking, “Lord, help me love You for You alone.”
That’s where freedom lives. That’s where blessing begins to take on a new meaning—not as proof of success but as evidence of communion. God’s favour may show up in unexpected ways: in peace when things fall apart, in endurance when you’re weary, in joy that can’t be explained.
Hannah’s prayer reminds us that faith isn’t a formula—it’s a relationship. It’s walking through the dark with the confidence that Someone is guarding your feet, even when the road doesn’t make sense.
So if you’re tired, or wondering where the blessing went, maybe this is your invitation to rest your expectations—and rest in Him. His ways aren’t guaranteed to match your plans, but His hands will never fail your steps.