Enoch walked with God

Enoch walked with God, as Genesis 5:22 tells us. His journey with God wasn’t some fleeting moment—it was steady, enduring. Enoch walked with God after he begat Methuselah, and for 300 years he continued, even as he begat sons and daughters. Life didn’t interrupt his communion. Some folks reckon they could keep close to God if they were always wrapped up in religious work—praying, preaching, meditating. But the moment they’re stuck in the shop, the office, or the kitchen, they figure that connection’s impossible. The truth? We can stay near Christ just as easily when we’re grinding through daily duties as when we’re lost in our devotions.

There’s this old legend about a monk who burned with a desire to see Christ, to touch the hem of his divinity. Holed up in his cell, he waited—praying, fasting, staring at his crucifix. He’d vowed not to look at a human face until his prayer was answered. One morning, he thought he heard a voice whispering that his wish would come true that day. Heart pounding, he watched and waited. Then came a gentle tap at his door. A child’s voice—small, desperate—begged to be let in, fed, warmed. But the monk brushed it off. The cold, hungry little one’s cries went unheeded. He was too busy with his holy vigil, chasing that vision of the Master, to be disturbed.

The tapers burned low, and the monk’s hope dimmed. Why hadn’t the vision come? Then he heard it again: “Unhappy monk, thou mayest pray for I. The answer to thy prayer was sent today. It lingered long, then sobbed and turned away.” God’s just as present when we’re doing some simple act of love or kindness as when we’re kneeling in prayer or breaking bread at the Lord’s table. George Eliot puts it through Adam the carpenter’s words: “God helps us with our headpieces and our hands as well as with our souls.” If a man builds an oven for his wife to spare her a trip to the bakehouse, or scratches at his garden to coax two potatoes out of the dirt instead of one, he’s doing real good. He’s just as near to God as if he were chasing a preacher, praying, and groaning.

For someone walking with God, all of life glows. Every bush is aflame with divinity. We don’t realize what we’re missing when we overlook the great Companion who’s always right there. Picture a little child crossing the sea with his mother. After a bit, he tugs at her sleeve and asks, “Mother, where’s the sea?” She says, “Why, we’re on the sea. It’s all around us.” The kid squints and replies, “I see the waves, but where’s the sea?” That’s us, trudging through days shimmering with God’s glory, yet asking, “Where’s God?” Think of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, chatting with a stranger about Jesus—pouring out their disappointment, their dashed hopes—never guessing that the one walking beside them was the Master himself, the very one their hearts ached for.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked them. They spilled their grief, blind to who he was. So often, we stumble through life the same way—sad, crying out for God, wondering where he’s hiding. Where can I find him? All the while, he’s closer than our dearest friends. A simpler faith could light up everything, peeling back the veil to reveal the Master. Walking with God doesn’t just brighten the mundane—it brings a heavenly blessing, too.

From: JR Millers, devotional hours with the Bible.