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A message to the New Creation….
There is a difference between believing a dam can hold back the river and standing before its gates expecting them to open. One is an opinion about capacity; the other is participation in outcome. The revelation the leper lived is the revelation we must learn: willingness is the hinge. He did not merely confess that Yehoshua could heal; he yielded his will to Yehoshua’s will and placed himself inside the stream of divine intention. When he bowed and said, in effect, “If You are willing, You can make me clean,” he aligned his desire, consent, and trust with the Messiah’s heart. Yehoshua reached across disease, stigma, and the law’s distance, touched him, and answered not as a reluctant healer but as the visible will of Yahweh: “I am willing; be clean.” That moment is not a one-off miracle; it is a pattern. Divine willingness is not the variable; human alignment is. Faith matures the moment we move from “I know God can” to “I yield to the God who wills,” the moment we stop admiring the power plant and flip the switch that connects our house to its current.
This alignment is threaded through Scripture like a golden seam. In Genesis 22, Abraham walks up Moriah declaring that God will provide for Himself a lamb. That is not bravado; it is a will set in step with Yahweh’s character. He lifts the knife not because he doubts Yahweh’s goodness, but because he trusts it so completely that obedience becomes the clearest path to provision. The ram in the thicket is not a surprise party; it is the manifestation that arrives where trust and command meet. Alignment here looks like motion in the direction of God’s word—even when the terrain is steep and the cost is everything. It is the difference between admiring a bridge and stepping onto it with your full weight.
In Exodus 3, Moses models a subtler but equally crucial form of alignment. He is not given a revelation because he is impressive; he is given a revelation because he turns aside. Scripture notes the turn, then Yahweh calls his name. The sequence matters. Attention is a will-act. To “turn aside” is to say, with the body, “I am available.” The bush had been burning; the invitation was already there; alignment was the simple decision to change trajectory and behold. It is the way a radio ceases to be static when the dial is tuned. The broadcast does not begin with our interest; our interest lets us hear what has been faithfully transmitting.
Deuteronomy 30 brings the pattern into covenant clarity: life and death, blessing and curse, are set before Israel with a command to choose life by loving Yahweh, obeying His voice, and holding fast to Him. Life is not an abstraction; it is the fruit that grows where the soil of human will receives the seed of divine will. The entire covenant frame assumes Yahweh’s willingness to be with His people and to bless them; the hinge is their willingness to agree with His ways. This is why Joshua’s later charge—choose whom you will serve—rings with urgency: outcomes travel along the rails laid by consent.
In 1 Samuel 3, the boy Samuel answers, “Speak, for Your servant is listening,” and the word of Yahweh comes. The listening posture is alignment made audible. It is the stage-hand opening the curtain for the director’s voice. Revelation is not a prize for curiosity; it is bread for those who intend to obey what they hear. Similarly, the Chronicler announces that the eyes of Yahweh scan the earth to strongly support those whose hearts are wholly His. Heaven is not reluctant; Heaven is searching. The question is not whether Yahweh will be strong; the question is whether there is a heart aligned enough for that strength to land without distortion.
Psalm 37 deepens the inner mechanics. “Delight yourself in Yahweh and He will give you the desires of your heart; commit your way to Him, trust in Him, and He will act.” This is not a vending machine promise; it is an anatomy of alignment. To delight in Yahweh is to allow His character to reshape our appetites; the desires He gives are not rubber-stamped whims but desires reborn in His pleasure. Commitment and trust become the conduit through which action flows. Isaiah makes the condition explicit: if you are willing and obedient, you will eat the good of the land. Willingness is not bare permission; it is joyful consent. Obedience is not grim compliance; it is movement that matches the cadence of Heaven. When both are present, the land tastes like promise.
Daniel’s friends stand before the furnace and confess another angle of alignment that many of us avoid. They say Yahweh is able to deliver; then they shut the door to coercion by adding that even if He does not, they will not bow. This is not hedging; it is perfecting. They refuse to reduce alignment to outcome management. Their will is braided to Yahweh’s will to such a degree that deliverance or death changes nothing about their posture. In doing so, they refuse the counterfeit of presumption. Presumption says, “Because God can, He must do what I imagine.” Alignment says, “Because God is good, I yield to what He intends, and I stand in fidelity regardless.” Fire cannot burn through that bond.
When Yehoshua teaches us to pray, He hands us the grammar of alignment: Father, bring Your reign and let Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. That petition is not an empty ritual; it is the daily placing of our will on the altar of God’s will. And when Yehoshua enters Gethsemane, He carries the prayer to its full weight: not as I will, but as You will. This moment is not a footnote to redemption; it is the hinge of it. The Son’s human will, in flawless trust, yields to the Father’s salvific will, and history pivots. From there, Yehoshua tells us that anyone willing to do the Father’s will shall know whether His teaching is from God. Understanding follows willingness; light increases where the will has said yes. Saul of Tarsus learns this on the Damascus road. The first true words of his new life are effectively, “What do You want me to do?” and the path opens. He does not negotiate a call; he consents to One.
Paul then reveals the engine inside all true alignment: it is Yahweh who works in us both to will and to work for His good pleasure. This is not fatalism; it is synergy. Divine energy awakens the will and empowers the work, while the human will, no longer at war with Heaven, becomes joyfully cooperative. James states the relational motion simply: submit to God, draw near to God, and He will draw near to you. The promise is not that Yahweh might consider closing the gap; the promise is that He will approach those who approach Him. And the canon closes with the final consonance: the Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” Heaven’s will and the people’s will speak in unison, and the invitation is extended to any who thirst and any who will. History ends where alignment becomes a chorus.
For many, the struggle has never been belief in Yahweh’s capacity; it has been suspicion about His willingness. We project the unreliability of human love onto the Father and wonder whether He will leave us at the threshold. We carry old verdicts, delayed answers, or shame-soaked memories and weaponize them against the simplicity of consent. The leper answers every one of these hesitations. He approaches with nothing but need and a yielded will. Yehoshua answers with touch and immediacy. The untouchable is touched, not because he argued brilliantly or performed flawlessly, but because he aligned his will to the Messiah’s heart. In that touch we discover the nature of Yahweh, not just the power of Yahweh. The One who wills to cleanse is the same One who wills to save, restore, and indwell.
Practically, alignment looks like this: your prayers shift from “If You can” to “Since You will according to Your character, let Your will live in me.” Your posture moves from trying to wrestle outcomes into promising God to keep a vow He never made, to presenting your body as a living yes. You begin to pray the way a sailor sets a sail. The wind is not conjured by effort; it is caught by orientation. You trim the canvas of your choices toward Yahweh’s revealed ways—truth, repentance, mercy, fidelity, courage—and you discover that movement happens without self-propulsion. You stop visiting the power station to admire its turbines and finally connect your house to its grid; the lights come on, not because electricity became willing, but because you stopped living unplugged. You begin to obey in small things immediately—turning aside like Moses when wonder appears, saying, “Speak, for Your servant is listening,” like Samuel when conviction pricks, choosing life in the little decisions no one sees, refusing presumption in the furnace of disappointment, and delighting yourself in Yahweh until your desires are His desires wearing your face.
This alignment also purifies motives. Instead of treating prayer as a contract to secure preferred outcomes, you treat it as communion to share a will. You realize that miracles are not violations of nature so much as the restoration of nature under its rightful King. When the wills align, the Kingdom does what the Kingdom is. Sometimes that looks like immediate cleansing, sometimes like strengthened endurance, sometimes like wisdom that cuts through fog, sometimes like peace that passes understanding, sometimes like doors opening no one can shut, and sometimes like the courage to worship in a furnace. In every case, Yahweh’s willingness has not changed; our participation has matured.
If you carry the fear that believing Yahweh will set you up for disappointment, consider again the pattern. Abraham’s provision, Moses’ calling, Israel’s life, Samuel’s word, the King’s support for whole hearts, the re-scripted desires of the delighted, the land for the willing and obedient, the faithfulness in the furnace, the Kingdom prayer, the Gethsemane surrender, the promise of understanding to the willing, the transformed will of Saul, the divine energizing of our wanting and working, the guaranteed nearness to the submitted, and the final harmony of Spirit and Bride—across every register the testimony is the same. Heaven is not indifferent. The river is already moving. The invitation is not to convince Yahweh to be what He already is; the invitation is to become who we are when our wills are braided to His.
So here is the call and the confidence. Lift your eyes like the leper and speak without flattery or manipulation: “If You are willing, You can.” Then stand and live as one who knows the answer revealed in the face and touch of Yehoshua: “I am willing.” Let this confession retrain every instinct. Yield your attention like Moses, your listening like Samuel, your choices like Israel was commanded to do, your courage like the three in Babylon, your prayers like the Messiah, your teachability like those whom Yehoshua said would know, your availability like Saul on the road, your inner energies like those Paul described, your approach like James instructed, and your invitation like the Bride who speaks with the Spirit. Refuse the smaller safety of believing only that God can, and enter the larger rest of living because God will. This is not presumption; it is covenant. It is not arrogance; it is agreement. It is not striving; it is surrender that activates the flow. Let the wills align—Yahweh’s will unchanging, your will unfolding—and watch as the current carries you where effort never could, until your life itself becomes the touch through which others learn the same answer: He is willing.
