Dr. Spoon walks us through Hagar’s flight from Sarah in Genesis 16, highlighting how God finds her not in a palace but beside a desert spring. Hagar, abused and alone, wasn’t looking for God—but He was already looking for her. The angel of the Lord meets her in the middle of her escape and asks two pivotal questions: “Where have you come from?” and “Where are you going?” Dr. Spoon points out that God doesn’t ask because He doesn’t know—He asks so we can gain clarity. Sometimes God disrupts us with questions, not to expose us, but to reorient us.

The angel challenges Hagar to name her situation aloud—to acknowledge what’s really happening. Dr. Spoon teaches that there are moments in life when God prompts us to reflect honestly on where we are. Not because He’s lost track of us, but because we’ve lost track of purpose, direction, or obedience. These divine disruptions often come through circumstances, not voices from heaven. They’re opportunities for clarity and course correction—and they’re proof that God is still actively involved, even when we feel like we’re on the run.

The angel doesn’t just offer insight—he gives instruction: “Return and submit.” That’s a hard pill in today’s world. But Dr. Spoon reminds us that sometimes God’s will is for us to endure a little longer in a tough place—not forever, but for formation. This isn’t about enabling abuse—it’s about discerning divine timing. After Hagar returns, the angel promises blessings that will unfold in due season, including the birth of Ishmael (“God hears”). When God asks you to stay, it’s never without purpose. His wisdom knows what’s coming—even if we don’t.

In closing, Dr. Spoon offers deep encouragement to anyone with wayward children or family members. Ishmael was rough around the edges, wild in spirit—but he wasn’t forgotten. God saw him. Named him. Blessed him. That same God sees your family members, too. They may be wandering, but they’re not invisible. Keep praying. Keep trusting. God’s ultimate plan includes even the ones who seem far off. He’s not done writing their stories—or yours.