THE LINC COLLECTIVE

1. Scriptures

Joshua 4:17–24; Joshua 3:13–17; Exodus 14:21–22; Acts 11:23; Revelation 12:11; Isaiah 54:2–3; Psalm 34:5; Psalm 121:1–2; 2 Corinthians 9:10; Hebrews 12:2

2. Blog Post

Stones Tell a Story

There are moments in the life of God’s people when the only appropriate response is to stop, gather the stones, and tell the story. Not because the journey has been easy. Not because the river was shallow. Not because the battle ahead is small. But because the hand of the Lord has been powerful.

In Joshua 4, Israel stands on the edge of promise. Behind them is wilderness. Before them is Jericho. Between them and the future is the Jordan River at flood stage. This was not a convenient crossing. It was not a manageable obstacle. It was a miracle-or-nothing moment. And into that moment, God commands the priests to step into the waters carrying the Ark of the Covenant—the visible symbol of His presence among His people.

Before the people could possess the promise, the presence had to go first.

That is not just ancient history; it is a holy pattern. As we move from one season into another, as we close chapters and step into fresh ones, the most precious thing we carry is not our strategy, our strength, our momentum, or our plans. It is the presence of God. If His presence goes before us, rivers can part. If His presence remains central, dry ground can appear in impossible places.

Joshua tells the people to take twelve stones from the Jordan and set them up at Gilgal. These stones were not decoration. They were testimony. They were preaching stones. They were memory made visible. They were placed there so that future generations would ask, “What do these stones mean?” And the answer would be clear: “The Lord our God brought us through on dry ground.”

Every stone told a story. A story of deliverance. A story of power. A story of faithfulness. A story that said, “We did not get here by ourselves.”

There is deep wisdom in this. God knows how quickly we forget. We can walk through a miracle on Monday and panic at a wall on Tuesday. We can see waters open behind us and still tremble before Jericho ahead of us. So the Lord teaches His people to build memorials—not to live in the past, but to strengthen faith for the future.

Gather the stones.

Take time to reflect on the evidence of God’s grace in your life. This is more than sentiment; it is spiritual warfare. Gratitude sharpens vision. Testimony builds faith. Celebration makes room for repetition. What gets celebrated gets repeated, not because we manipulate God, but because thanksgiving aligns our hearts with what heaven is already doing.

Too often we review a season by measuring what did not happen, what we still lack, what remains unfinished, or what feels delayed. There is a place for honest reflection, but we must not let disappointment become our dominant lens. Barnabas arrived among believers and saw “the grace of God.” He looked for evidence of divine activity, and when he found it, he encouraged them to keep going.

What if we did the same? What if, before planning the next quarter, we paused to name the grace of God in the last one? The prayer answered. The door opened. The child growing. The marriage softening. The provision that came. The strength that held. The salvation witnessed. The courage you did not know you had. The peace that met you in the fire.

Write it down. Speak it aloud. Mark the miracle. Gather the stones.

Tell the story.

The stones were never meant to be private ornaments. They were meant to provoke questions in the next generation. “When your children ask…” is one of the most prophetic phrases in Scripture. God’s faithfulness in one generation becomes faith fuel for the next.

We overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony. The blood declares what Jesus has done once and for all. The testimony declares what His finished work is still producing in real lives, real families, real churches, real communities.

Tell the story at your dinner table. Tell it in your small group. Tell it to your children. Tell it to your team. Don’t let your miracles die in silence. Your testimony may become someone else’s permission to believe again.

There is a generation coming behind us that does not only need principles; they need stories. They need to hear that God still parts rivers. They need to know that faith is not theory. They need fathers and mothers, leaders and friends, who can point to stones and say, “We were there. We saw Him move. We didn’t have the resource, but He supplied it. We didn’t have the strength, but He carried us. We didn’t see the way, but He made one.”

Lift your eyes.

After the stones are gathered and the story is told, the people still have to face Jericho. Testimony is not an escape from battle; it is preparation for battle. God positions His people on the edge of promise with memory behind them and victory before them.

This is where we must learn to lift our eyes. If we only look down, we become defined by our immediate surroundings. If we only stare at the problem, the problem becomes our horizon. But Scripture calls us higher: “Those who look to Him are radiant.” “I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord.”

Lift your eyes above the wall. Lift your eyes above the river. Lift your eyes above the pressure of the season. Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of your faith. Before there is a Jericho strategy, there must be a Jesus vision.

Isaiah 54 gives us the language of enlargement: “Enlarge the place of your tent… lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes.” At its core, this is not merely about bigger buildings, businesses, platforms, or plans. It is about making more room for the presence of God. Stretch the tent because God wants to fill it. Strengthen the stakes because glory has weight. Lengthen the cords because the future requires capacity.

So as you step into what is next, ask the holy questions: What is God highlighting? What does greater faith require of me? What must shift in my posture, my prayer life, my expectation, my generosity, my worship? Where have I become so consumed by the immediate that I have stopped looking toward the infinite?

The best is not behind us. In Christ, the best is always yet to come—not because every earthly season will be simple, but because our future is anchored in eternal hope. The same God who parted the Jordan is present and powerful today. Gather the stones. Tell the story. Lift your eyes. The Lord is not finished leading His people through.