Numbers 5:1–4 is one of those passages that can make a tender heart flinch. People being sent outside the camp. Illness, impurity, messiness. It can look like God is removing people from His presence. And if you have ever been misunderstood, falsely accused, or swept into someone else’s mess, it can feel personal. It can feel like punishment.
I understand that feeling because I have lived it.
In my early twenties, at the beginning of my vocational ministry journey, I found myself in a verbal tussle. I was right. And not just emotionally or subjectively right. I had receipts. But my leader at the time looked at me and said, “Even when you are right, perspective is everything. And in the end, you will not look right.” The words stung in a way I still remember.
I wanted justice.
I wanted vindication.
I wanted God to back me up with thunder.
Instead, I felt like I had been dragged outside the camp. Lumped in with the wrong crowd. Bearing the consequences of someone else’s storm. Standing in the rain of a situation I did not create. That season opened the door to pits I never expected, relational breakups I did not want, and misunderstandings that tangled themselves around my calling.
But it also became one of the clearest object lessons of my spiritual formation.
Because Numbers 5 was never about exclusion. It is not God slapping people on the hand, telling them to get out, or distancing Himself from His own. It was not rejection. It was revelation. God was teaching His people something vital.
Wherever He dwells, purity matters.
The instruction to remove individuals from the camp was not an act of punishment. It was an object lesson, a visual demonstration meant to show the holiness of God in a way Israel could understand.
When we read Numbers 5 with a tender heart and no discernment, like I did in my twenties, we miss the point entirely. God was not pushing His people away. God was making space to draw them closer. He was revealing what needed healing so that intimacy could grow.
Immaturity sees storms and struggles as things that happen to us. Maturity sees them as things God is revealing in us
That whole ministry moment became my Storm of Perspective. It was as if Jesus took the glasses I had been wearing, gently removed them from my face, wiped away the Florida humidity, the raindrops, the fingerprints of other people’s storms, and then handed them back. Not to correct my memory of the situation, but to correct my vision.
Because the real issue was not the accusation. It was not the conflict. It was not even the injustice. It was my heart. I wanted to be right. God wanted me to be clean.
Not morally superior.
Not vindicated.
Just clean.
Able to stand where He dwells. Able to see what He sees.
The more He reveals, the more He can draw near. And closeness with Him means more to me now than being right ever did.
This is the heart behind Still Waters Don’t Make Saints. Storms, even the ones we did not cause, become mirrors. They show us what is actually happening within us. They clarify our motives. They refine our character. They purify our perspective. Storm by storm, God is not punishing us. He is preparing us. Teaching us how to stand close. Teaching us how to see clearly. Teaching us how to remain clean in a world that splashes mud without warning.
I share these stories because I believe God is still cleaning glasses. Still restoring perspective. Still drawing His people close with tenderness, conviction, and clarity.
And as always, onward.