Elizabeth — Discernment That Recognized God at Work Theme: Discernment, Prophetic Insight, Spiritual Sensitivity

 

There's something extraordinary about Elizabeth that draws me in every time I read her story. While everyone else was waiting for miracles to look a certain way, Elizabeth had learned to recognize God's fingerprints in the most unexpected places.

I feel that in my own life. When people tell me their stories—how chaotic things have been, how overwhelming, how impossible it all feels—I don't just hear the struggle. I see God's fingerprints everywhere. His faithfulness woven through the chaos. His goodness is quietly present in the hardest chapters.

Recently, a woman shared her story in Bible study. As I kept hearing her words, I could feel layers underneath—the pain she was carrying, the fear she hadn't named, the doubt wrapped around her heart, the lies buried beneath what she was saying out loud. Everyone spoke their piece, offering encouragement and advice.

But I felt this pull in my spirit. When it was my turn, I looked at her and said simply, "I see your pain. When you're ready to speak about it, I'll be here. If not with me, please talk to someone you trust."

She started to sob.

Not because I hurt her or made her feel less than. But because God's truth was speaking, and she thought it. She felt seen—not just heard, but truly seen in the hidden places she thought no one could perceive.

Later, when she pulled me aside privately, I told her what I'd sensed: that God had already been answering her prayers, but she couldn't see it yet. That which felt impossible wasn't impossible to Him. That he was already working on it, already moving, already blessing her in ways she hadn't recognized.

I watched the weight lift from her eyes. I saw her shoulders drop as assurance settled in. She felt it—the truth that she wasn't alone, that God was faithful, that what He'd started He would finish.

And in that moment, I thought of Elizabeth.

Because here's the thing—I don't only see God in people's stories. I also see through them. I notice the hurt they carry, the pain they haven't named yet, the unspoken weight pressing on their hearts.

When I read about Elizabeth's discernment, I recognize something familiar. Something sacred. She didn't just perceive what God was doing—she perceived who was standing in front of her. She saw both the promise and the person carrying it.

That kind of discernment doesn't come from observation alone. It comes from intimacy with God. It comes from years of listening, trusting, and walking faithfull,y even when answers are delayed.

Elizabeth's discernment mirrors a gift God has entrusted to me—the ability to recognize His presencand to senseng the hidden places in people's hearts. It's a holy responsibility. One that requires humility, compassion, and deep dependence on the Holy Spirit.

But Elizabeth wasn't just discerning. She was a woman of radical faith and powerful prophecy. And honestly? Those three things together in her life challenge me in ways I'm still processing.

When Faith Looks Foolish to Everyone Else

Can we talk about Elizabeth's faith for a moment? Because it floors me.

She's old, past the age of childbearing. Probably resigned to the reality that children just weren't part of her story. And then an angel shows up and tells her husband they're going to have a baby.

Zechariah—a priest, someone who should know better—doubts. He asks for proof. And God strikes him silent for his unbelief.

But Elizabeth? I don't see her questioning anywhere in Scripture.

When she conceived, she simply said, "The Lord has done this for me" (Luke 1:25). No asterisks. No "but how?" No need to understand the logistics before she believed.

She just believed.

And that kind of faith—the kind that doesn't need all the answers before it says yes—that's what positions you to see clearly when God shows up in someone else's implausible story.

I'm learning that my ability to discern what God is doing in others is directly connected to my willingness to believe Him in my own impossibilities. When I've watched Him come through for me in ways that made no natural sense, I can recognize His hand more easily when He's doing the same for someone else.

Elizabeth's personal miracle with John prepared her to recognize the greater miracle in Mary's womb.

Her faith wasn't theoretical. It was lived. Tested. Proven.

And that made all the difference.

The First Voice to Speak Over Jesus

Here's what gets me every single time: Elizabeth was the first human being to prophesy over Jesus.

Not a religious leader. Not someone with a title or platform. Not even someone young and "useful" by the world's standards.

An elderly, pregnant woman in the hill country became the first voice to declare who Jesus was.

The moment Mary walked through her door, the Holy Spirit filled Elizabeth, and she spoke words that would echo through eternity:

"Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?" (Luke 1:42-43)

Do you hear what she's doing? She's calling an unborn baby "my Lord." She's blessing Mary before anyone else understands what is happening. She's speaking with absolute certainty about something that hadn't been born yet.

This wasn't a lucky guess. This was prophecy—Spirit-breathed truth spoken into the atmosphere with authority and tenderness.

And I sit with that and think: God chose her for this moment. After all those years of waiting, after all that pain and disappointment, He chose Elizabeth to be the first prophetic voice over His Son.

That does something to me. It reminds me that God doesn't waste our waiting. He's not looking for the loudest voice or the most credentialed person. He's looking for someone who's spent enough time with Him to recognize His voice and bold enough to speak what He reveals.

When Prophecy Sees What Faith Believes

What I love about Elizabeth's prophetic moment is that it wasn't just about Jesus. It was also deeply personal to Mary.

Listen to what she says: "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!" (Luke 1:45)

She's not just declaring Mary's destiny. She's affirming Mary's faith.

Think about what Mary was walking into. She was young, unmarried, and pregnant with a story no one would believe. She was about to face shame, rejection, and questions she couldn't fully answer.

But before any of that happened, Elizabeth looked at her and said, "You believed God. And because you believed, you are blessed."

That's prophetic ministry at its best—it doesn't just announce what God is doing; it strengthens the person carrying it. It sees the promise and the cost. It celebrates the calling and acknowledges the courage it took to say yes.

I'm learning that real prophecy isn't about performing or impressing people. It's about seeing what God is doing and speaking in a way that builds faith, brings clarity, and reminds people they're not crazy for believing Him.

Elizabeth's words gave Mary language for what was happening inside her. They confirmed that what seemed impossible was, in fact, real. They gave her strength for the journey ahead.

And honestly? I want to speak like that. I want my words—whether I'm seeing into someone's story or saying what God shows me—to leave people feeling more courageous, not more confused. More anchored in His faithfulness, not more overwhelmed by what's ahead.

Just like that woman in Bible study who needed to hear that God was already answering, already working, already blessing her in ways she couldn't see yet. Sometimes the most powerful prophetic word isn't about the future—it's about helping someone recognize what God is doing right now that they've been too close to see.

The Faith That Was Forged in Secret

Here's the thing that undoes me about Elizabeth: her faith, her discernment, her prophetic voice—none of it was formed in the spotlight.

It was forged in decades of waiting. In years of unanswered prayers. In the quiet, hidden seasons when no one was watching, and nothing was happening.

She spent years barren in a culture that saw childlessness as shame. Years of watching other women carry babies while her arms stayed empty. Years praying, trusting, hoping—and getting silence in return.

That kind of season could have made her bitter. It could have closed her heart to God. It could have turned her cynical about miracles, prophecy, and faith.

But it didn't.

I understand that kind of refining because I've lived it too.

I've gone through years of challenging times when I desperately needed to abide in God every single day. Where "I choose to trust You" wasn't just a phrase I said—it was an invitation to my heart to trust the One who directs my steps and my life.

When everything in nature seemed impossible. When everything seemed too big. When everything felt unbearable.

But here's what I learned in those seasons: seeing through God's lens changes everything. What looks impossible in the natural is entirely possible through Him. What seems overwhelming and too big suddenly isn't as big when I gain Kingdom perspective. God has solutions to everything—but I was so focused on what was right in front of me instead of looking up and focusing on Him.

That's what the waiting taught me. It taught me to lift my eyes. To shift my perspective. To let go of my limited view and trust His unlimited vision.

And I see that same refining process in Elizabeth.

Instead of letting the waiting embitter her, it deepened her intimacy with God. It taught her to recognize His voice in the stillness. It positioned her to trust Him even when nothing made sense. It trained her eyes to see from Heaven's perspective instead of Earth's limitations.

And when her own miracle finally came, she didn't just celebrate it—she used it to bless someone else's.

That's what breaks me open. Elizabeth could have made Mary's visit all about her own pregnancy, her own miracle, her own long-awaited answer. But instead, she turned her focus outward. She celebrated what God was doing in Mary with the same joy she felt about what He'd done for her.

Her discernment, faith, and prophecy all flowed from a heart that had learned to recognize God's goodness in the waiting and in the fulfillment. A heart that had been trained to look up instead of staying focused on what seemed impossible.

I'm not there yet. I still struggle with making things about me. I still have days where I look at what's in front of me instead of looking up at Him. But Elizabeth is teaching me that the most powerful ministry happens when we use what God has done in us to affirm what He's doing in others.

The waiting isn't wasted. The desperate clinging to Him every day isn't in vain. The daily choice to trust isn't just survival—it's preparation. It's training our spiritual eyes to see the way He sees. It's learning to recognize His faithfulness so we can point it out in others.

Seeing, Believing, Speaking

Elizabeth shows me that discernment, faith, and prophecy aren't meant to operate separately. They're meant to flow together.

I see what God is doing (discernment).

I believe what I'm seeing, even when it seems impossible (faith).

I speak what I've seen and believed, giving others language and strength for their journey (prophecy).

But here's where I get stuck sometimes: I can see something clearly and still not have the faith to believe it's really God. Or I can feel it but be too afraid to speak it. Or I can talk without first discerning, and my words miss the mark completely.

Elizabeth got all three right because they all flowed from the same source: intimacy with God.

She'd spent so much time with Him that when He showed her something, she trusted it. And when she trusted it, she dared to declare it—not loudly or performatively, but clearly and with love.

That's what I'm after. Not perfection, but that kind of integration. Where what I see, believe, and speak all come from the same deep well of relationship with Him.

The Question I'm Sitting With

Am I close enough to God right now to steward discernment, faith, and prophecy the way Elizabeth did?

Because I can go through the motions. I can see things and call it discernment. I can believe things and call it faith. I can speak things and call it prophecy.

But if it's not flowing from intimacy—if it's not rooted in spending real time with Him, listening to His heart, letting Him refine me in the hidden places—then it's just noise.

Elizabeth's power wasn't in her gifts. It was in her proximity to God.

And that's the invitation for all of us who carry these gifts: to stop trying to manufacture spiritual insight and instead cultivate spiritual intimacy. To spend less time trying to figure out what to say and more time learning to recognize His voice.

Because when we know Him—really know Him—the discernment comes naturally. The faith rises up without effort. The prophetic words flow with tenderness and truth.

It all starts in the secret place.

A Legacy That Still Speaks

Elizabeth's words over Mary are still echoing thousands of years later.

She became the first voice to prophesy over Jesus not because she was the most gifted or the most qualified, but because she was the most present. Close enough to hear. Faithful enough to believe. Bold enough to speak.

And her legacy reminds me: God is still looking for people like that.

People whose faith has been tested and held. Whose discernment flows from intimacy, not assumption. Whose prophetic voice builds up instead of tears down.

He's looking for people who will see His fingerprints in the implausible stories and say, "Yes, this is Him." Who will believe what He's shown them, even when it doesn't make sense yet? Who will speak blessing over promises that haven't been born yet because they trust the One who gave the promise in the first place.

I want to be that kind of person.

Not perfect. Not always getting it right. But faithful. Present. Close enough to see, courageous enough to believe, and humble enough to speak only what flows from His heart.

Elizabeth is showing me the way.

A Prayer From My Heart:

God, I want what Elizabeth had. Not her gifts—I like her intimacy with You. Teach me to stay so close that I recognize Your movement even when it's hidden. Give me faith that doesn't need all the answers before it says yes. Let my prophetic voice be tender and true, building people up instead of showing off. Help me see both Your presence and people's pain at the same time, and give me wisdom to know when to speak and when to simply hold space. Refine me in the waiting. Sharpen me in the secret place. And when You show me something, give me the courage to believe it and the humility to declare it in a way that points back to You. I don't want to waste what you've entrusted to me. Amen.

What I'm Sitting With:

Where has your own waiting refined your faith? What promise has God shown you—in your life or someone else's—that you need to speak blessing over, even though it hasn't unfolded yet? And honestly, are you close enough to Him right now to truly discern, sincerely believe, and courageously speak?