As I sit here reflecting on this journey we call life, I’m struck by a truth that resonates deeper with each passing year: “It’s the hard times that shape us most.” The moments of ease and plenty are sweet, no doubt—those seasons when life hums along smoothly, when the bills are paid, the family is healthy, and the world feels like a warm embrace. But growth? True, transformative, godly growth? That happens in the crucible of trials, where comfort is stripped away, and we’re left to lean wholly on the Rock of our salvation.

The Bible paints a vivid picture of this human tendency to drift in times of abundance. In Deuteronomy 32:15, we read of Israel’s complacency: “But Jeshurun waxed fat, and kicked: thou art waxen fat, thou art grown thick, thou art covered with fatness; then he forsook God which made him, and lightly esteemed the Rock of his salvation” (KJV). How often do we, like Israel, grow fat, metaphorically, in our comfort? We accumulate things—material possessions, self-reliance, pride—mistaking them for necessities. We think they’ll satisfy, that they’ll anchor us. But then the hard times come, like a divine pruning, stripping away what hinders and revealing what truly matters.

“We do not grow in comfort; we stagnate.” In ease, we may put on “weight”—unnecessary burdens, misplaced priorities—that lull us into spiritual slumber. Yet God, in His infinite wisdom and fatherly love, allows trials to stir us awake. The bumps, the bruises, the moments when life feels like it’s unraveling—they’re not accidents. They’re divine appointments, orchestrated by a Father who knows that true growth requires discomfort.

The Father’s Investment Through Trials

As parents, we’re tempted to shield our children from every hardship. The world whispers that our job is to “fix the road” for them—to smooth out every obstacle, to ensure their path is free of thorns. But “fixing the road robs our children of the strength they need to walk it.” Life’s road is not meant to be easy. It’s rugged, winding, and often stormy. Our role isn’t to pave it over but to prepare our children for the journey—to equip them with faith, resilience, and a heart anchored in God.

This is where God’s fatherly love shines as our ultimate example. He doesn’t shield us from trials; He uses them to shape us. Like an eagle with its young, God stirs our nests to push us toward maturity. In Deuteronomy 32:11-12, Moses, in his final song to Israel, paints a stunning picture of God’s fatherly providence: “As an eagle stirreth up his nest, fluttereth over his young, spreadeth abroad his wings, taketh them, beareth them on his wings: So the LORD alone did lead him, and there was no strange god with him.” 

“God stirs our nests because He loves us too much to let us stay comfortable.” The eagle’s care for its eaglets is a powerful metaphor for God’s fatherly care for us. In their infancy, the parent eagle labors tirelessly to build a fortified nest—strong, secure, a haven of safety. Soft feathers and down cushion the young, who are fed and protected with unwavering devotion. “But there comes a time when comfort becomes a cage. The eaglets grow strong, their wings ready, yet they linger in the nest, unaware of their potential to soar.” 

So the eagle stirs the nest. The soft layers are removed, letting thorns protrude, making the nest uncomfortable. The eagle nudges the young to the edge, sometimes pushing them off the cliff into a free-fall. To the eaglet, it feels like ruin—like the world is collapsing. But the eagle is watching, ready to swoop beneath, catching them on its wings, carrying them back to safety, only to repeat the process until they learn to fly.

God’s Stirring, Our Soaring

Isn’t this exactly how God works in our lives? “When life spins out of control, God is not absent—He’s stirring the nest.” The storms that blow in from nowhere, the moments when we feel like we’re free-falling into ruin—they’re not signs of God’s abandonment but of His fatherly investment. He stirs our nests because He sees what we cannot: the strength within us, the wings we’ve yet to spread, the heights we’re destined to reach.

I imagine Moses, during his years in the wilderness, watching eagles on the mountainsides. Perhaps he saw this majestic scene unfold—an eagle pushing its young to fly, catching them when they faltered—and recognized the hand of God, the ultimate Father, in it. He wanted Israel to understand, as he faced his own mortality, that “God’s stirring is not punishment; it’s preparation.” The trials that come—whether financial strain, health struggles, broken relationships, or seasons of doubt—are God’s way of teaching us to trust Him, to flap our wings, to soar on the currents of His grace.

For parents, this is a sobering reminder. We must resist the urge to cushion every fall. “Let your children skin their knees, for in their bruises, they learn to rise.” Our job is to model faith in the midst of trials, to show them that God, their Father, is faithful even when the nest is stirred. We must teach them to trust the Father who catches them on His wings, who carries them when they cannot fly, who leads them to heights they never imagined.

A Father’s Day Reflection

As we celebrate Father’s Day, I’m filled with gratitude for the love of a Father who stirs our nests to make us soar. This holiday also brings to mind my dad, who modeled this divine principle in my life. I thank him for not rescuing me from every trial but instead teaching me to set my face like a flint when hard times come. In our home, resolve and resilience weren’t just words—they were lessons etched into our daily lives. “My dad showed me that strength isn’t avoiding the storm but standing firm in it.” Because of his guidance, I learned to face life’s challenges with courage, trusting God to carry me through. Those lessons remain a priceless gift, shaping me as a parent and a follower of Christ.

God’s fatherly love is not soft or indulgent; it’s fierce, purposeful, and transformative. He allows the thorns of life to prod us, not to harm us, but to push us toward our divine purpose. And as earthly fathers, we’re called to reflect that love—to prepare our children, not for a life of ease, but for a life of faith, courage, and dependence on God.

So when the nest is stirred, when the storms rage, when you feel like you’re falling, remember: “You are not falling to your ruin; you are learning to fly.” The God who stirs the nest is the Father who catches you on His wings. He is the Father who leads you, as He led Israel, with no strange god beside Him. Trust Him. Flap your wings. And soar.

Selah.