The Order of Things

When God restores right order through the voice of another

📖 “So he built an altar there and called on the name of the LORD, and he pitched his tent there; and there Isaac’s servants dug a well.” — Genesis 26:25 (NKJV)

Two years ago, my boss quietly came to stand behind me at my desk. He’d noticed me burying myself in work, though he couldn’t have known the full weight of what I was carrying. He quoted Genesis 26:25 and walked me through something I haven’t been able to let go of since — Isaac built an altar, then pitched his tent, then dug a well. God first. Family second. Work third. “That’s the order,” he said simply. He mentioned a vineyard too — I think perhaps a quiet nod to Noah planting after the flood — though the rest of that part of the conversation has slipped from me. What stayed, what lodged itself somewhere deep and refused to leave, was the sequence. It was a word spoken at exactly the right moment, by exactly the right person — a small act of pastoral grace from someone who saw me more clearly than I was seeing myself. It’s often easier to accept correction when it comes from a boss rather than a pastor or a friend. There’s something about the professional distance that lowers our defences — and perhaps that’s exactly why God used him.

The three-part pattern is beautifully simple, yet it carries the weight of a life’s wisdom:

⛪ Altar — God first. Worship, covenant, seeking His presence.

🏕️ Tent — Family second. The household, relationships, home.

🌊 Well — Work third. Provision, labour, fruitfulness.

It’s a wonderfully grounded principle — not just for leadership, but for living. The altar always comes first in Isaac’s story, before he sets up home or digs for provision. I’ve sometimes wondered what my boss had said about the vineyard — perhaps a quiet nod to Noah:

📖 “And Noah began to be a farmer, and he planted a vineyard.” — Genesis 9:20 (NKJV)

That image of a man planting after the flood, tending something fruitful in the aftermath of devastation, carries its own kind of grace. Either way, the sequence is clear: you cannot build anything that lasts if you begin at the wrong end.

Culture has taught us to work ourselves to the bone, yet Kingdom culture is different. Today I’m grateful for a boss who is familiar with Kingdom culture and isn’t afraid to address employees who are neglecting their own needs. That kind of leadership is rare — and it is holy.

In my brokenness, I had used busyness and performance to numb what I couldn’t resolve. I put the well before the altar and before my tent. As much as I loved my boys, I was always working. I still hear my then seven-year-old eldest saying, “But Mommy, you’re always working” — the day I asked him why he always wanted to stay and play with the day mother’s children when we arrived to collect his two-year-old brother. Even working half day, I was always taking work home, burying myself in it to bury the pain and the high-functioning depression I couldn’t face. At the same time, our boys barely saw their father, who left for work long before they woke and got home long after they’d gone to sleep.

Today they’re adults, and I can see the fruit of that neglect in their lives. That is not easy to write. It isn’t easy to carry. Yet I write it anyway, because silence has never healed anything — and because I believe that the God who redeems is also the God who restores.

I’ve thought about that moment at my desk many times since. There’s something quietly devastating about being seen when you’ve grown accustomed to being invisible — even to yourself. I was so deep in the doing that I’d lost sight of the being. The work had become a refuge; productivity, a shield. Yet God, in His kindness, sent someone to stand behind me — not to reprimand, not to manage, simply to speak.

Isaac didn’t stumble into right order by accident. He’d come into a land of conflict and controversy, into the very wells his father Abraham had dug — wells that others had stopped up, filled with earth, erased. He could have fought. He could have striven. Instead, he built an altar first. He sought the face of God before he sought provision. He made a home before he made a livelihood.

The altar says: You are mine.

The tent says: We belong to one another.

The well says: Now we can work.

I wonder how many of us have been digging wells without an altar — working ourselves to the bone in search of something we’ve already been given. Identity. Belonging. Worth. These were always meant to flow from the altar, not the well.

That quiet moment at my desk was a course correction — not a rebuke, but a gift. A shepherd’s crook, gently pulling me back toward the thing I’d neglected without fully realising it.

In January 2019, I have found the altar again. I came back to Christ — and with Him, I found my way back to the right order of things. It hasn’t been a straight path. It rarely is. Yet I have been surrounded by people who loved me back to life as gently as only grace can — people who spoke into the broken areas, who prayed with me, guided me, and supported me in finding godly ways of responding. They didn’t fix me; they pointed me back to the One who could.

My hope for my boys is the same — that they too will find the altar again. That they will be surrounded by people who love them back to life, who speak gently into the broken places, who pray and guide and stay. The God who restored me is the same God who goes after them. His order doesn’t change. His love doesn’t run out.

I’m still learning to stay with the order of things. I suspect I always will be.

💡 Reflection:

• Where in my life have I placed the well before the altar? 🤔
• What does it look like for me, practically, to rebuild the altar in this season? 🤔
• In what ways have I unintentionally neglected my “tent”, and how can I begin to restore it with grace? 🤔
• What am I striving to earn through work that God has already freely given me? 🤔

🎺 Affirmation:

I am gently being restored to God’s divine order. I am not defined by past misalignment, but by His redeeming love. As I return to the altar, He restores what was neglected, heals what was strained, and leads me into a life marked by peace, presence, and purpose.

🙌 Prayer:

Father, thank You for Your kindness in restoring what I did not even realise was out of order. Thank You for sending voices at the right time to gently guide me back to You. Help me to keep the altar first, to nurture the relationships You have entrusted to me, and to hold my work in its rightful place. Heal the places where my striving caused distance, and redeem what feels lost. Surround my family with Your love and draw them close to You. Teach me to live from belonging, not performance. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This is my story. This is His glory.

— Trixi 🌿