When God Says, “Get Up Off the Floor”
There’s something about the transition between Deuteronomy and Joshua that has been sitting heavily on my heart lately.
Moses - one of the greatest leaders in the Bible - spends decades leading God’s people through the wilderness, only to be told he will not enter the Promised Land because of one act of disobedience.
It feels heartbreaking to read.
After years of pressure, complaints, leadership battles, exhaustion, and carrying the weight of an entire nation, Moses reaches a breaking point. God told him to speak to the rock, but instead, in frustration, he struck it.
And that moment cost him deeply.
Then we step into the book of Joshua.
Joshua feels different.
Careful. Intentional. Obedient.
Again and again, God reminds him:
“Be strong and courageous.”
“Do not turn from the right or the left.”
“Meditate on the Book of the Law day and night.”
Joshua seems determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. He wants to honour God fully and lead well.
And yet… Israel still experiences defeat.
Not because Joshua disobeyed.
Not because he lacked faith.
But because hidden sin remained in the camp through Achan’s disobedience.
When Israel loses the battle at Ai, Joshua falls face down before the Lord in grief and confusion. He tears his clothes, sits in ashes, and cries out to God.
And God’s response surprised me.
Not because it was harsh…
but because it was so direct.
“Stand up! What are you doing down on your face?”(Joshua 7:10)
Honestly, I laughed a little when I read it again recently because I realised how much I identify with Joshua in that moment.
There’s one particular memory from my early twenties that came flooding back to me while reading this passage.
At the time, I was living in WA and sharing a rental home with an older couple who had immigrated from overseas. Somewhere along the way, tensions developed between us. We had different personalities, different communication styles, and very different perspectives on life.
Eventually, the couple complained to the landlord about me.
To this day, I still remember how devastated and misunderstood I felt because, honestly, I believed many of the accusations were exaggerated or simply untrue. I felt hurt, frustrated, and deeply wounded that nobody seemed to understand my side of the story.
The landlord encouraged me to apologise and try to make peace, but everything inside me resisted it.
Why should I apologise when I didn’t feel entirely at fault?
Looking back now, I can admit I probably wasn’t the greatest communicator either. I was young, emotional, and still learning how to navigate conflict well. But at the time, all I could feel was injustice.
I remember walking alone along the riverside in Perth city, wrestling internally with everything. Part of me felt so overwhelmed I even considered packing up and moving back to New Zealand altogether.
And it was there, during that walk, that I sensed God speak quietly but firmly to my heart.
Not with condemnation.
Not with anger.
Just a simple instruction:
“Humble yourself anyway.”
I sensed God asking me to apologise for my own part in the breakdown of the relationship - even if I still believed the situation had been unfair.
And honestly?
That hurt.
Because sometimes humility feels far harder than proving you’re right.
But deep down, I knew God wasn’t asking me to deny my pain.
He was asking me to trust Him with it.
Almost like He was gently reminding me:
“Leave justice in My hands.
Vengeance is Mine.”
So eventually, I did it.
I humbled myself and apologised sincerely for my part in the tension, even though the apology wasn’t returned.
And while it didn’t magically fix everything overnight, something shifted inside me afterwards. There was peace in knowing I had obeyed God and kept my own heart soft instead of allowing bitterness to take root.
What’s interesting is that several years later - after I had moved overseas - I heard that the same couple had been removed from the country due to dishonesty surrounding their immigration papers. Not long after that, the landlord finally acknowledged how betrayed he felt because he eventually discovered they had been lying to him all along.
I remember quietly sitting with that information and thinking:
God saw the truth the entire time.
I didn’t need to fight so desperately to defend myself.
I didn’t need to remain collapsed in hurt forever.
And I certainly didn’t need to carry bitterness for years trying to prove I was right.
God was fully capable of handling what I could not.
Looking back now, I realise that moment by the river was never just about the other couple.
It was about what God was forming in me.
Because sometimes obedience is not about winning.
Sometimes it’s about remaining humble, teachable, and free from bitterness even when life feels unfair.
And perhaps that’s part of what God was teaching Joshua too.
There comes a point where we must stop sitting in the ashes of hurt, confusion, disappointment, or self-pity and allow God to help us rise again with wisdom, courage, and a softer heart than before.
There have been seasons in my own life where I’ve collapsed emotionally over situations that weren’t even entirely my fault. Times where I’ve sat in guilt, sadness, confusion, or disappointment, desperately searching myself and asking:
“Lord, what did I do wrong?”
“Where did I fail?”
“How did this happen?”
And sometimes, gently but firmly, I sense God saying:
“Barb… get up off the floor.”
Not in anger.
Not in rejection.
But with the loving firmness of a Father reminding me that sitting in self-pity won’t solve the problem.
Because sometimes the issue isn’t that we are bad people.
Sometimes the issue is simply that something needs to be addressed.
I think many tender-hearted people struggle with this.
Especially those of us who care deeply, lead others, carry responsibility, or genuinely want to honour God.
We can become so introspective that we assume every setback must somehow be our personal failure.
But the book of Joshua reminds us that not every battle loss means God has abandoned us.
Not every hard season means we’ve failed Him.
And not every emotional collapse is meant to become a permanent dwelling place.
Sometimes God comforts us.
And sometimes God calls us higher.
Sometimes we need the gentle:
“There, there… you’ll be okay.”
And other times we need:
“Come on now. Get up.
There’s still work to do.”
I’m beginning to realise that conviction and condemnation are not the same thing.
Condemnation leaves us paralysed in shame.
Conviction leads us toward action, wisdom, repentance, or clarity.
One keeps us on the floor.
The other helps us rise again.
What I love most about this passage is that God didn’t shame Joshua for grieving. He simply refused to let him stay there once action was required.
That speaks deeply to me.
Because I think many of us spend too much time sitting in emotional ashes over things God is actually asking us to stand up and face.
Not with panic.
Not with fear.
But with courage.
The older I get, the more I realise maturity isn’t the absence of emotion.
It’s learning when to grieve…
when to rest…
when to reflect…
and when to finally stand back up again.
And maybe that’s the message some of us need today.
Not condemnation.
Not endless self-analysis.
Just a loving reminder from God:
“Get up off the floor.
There’s still work to do.”
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