Introduction

Scripture is filled with stories of people who did remarkable things for God—but every so often, it pauses to highlight something quieter, simpler, and far more personal.

One of those moments comes almost in passing. Enoch’s story is told in 3 verses. But then it has a rather remarkable ending:

“Enoch walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him.”
—Genesis 5:24 (NIV)

That’s it.
No résumé.
No list of accomplishments.
No explanation.

In a genealogy defined by repetition—and then he died… and then he died… and then he died—Enoch stands out as a quiet interruption. His life is remembered not for what he built, led, or produced, but for who he walked with.

That brief line echoes something far older—something first glimpsed in the opening chapters of Genesis, when humanity walked with God unhidden and unafraid. Even after sin fractured that closeness, Enoch’s story tells us something quietly hopeful:

Walking with God was still possible.

A Quiet Walk in a Noisy World

Scripture doesn’t tell us what Enoch accomplished. It doesn’t tell us how many people he influenced or what legacy he left behind. It tells us only that he walked with God.

That alone was enough.

Not long after Enoch, we meet Noah.

Like Enoch, Noah is described as one who walked with God. But unlike Enoch, Noah is given an assignment—an enormous one. He’s told to build an ark in a world that has never seen rain, trusting God through decades of obedience that likely looked foolish to everyone around him.

Enoch is taken out of the world.
Noah is preserved through the rest of the world’s judgment.

Different assignments.
Different outcomes.
Same commendation.

Together, they teach us something essential: God values faithfulness expressed in very different ways. Sometimes walking with God looks quiet and unseen. Sometimes it looks like long obedience, public faithfulness, and perseverance without applause.

The assignment differs—but the measure does not.

When Impact Becomes the Goal

That distinction has been confronting for me.

Throughout my career, I’ve been wired to think in terms of impact. Whatever role I’ve held—especially in leadership—I’ve wanted to make a difference, to improve outcomes, to leave things better than I found them.

That mindset didn’t disappear when I turned my attention toward serving God. If anything, it intensified. I wanted to make an impact for the Kingdom. A meaningful one. Preferably a large one. I wanted to be John Eldridge. Timothy Keller. N.T. Wright.

I wanted to reach and help and encourage as many people as I could for God.

But as I’ve been writing this blog—researching, wrestling with Scripture, struggling against my own “wiring”—something unexpected has happened.

God has been loosening my grip on outcomes. He has assured me countless times (because I keep reverting to my performance and metrics mindset) that it’s not the numbers of readers or likes that matter.

The focus has quietly shifted from
Who (how many) will read this?
to
Who am I walking with while I write it?

The act of writing.
The time in the Word.
The conversations with God that happen before a single word is shared.

Those moments—quiet, unseen, unmeasured—have become the gift.

That’s when Enoch’s story began to feel personal.

It’s my closeness to God that matters. It’s the work He has been doing in me through the process of writing these posts.

Faithfulness Measured in Proximity

Enoch wasn’t remembered for what he accomplished. He was remembered for who he walked with.

His life reminds us that faithfulness is not first about assignments or results, but about nearness. About presence. About relationship.

“Ark” Means “Container”

Even the details of Noah’s story reinforce this truth. The Hebrew word used for Noah’s ark doesn’t mean “ship” at all—it means box or container. God didn’t remove the flood; He provided a place of preservation within it. This container became the means of salvation, not only for Noah and his family, but for every type of animal, and for all of humanity.

God encourages Noah to trust Him, to step out in faith and do something that probably earned him more than his share of ridicule. But by listening to God, by walking with Him through decades of hard work and “crazy old Noah” jokes, he saved himself, his family, and all of us.

God could have withheld the difficulty. He could have made it not flood. He could have given Noah a ready-made ark. But he didn’t.

Why not?

For the same reason that He often doesn’t remove us from complexity or uncertainty. He often doesn’t save us from going through the storms. He doesn’t magically make me a famous blogger, with publishers falling all over themselves to publish my book.

Instead, He invites us to walk closely with Him through all of it. He gives us another sort of Container to carry us through life’s floodwaters. He named it Jesus.

Genesis tells us that God grieved over the state of humanity—that His heart was deeply troubled by what we had become (Genesis 6:6). This isn’t the regret of a distant Creator who made a mistake. It’s the grief of a God who loves deeply—and therefore feels deeply.

And yet, even in that grief, God notices Enoch.
God finds favor in Noah.
Relationship with Him remains possible.

Walking Toward Restoration

The story of Scripture moves steadily toward restoration—toward a day when God once again dwells fully with His people.

In that sense, walking with God isn’t just a metaphor for faithfulness now; it’s a rehearsal for what eternity is meant to be.

If this blog reaches many people, that’s a blessing.
If it reaches only a few—or only me—that doesn’t make the walk any less real.

Because faithfulness, it turns out, isn’t measured in audience size or visible impact.

It’s measured in proximity.

And sometimes, the most meaningful thing we can do is simply this:

Walk with God.

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Go Deeper

I have a small confession to make. Oftentimes when I write these blog posts, I feel like I leave a lot unsaid that I would like to say. I find myself holding back or even removing sentences or whole sections to keep the posts accessible, something that can be read in just a few minutes.

This particular post is no exception. Except this time I received the inspiration to add a section called “Go Deeper” for those readers who may hunger for more insights, more encouragement, or more dad jokes, this section may provide that.

If that’s not you, then you’ve consumed the “main” content, so feel free to skip to the end to leave a like or comment (even though it’s not all about the numbers…right? ).

Otherwise, read on….

Enoch and Noah: Same Walk, Different Callings

In Genesis, Enoch and Noah appear close together, and that placement is intentional. Scripture tells us that both men walked with God, yet their lives unfolded very differently.

Enoch’s walk led to quiet intimacy. We’re given no record of his accomplishments or assignments—only the outcome of his nearness to God. Noah’s walk, on the other hand, led to a demanding, visible calling. He was asked to build something tangible, costly, and misunderstood, trusting God through many years of obedience with no immediate payoff.

The contrast matters. It tells us that walking with God does not guarantee a particular kind of calling. Some are taken out of the storm; others are asked to build through it.

Faithfulness looks the same at its core—trust, obedience, relationship—even when the expression looks radically different.

So for me, even though I don’t have the impact of John Eldridge, Timothy Keller, or N.T. Wright, I still feel called to write this little blog each week.

Why? Because doing so is drawing me closer to God. And because maybe someday, in some way that I may never know, the words I write will help another follower of Christ—or even someone who’s not quite there yet—walk with God in a deeper, more meaningful way.

Two Arks (and a Basket), One Story of Preservation

Here’s something that deepened my appreciation for this story as I was researching this post.

In English, we use the word ark for multiple biblical objects—but in Hebrew, different words are used, each describing a different kind of container, with a remarkably consistent purpose.

Noah’s ark is called tevah (תֵּבָה).
That word doesn’t mean ship. It means box, chest, or container.

The word appears only two places in the Old Testament:

• for Noah’s ark (Genesis 6–9), as described in the “main” part of the post
• and for the basket that saved baby Moses (Exodus 2:3)

That connection stopped me in my tracks.

In both cases, God does not remove the danger:

• He does not stop the flood.
• He does not prevent Pharaoh’s decree that caused Moses’ mother to set him adrift in the safety of a basket, giving him a chance to survive.

Instead, He provides a container—a place of preservation within the chaos.

The waters still rise.
The river still flows.
Judgment and danger still exist.

But those who trust God enough to step into what He provides are carried through the dangers.

Noah’s tevah preserves humanity and creation.
Moses’ tevah preserves the deliverer of Israel.

Different moments in history.
Same divine strategy.

The Ark of the Covenant, on the other hand, uses a different Hebrew word: aron (אָרוֹן).
It also means container—but this one holds the symbols of God’s covenant and represents His dwelling presence among His people.

So we have:

• a tevah that preserves life
• and an aron that preserves relationship

Different objects.
Different contexts.
Same divine impulse.

I found it interesting that the people who translated the Old Testament into English chose to use the same word for both—ark.

God consistently chooses to preserve life and relationship through proximity—by inviting His people inside what He provides, rather than removing them from the storm altogether.

The Greater Container

Seen through this lens, it becomes impossible not to see where the arc of the story is heading (pun intended—there’s your bonus dad joke).

God doesn’t ultimately save humanity through a wooden box, a woven basket, or a gilded chest.

He saves us through a Person.

Jesus is the final Container—the place where judgment and mercy meet.

Like the ark:

• He does not prevent the storm.
• He enters it.

Like the basket:

• He is placed into vulnerability.
• He is entrusted fully to the Father.

And like the Ark of the Covenant:

• He is the dwelling place of God with humanity.

To be “in Christ” is to be sheltered by Him.
To abide in Him is to be carried through waters we could never survive on our own.

God may not remove us from the flood.
But He always provides a way to remain with Him in the midst of it.

A Question Worth Sitting With

If Enoch reminds us that walking with God is the goal,
and Noah reminds us that obedience may still be required,
then the deeper question becomes this:

Am I more focused on the assignment God might give me—or on staying close enough to hear Him clearly, whatever that assignment may be?

That’s a question worth returning to.
Again and again.

Sometimes, walking with God doesn’t mean avoiding the flood—it means trusting the One who carries us through it.