Stop Measuring Your Latter by Your Former, The Best Is Yet to Come

Exodus 2:1-10 (NKJV)

Moses Is Born

2 And a man of the house of Levi went and took as wife a daughter of Levi. ²So the woman conceived and bore a son. And when she saw that he was a beautiful child, she hid him three months. ³But when she could no longer hide him, she took an ark of bulrushes for him, daubed it with asphalt and pitch, put the child in it, and laid it in the reeds by the river’s bank. ⁴And his sister stood afar off, to know what would be done to him.

⁵Then the daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river. And her maidens walked along the riverside; and when she saw the ark among the reeds, she sent her maid to get it. ⁶And when she opened it, she saw the child, and behold, the baby wept. So she had compassion on him, and said, “This is one of the Hebrews’ children.”

⁷Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and call a nurse for you from the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for you?”

⁸And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Go.” So the maiden went and called the child’s mother. ⁹Then Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child away and nurse him for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed him. ¹⁰And the child grew, and she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son. So she called his name Moses, saying, “Because I drew him out of the water.”

There is a thin line running through the life of Moses that speaks deeply to me.

Moses could only see the season he was standing in, but God could see the beginning, the middle, and the end.

Moses saw a basket, but God saw a deliverer.

Moses saw the Nile, but God saw the Red Sea.

Moses saw Pharaoh’s house, but God saw Pharaoh’s defeat.

Moses saw forty years on the backside of a desert, but God saw a burning bush with an appointment already waiting for him.

Moses saw a shepherd’s rod, but God saw an instrument through which His power would be demonstrated.

Moses saw an impossible sea, but God saw a highway through it.

Moses could see where he was, but God knew where He was taking him.

As an infant, Moses knew nothing about his future. He could not understand Pharaoh’s decree, the faith of his mother, the little ark among the reeds, or the providential hand of God preserving his life (Exodus 1:22; 2:1–10). Moses had no history with God that he could remember while lying in that basket, Moses had a future with God that heaven already knew.

Before Moses ever knew there was a calling upon his life, God was already preserving the life that He intended to use. Before Moses ever stretched his hand over the Red Sea, the same God who would divide those waters was watching over him on the waters of the Nile.

When we look at Moses’ life, there is an extraordinary pattern in his three forty-year seasons. Acts 7:23 tells us that Moses was forty years old when it came into his heart to visit his brethren, and Acts 7:30 tells us another forty years passed before the angel of the Lord appeared to him in the burning bush. Deuteronomy 34:7 then tells us Moses was one hundred and twenty years old when he died. His life divides almost perfectly into three seasons of forty years, and each season tells us something about the way God prepares a person for purpose.

Moses spent his first forty years learning what Egypt could give him, his next forty years discovering what the wilderness could take out of him, and his final forty years discovering what God could do through a surrendered man.

The first forty years were the years of Egypt. Acts 7:22 says, “Moses was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and was mighty in words and deeds.” Egypt gave Moses education, culture, position, knowledge, and access to Pharaoh’s house. He learned how a kingdom operated. He saw government, leadership, power, wealth, architecture, organization, and authority. None of that education was necessarily wasted, but none of it by itself could make Moses the deliverer God had called him to become.

Egypt could educate Moses, but Egypt could not anoint Moses.

At forty years old, Moses attempted to intervene for one of his Hebrew brethren and killed an Egyptian (Exodus 2:11–15; Acts 7:23–29). Moses had passion, but passion had not yet been fully submitted. He had strength, but strength had not yet been surrendered. He recognized injustice, but he had not yet learned God’s way of bringing deliverance. Moses discovered something every servant of God eventually has to learn:

Having a burden does not give me permission to accomplish God’s purpose in my own strength.

Then Moses ran.

The man who had known Pharaoh’s palace found himself on the backside of the desert keeping another man’s sheep. The second forty years were completely different from the first. Egypt had taught Moses what men considered important; the wilderness began stripping those things away.

Egypt taught him how to stand before powerful people; the wilderness taught him how to stand alone before God.

Egypt taught him the language of a palace; the wilderness taught him the language of silence.

Egypt surrounded him with activity; the wilderness surrounded him with emptiness.

Yet what looked like a demotion was actually preparation.

The wilderness wasn’t where Moses’ future died. The wilderness was where his future met him.

For forty years Moses walked through the same wilderness where one day he would lead an entire nation. Think about that. Before Moses ever led Israel through the wilderness, God allowed the wilderness to work something into Moses.

Before he shepherded millions, he shepherded sheep.

Before he carried the complaints of Israel, he learned patience with a flock.

Before he stood before Pharaoh, he learned how to stand where nobody was applauding.

Before God put a nation behind him, He put sheep in front of him.

There are things Egypt can put into you that only the wilderness can take out of you.

The wilderness dealt with self-reliance. The wilderness dealt with identity. The wilderness dealt with ambition. The wilderness dealt with timing. The wilderness taught Moses that the deliverance of Israel would not happen because Moses was strong enough, educated enough, connected enough, or determined enough.

If Israel was going to come out, God was going to have to bring them out.

Then one ordinary day, while Moses was keeping Jethro’s flock, a bush began to burn without being consumed (Exodus 3:1–4). Moses thought he was walking sheep through another ordinary day, but God had scheduled an appointment in a place Moses probably thought was merely part of his routine.

God was already waiting for Moses in his latter season. Hear me, I say this by the word of the Lord, Heaven has already charted the later season of your life.

At eighty years old, when many would have thought Moses’ best years were behind him, God essentially said, “Now you are ready.” Moses probably could have looked backward and thought, “I once lived in Pharaoh’s palace. I once had influence. I once had opportunity.” But God was not trying to restore Moses to his former life. God was calling Moses into something greater than his former life.

That is where this word becomes so powerful: Stop measuring your latter by your former.

If Moses had measured his latter by his former, the shepherd looked smaller than the prince. The wilderness looked smaller than Egypt. The rod looked smaller than Pharaoh’s resources. But Moses did not yet understand what God could do with a shepherd’s rod placed into surrendered hands.

His final forty years would demonstrate something his first eighty years could never have produced: what God can do through a surrendered man.

At eighty years old Moses stood before Pharaoh (Exodus 7:7). At eighty years old he watched God shake Egypt with signs and wonders. At eighty years old he celebrated the first Passover. At eighty years old he stretched out his hand and watched the Red Sea divide (Exodus 14:21).

In his latter years he climbed Sinai, received the commandments of God, interceded for a rebellious nation, experienced the glory of God, and spoke with the Lord with extraordinary intimacy (Exodus 33:11–23).

His greatest usefulness did not come in his first forty years when he possessed Egypt’s advantages. It came after the wilderness had taught him dependence upon God.

The first forty showed what Egypt could put into Moses. The second forty showed what the wilderness could take out of Moses. The final forty showed what God could pour through Moses.

And perhaps that is what makes the latter greater. Greater does not always mean bigger buildings, larger crowds, more money, greater recognition, or fewer battles. Sometimes the latter is greater because there is less of me obstructing the flow of Him.

The young Moses had strength. The latter Moses had surrender.

The young Moses had Egyptian education. The latter Moses had divine encounter.

The young Moses tried to deliver one Hebrew in his own strength. The latter Moses stood still and watched God deliver an entire nation.

The difference was not simply age. The difference was surrender.

This brings me to Numbers 23:19: “God is not a man, that He should lie, nor a son of man, that He should repent.” God did not discover Moses’ purpose at the burning bush. The wilderness did not surprise Him. Moses’ failure did not surprise Him. The forty-year delay did not surprise Him. God knew the when. God knew the where. God knew the process. God knew what needed to come into Moses, what needed to come out of Moses, and what He eventually intended to pour through Moses.

Moses had history with God, but Moses still had a future with God.

Near the end of Moses’ life, Deuteronomy 34:7 gives us an amazing statement: “Moses was one hundred and twenty years old when he died. His eyes were not dim nor his natural vigor diminished.” His latter season was not merely an old man sitting somewhere remembering what God used to do. There was still purpose upon his life.

That same principle appears throughout Scripture. Job 42:12 says, “Now the LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning.” Haggai 2:9 declares, “The glory of this latter temple shall be greater than the former.” Psalm 92:14 says the righteous “shall still bear fruit in old age.” Caleb stood at eighty-five years old and said, “Give me this mountain” (Joshua 14:12). Paul said he was “forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead” (Philippians 3:13).

God does not ask me to forget His faithfulness in my past.

My former season is part of my testimony. Yesterday’s testimony is never to become the ceiling of today’s expectation.

My former tells me what God has done. My faith tells me He isn’t finished.

I have history with God, but I still have a future with God.

My past contains testimonies, but my future still contains assignments. My past contains encounters, but my future still contains mountains. My past contains miracles, but my future still contains obedience. My past contains scars, but my future still contains fruit.

So I will stop measuring my latter by my former. I will not measure the burning bush by Pharaoh’s palace. I will not measure the shepherd’s rod by Egypt’s scepter. I will not measure the wilderness by what I left behind. I will not measure the Red Sea by what my natural eyes can see. And I will not measure tomorrow by yesterday.

What looks like a wilderness from where I am standing may be preparation from where God is looking.

Maybe the years I thought were delaying me were developing me. Maybe the season I thought was taking something away from me was making room for something God wanted to pour through me. Maybe God wasn’t burying me in the wilderness at all. Maybe He was growing roots where nobody could see them.

The God who was faithful in my former season is already present in my latter season.

The God who preserved Moses on the Nile was already waiting at the burning bush.

The God who met him at the bush was already waiting at the Red Sea.

The God who met him at the Red Sea was already waiting on Sinai.

I have history with God, but I still have a future with God.

My latter can be greater than my former not because I will become greater, but because surrender can give God greater room to work through my life.