My daughters make these bead bracelets with words on them — tiny letters and bright beads strung on elastic, and I asked them to make me one with the two words I find myself clinging to more than any other: 'but God'. I wear that bracelet every day. It's small and simple, but every time I glance at my wrist, I remember: whatever is happening in my life, however hopeless a situation may feel, 'but God' is always coming to turn the tables.
There's something holy about those two words. They're not a promise that problems will vanish on command or that life will be easy. They serve as a reminder that God's limitless power meets our limitations. They name the pivot point where human despair gives way to divine intervention. Something was lost — but God restored it. Someone was dead — but God raised them. A person was blind — but God gave sight. There was no way forward — but God made a way.
I love that such a short phrase captures the very character of who God is. Redeemer. Rescuer. Restorer. Time and again in Scripture, we see ordinary people in impossible situations — and then that divine interruption: but God. The preacher Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones once said the whole Bible could be summed up in those two words, and you can see why. The story of Scripture is, at its heart, a string of 'but Gods'.
Think about Adam and Eve: a garden, a perfect home, and then a catastrophic choice that shattered their relationship, joy, and trust. It looks like the end of the story — a ruined beginning, a broken promise, a humanity cut off from its Creator. But God steps in, covering their shame, speaking hope into the curse, and beginning the work of redemption that would one day be fulfilled in Christ.
Then there's Noah, who lived in a world so corrupt and violent that God determined to wipe it clean. It appeared that the human race was nearing its end. But God preserved Noah and his family, giving them an ark of safety and a promise of a covenant.
Consider Abraham and Sarah, far past their childbearing years, but God had said they would be the ancestors of a nation. By every human calculation, it was laughable, impossible, absurd. But God breathes life into what was barren and brings forth Isaac — and from Isaac, a family, a nation, and eventually a Messiah.
Think about Joseph — his own brothers sold him into slavery for a few pieces of silver. In Egypt, he was wrongly accused and imprisoned with the criminals of the land. It looked like his story was one of rejection, injustice, and loss. But God was with him, and in time, he would look back and say, 'You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good, to save many lives'.
And what about the Israelites trapped in Egypt, groaning under slavery for generations? Their cries rose, and still it seemed there was no escape. But God raised Moses. But even after Pharaoh finally let them go, they found themselves pinned between the Egyptian army and the Red Sea — no way forward, no way back, no way out. But God parted the waters and made a dry path where there had been an ocean moments before.
Remember David — the forgotten shepherd boy, overlooked by his own family when Samuel came to anoint a king. He was small, inexperienced, and certainly not the obvious choice to lead a nation. But God chose him because he saw his heart and raised him to slay giants and shepherd His people.
And of course, the Cross. The darkest day in history. The Son of God nailed to a tree, mocked, beaten, left to die. It seemed that evil had prevailed, as if death had had the final word. But God raised Him from the dead, rewriting history and opening the door of eternal life for all who believe.
Think about the disciples after that crucifixion. They were terrified, hiding behind locked doors, convinced their life was over and their Master was gone. But God spoke peace into their fear, filled them with His Spirit, and transformed them from cowards into bold witnesses who turned the world upside down.
And the story doesn't stop there. In the New Testament, we meet more 'but Gods'. Take Paul: a zealous persecutor of Christians, determined to crush the name of Jesus at all costs. He was on the road to Damascus with papers in hand, breathing threats against the church, when suddenly he was stopped in his tracks by a blinding light and a voice from heaven. Everything about his life seemed to be pointing toward destruction. But God interrupted, opened his eyes, and rerouted his story.
Paul's journey from that day forward wasn't easy. He was beaten, imprisoned, shipwrecked, and misunderstood. By outward appearances, his life was marked more by hardship than success. But God sustained him, gave him strength, filled him with joy in suffering, and used his words and witness to shape the faith of countless generations — including ours today.
I have a drawer of my own 'but God' stories. Some are dramatic and unmistakable, while others are quiet and steady reminders of God's presence. I remember seasons when I felt far from Him — living in ways that didn't honour Him, making choices that led nowhere good. I thought I was too far gone. But God drew me back, not with condemnation but with grace. When I thought I'd ruined the best parts of my life, He stitched them back in ways I couldn't have imagined.
Other times, my 'but God' has arrived in the small, everyday mercies. When I'm irritated and impatient with my children and feel incapable of being the gracious mother I want to be, God gives me patience I don't deserve. When I'm weak, discouraged, and convinced I can't keep going, He breathes strength into my bones. When my plans crumble and my confidence wavers, He opens a door I didn't even see. And I'm sure you've had your own share of but God moments too.
Sometimes it's tempting to treat 'but God' like a magic phrase that will instantly wipe away hardship. But that wouldn't be honest. Many 'but God' moments in the Bible occur in the midst of much pain. The Israelites struggled through the wilderness for decades; Joseph was locked away in prison for a crime he never committed. Paul's ministry was costly and marked by suffering. The resurrection didn't erase the reality of the crucifixion. What 'but God' means is not that suffering never appears, but that suffering never has the final word. Where we see the end, God sees the next chapter.
Some days the bracelet is just jewellery. Other days, it’s my anthem. When I’m worn out or overwhelmed, it reminds me — God is with me. When bad news comes, I find quiet conviction that He isn’t surprised, that He is working. Those two words give me courage — not because I know the outcome, but because I know who holds it.
But God has reshaped how I pray. Instead of asking for my problems to vanish, I ask for His presence — in the impossible, the broken, the overlooked. Sometimes He changes things, sometimes He changes me, and often He gives a peace that makes the hardship bearable.
The bracelet also calls me back to gratitude. It’s easy to focus on what’s still undone, but when I remember all the 'but Gods' of my life — prayers answered, doors opened, hearts healed — gratitude floods in. Each bead becomes a marker of His faithfulness, a whisper of 'I’m here'.
My daughters know its story. When I forget to wear it, they run to hand it to me, eyes bright, as if to say, 'Mom, don’t forget — but God!'
Every glance at it reminds me that God steps into our stories in ways we can’t imagine. It’s more than beads on a string — it’s a daily reminder that whatever feels lost or broken, but God is still at work.
The greatest But God of all is the story of salvation. 'But God, being rich in mercy… made us alive together with Christ' (Ephesians 2:4–7). 'But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us' (Romans 5:8).
Even in weakness or chaos, He loves, rescues, and renews. The same God who freed Joseph, guided Israel, and raised Christ is working now. So name the impossible — the heartbreak, the dream, the ache — and whisper to yourself: but God. Let it remind you that He’s already at work, and that there is always, always, always a but God.
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