There’s a universal human belief system that rarely gets written down but is passionately practiced: “God, I’m happy to serve You… just not in that way, with those people, or at this time.”

We love God. We trust God. We just strongly suspect He has wildly overestimated us.

Enter Moses.

Exodus 3 opens with Moses doing what many of us prefer spiritually: tending sheep, minding his own business, staying far away from Egypt, Pharaoh, and anything that looks like public responsibility. Moses has carefully curated a quiet life. It involves livestock. Livestock don’t argue. Livestock don’t ask questions. Livestock don’t expect speeches.

And then God shows up in a burning bush and says, “I’m sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people out of Egypt.” And Moses says what every reasonable human would say: “Who… me?”

Not, “Wow, what an honor!”
Or, “Finally, my moment!”
Just, “Who am I to do this?”“Have You seen my résumé?”
“I’m not a leader.”
“I stutter.”
“I have a past.”
“I am not good with confrontation.”
“Surely there is someone else who enjoys public speaking and butting heads.”

Moses then launches into what can only be described as the first recorded spiritual excuse list.

“What if they don’t believe me?”
“What if they don’t listen to me?”
“What if they don’t like me?”
“What if I mess it up?”
“What if I say the wrong thing?”
“What if I freeze?”
“What if I trip?”
“What if my voice cracks?”

Moses is basically saying, “Lord, I’ve run the simulation in my head, and it goes badly.”

And God answers Moses’ “What” questions with a “Why” answer. “I will be with you.”

Not: “You’ll feel brave.”
Or: “You’ll finally believe in yourself.”
Or: “You’ll discover your hidden potential.”

Just: “I will be with you.”

Then God starts stacking the help. Here, have a staff that turns into a snake when you throw it down and back into a staff when you pick it up. And a hand that can suddenly develop and then lose leprosy. God introduces Moses to power that is obviously not coming from him.

But Moses still isn’t convinced.

“Lord,” he says, “I’m not eloquent.”

This is where the conversation gets almost comical. God, who invented mouths, replies: “Who gave humans their mouths?” In other words: “Moses… I am painfully aware of how talking works.”

Finally, when Moses is fully out of excuses, he just says the quiet part out loud:
“Please send someone else.” Which, if we’re honest, is the most relatable verse in Exodus. And yet, God does not cancel the mission. Instead, He equips Moses anyway. He gives him Aaron. He gives him words. He gives him authority. He gives him power that will only make sense once Moses steps forward.

Fast-forward to Paul in 2 Corinthians 3, who essentially says the same thing but with fewer livestock references: “Our competence comes from God.”

Not some of it.
Not the spiritual parts.
Not the easy parts.

All of it.

Paul says we are not sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us. Which is both humbling and deeply relieving. Because here’s the truth we avoid admitting:

We like familiar people because they already know our flaws. We like safe spaces because failure there feels smaller. We like comfort because it doesn’t ask much. But God keeps calling us beyond ourselves because nothing about His work was ever supposed to rely on our adequacy. If God only called the confident, the articulate, the fearless, and the fully qualified, most of the Bible would be blank pages.

Instead, He calls the hesitant.
The stutterers.
The former fugitives.
The people who say, “Surely You mean someone else.”

And then He equips them.

Moses’ weakness did not disqualify him. It became the backdrop for God’s strength. Which means the resounding message of Exodus isn’t, “Try harder.” It’s, “Trust deeper.”

God doesn’t call the equipped.
He equips the called.

And very often, He does it while we’re still saying,
“Lord, I’m really not sure about this.”

Which, apparently, is exactly the kind of person He’s looking for.