“God is with you in all that you do.”
Those sound like wonderful words to have someone say about you. They were spoken about Abraham by Abimelech in Genesis 21.
But Abimelech didn’t stop there.
“God is with you in all that you do. Now therefore, swear to me here by God that you will not deal falsely with me or with my descendants or with my posterity, but according to the kindness that I have done to you, you shall do to me and to the land in which you have dwelt.”
— Genesis 21:22–23
I used to focus mostly on the first part of that passage. Abimelech could see that Abraham was blessed. Abraham had become wealthy. His flocks and household had grown, and it was evident that something was different about this man.
But these days, I’m just as interested in what Abimelech said next.
In essence: I can see that God is with you. Therefore, deal honestly with me.
Abimelech connected Abraham’s profession of faith and the evident blessing of God on his life with an expectation concerning Abraham’s behaviour.
If this God you serve is really with you, then I should be able to trust you.
That hits a little differently.
We can sometimes talk about the favour of God as though it gives us access to places we otherwise couldn’t go. We talk about God giving us influence in business, government, entertainment, education, our neighbourhoods, or wherever He has placed us.
And He certainly can.
But influence carries responsibility.
We can’t publicly give God the glory for our success while privately conducting our lives in ways that contradict His character. We can’t praise Jesus when the microphone is in front of us and then treat people poorly when nobody important seems to be watching.
God is with us wherever we go. Yes.
But that doesn’t mean He puts a stamp of approval on everything we do.
The People Who Were Watching Us
Years ago, a fairly large group of my friends had a Sunday tradition. Most of us were single at the time, and after church we would often descend upon a little mom-and-pop restaurant.
They were wonderfully accommodating. They would pull tables together for us, put up with our sometimes loud and spirited conversations, and generally make room for us. We usually went when the restaurant wasn’t particularly busy, and we made sure our server was tipped well.
Our regular server was the owner’s daughter. She was working there to earn money for her education.
Her father was usually somewhere nearby. He often sat close to the kitchen where he could keep an eye on what was happening in the restaurant.
They knew us.
They knew we were Christians.
They had watched us pray over our meals week after week. They had overheard conversations about Jesus. There was absolutely no mystery about where this large Sunday crowd had come from.
Then one Sunday, a friend who had been away for quite some time joined us.
And he was everything a waitress dreads.
He was rude. He demanded change after change to his order. I remember him sending his toast back three times because it wasn’t toasted exactly the way he wanted it.
We knew this young woman well enough by then to recognise that she was struggling to keep it together.
I was disgusted by the way she was being treated.
And here is something I need to admit when I tell this story now: I didn’t speak up.
Looking back, I wish I had.
It was a long table, and I don’t know whether someone sitting closer to him quietly said something. Perhaps they did. I hope they did.
I know I didn’t.
What I did do was leave our waitress a substantial tip.
Apparently, quite a few other people at that table had exactly the same idea.
Nobody organised it. There was no whispered campaign going around the table. We simply saw what had happened and, individually, tried to communicate in the way available to us that we were sorry she had been treated that way.
Later that week, another friend and I happened to be in the neighbourhood, so we stopped at the restaurant for coffee and a piece of pie.
The restaurant was practically empty. Our usual waitress was there, and so was her father in his customary spot.
She came over to us looking concerned,
She told us that after we had left on Sunday, she had discovered that the tips our group had left amounted to almost twice the cost of our meals. She thought there must have been some sort of mistake. Our group had sometimes had one person pay for several people, so she wondered whether there had been a mix-up.
She had actually kept the extra money aside.
Before she could she walk towards the counter to get the money, we stopped her.
“No, no, no. That was for you.”
We explained that we felt terrible about the way our guest had treated her. We also apologised, humbly, for not doing more to show our disapproval of his actions the previous Sunday. We wanted her to know that we had seen what happened, that we cared, and that we were genuinely sorry.
Again, we reassured her that no mistake had been made. The tip was for her.
She started to cry.
Her dad was watching.
He could hear enough of the conversation to understand what was happening.
And something shifted after that day.
Whenever our group came into the restaurant, her father began getting up from his usual spot and coming over to greet us. He would talk with us and engage with us in a way he hadn’t before.
Eventually, when the restaurant wasn’t busy and it wouldn’t create a scene, there were times when we would ask his daughter if we could pray for her.
She let us.
That family had already watched us pray over our food.
They had already heard us talk about Jesus.
They already knew we went to church.
But something changed when they watched how we responded when their daughter was being treated badly.
And that still makes me think.
What Are People Entitled to Expect?
I don’t tell that story because I think we handled everything perfectly. I’ve already told you the part I wish I could change.
I wish I had spoken up.
Leaving a generous tip afterward did not relieve me of the responsibility I felt to say something while it was happening. That is part of what this story has taught me as I’ve looked back on it.
But I’ve also realised that nobody at that table was trying to gain influence with the restaurant owner.
We weren’t trying to create a ministry opportunity.
We weren’t evangelizing.
We cared about his daughter.
And strangely enough, that was what opened a door.
Maybe that’s something worth remembering when we talk about Christian influence.
If we live with integrity only because we hope it will give us influence, we’ve already missed something important.
We live with integrity simply Jesus instructed us to do so and we follow His example.
And sometimes people notice.
Our waitress and her dad did.
Abimelech did.
He looked at Abraham and essentially said, I can see that your God is with you. Therefore, I expect you to deal honestly with me.
Perhaps the people around us are entitled to expect something similar.
If I tell people that Jesus is Lord of my life, what should they reasonably expect when they do business with me?
When they serve my meal and make a mistake?
When they disagree with my beliefs?
When its obvious that my integrity won’t earn me perks in return?
I hope they don’t expect perfection as I certainly can’t offer them that.
But they should be able to expect that the Jesus I talk about on Sunday has something to do with the way I treat them on Monday.
We really can’t have it both ways.
Until next week,
©2026 Katherine Walden
