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| The Parting of The Red Sea| Exodus 14:21-22 |
The sea was roaring behind us—walls of water rising higher than anything I had ever imagined. My feet were slick with sand and salt, my heart trembling with the weight of everything we had fled and everything we now faced.
I am Amina, a daughter of Hebrew slaves… and this is the moment I learned what deliverance truly looks like.
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The scent of mud and crushed reeds always takes me back to Goshen — the place where I was born, where sorrow settled into the folds of our garments like dust. My mother used to knead bread in the dim light of morning, whispering prayers she feared heaven had forgotten.
“Deliver us, Lord,” she murmured, shaping each loaf like a plea.
I grew into adulthood carrying that same quiet prayer. By the time I reached my thirtieth year, my shoulders carried the scars of the taskmaster's whip, while something deeper than bone had learned to bend without breaking. When Pharaoh’s overseers came searching for new servants for the palace, they chose me.
Strong arms, they said. Quiet eyes.
Tears had become a luxury we could no longer afford.
The palace carved a different kind of silence — one polished, cold, and full of watching eyes. I swept floors that gleamed like still water, hauled jars smoother than bone, and moved in shadows where servants were not meant to speak or be seen.
I thought that would be my life forever.
Until the day everything shifted.
___
I was carrying a jug down one of the great halls when a voice — steady, aged, unbroken — thundered through the corridor: “Let my people go.”
The jug nearly slipped from my hands.
The man standing before Pharaoh did not resemble the nobles who filled these halls. Dust and sand clung to the folds of his robe…and his staff—gnarled and weathered. His eyes held both fire and sorrow.
“Moses,” a servant whispered behind me, fear trembling in her voice.
Pharaoh leaned back on his throne and laughed — a hard, dismissive sound filling the chamber with cruel certainty.
Pharaoh’s lips curled into a sneer. “Who is this Lord,” he scoffed, “ Tell me why I should obey a deity who cannot protect His own people from my whip?”
The court murmured. Some smirked. Others watched quietly. But Moses did not bow. Did not shift. Did not blink.
His voice lowered to a whisper that somehow filled the vast chamber. "The God of Abraham will no longer be a stranger to you," Moses said. "All of Egypt will bear witness to His power. And the throne that refuses mercy shall receive none in return.”
A ripple spread through the throne room. Even Pharaoh’s laughter faltered.
Then Moses turned and walked out — each step echoing like the first crack in a mighty wall.
I didn’t understand it then, but the moment he left that room, Egypt shifted.
And something inside me shifted with it.
___
The plagues came like storms rolling in one after another, each one shaking the palace more than the last.
The river turned to blood — thick, dark, foul. Fountains reeked of death, and palace servants staggered as they tried to carry water without retching.
Frogs spilled into the courtyards until the very stones seemed alive. I brushed them from my skirts all night, biting my lip to keep from crying out.
Gnats came next— biting, swarming, crawling beneath linen and fear.
Then flies — a black cloud swallowing the daylight.
The animals fell silent in the fields, their stiff bodies marking where they stood when death claimed them.
Boils blistered skin.
The sky broke open, hurling ice that flattened a season's harvest in moments.
With each plague, the God of Moses announced himself like a knock at Egypt’s door— louder, stronger, closer.
But the darkness… the darkness swallowed everything.
Three days we drowned in it.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Alive.
The palace lit every lamp, but the flames bent and died as though the darkness devoured even fire. I sat curled in a corner of the servants’ quarters, arms wrapped around my knees, breathing shallowly.
But across the river, Goshen glowed with light.
I felt something flicker inside me — like a candle catching flame in the wind.
He sees us.
He remembers us.
Then the final night came.
A stillness fell over the land, too deep, too unnatural.
And then — the screams.
They rose through Egypt like a single shattering cry. Mothers’ wails. Fathers falling to their knees. I pressed my hands over my ears, but nothing could silence the grief.
At dawn, Pharaoh summoned Moses with broke pride. “Go,” he commanded, his voice hollow with defeat. “Take your people and leave this place.”
And so we did — thousands upon thousands, moving as one body of trembling hope.
For the first time in my life, the air tasted like freedom.
___
But freedom has shadows too.
We had only just begun to breathe again when the sound reached us — the thunder of chariot wheels tearing across the earth. Panic shot through the camp. Children cried. Men shouted. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned my thoughts.
Pharaoh had changed his mind.
Ahead of us lay the sea — vast, impossible.
Behind us, death raced closer with every heartbeat.
“Lord,” I whispered, “is this how it ends?”
Just when despair began to swallow us, Moses stepped forward, staff raised high.
A wind rose — not gentle, not small — but mighty, fierce, holy. It wrapped around us like unseen wings, pulling at our clothes, ripping through our hair. The sea shuddered.
And then — it split.
A path appeared, carved by the breath of God.
Walls of water rose on either side — shimmering blue cliffs alive with trapped fish that darted in suspended currents. The seabed glistened with fresh-rippled sand.
The impossible stood open before us.
“Go,” Moses said.
My feet trembled. My breath caught. But something urged me forward.
So I stepped into the seabed.
Cold sand under my feet. Mist clung to my skin. The hum of glory vibrating through the air. Children whispered. Mothers gasped. Men raised trembling hands in praise.
Between walls of water, I moved forward. The suspended waters captured sunlight, casting an otherworldly blue glow across our path.
Each step felt like a heartbeat in the story of God.
___
Relief washed over us when our feet touched the far shore — until the thunder returned.
Pharaoh’s army was entering the sea.
Horses screamed. Spears glinted. Chariot wheels clattered against the exposed seabed.
Fear surged through me all over again.
“Moses!” people cried.
He lifted his staff once more.
The wind shifted.
The walls trembled.
And with a roar like the sky collapsing, the waters crashed down.
Chariots disappeared beneath the waves.
Soldiers vanished in foam and fury.
Horses were swallowed whole.
The sea that saved us now destroyed our enemies in a single breath.
Silence fell — deep, holy, and vast.
I sank to my knees, tears spilling onto the sand, my chest aching with gratitude I didn’t know how to contain.
___
That night, as the camp settled under a sky washed clean by wind and wonder, I stood alone at the water’s edge.
The waves whispered softly, as if remembering what they had done.
I pressed my hand to my heart, feeling its steady beat.
I had lived in Egypt’s shadows.
I had carried sorrow like a second skin.
I had walked through fear, darkness, and death.
But today…
Today I walked between walls of water.
Today I saw God fight for His people.
Today I witnessed the beginning of a promise.
I am Amina, daughter of Hebrew slaves — a witness to wonders. The sea parted before me, and I carry its memory like an eternal flame, lighting our way toward the land God promised us.
🕊️ An Echoes of Scripture Story
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🎬 Echoes of Scripture: Moses and the Red Sea
Step into one of the most breathtaking moments in all of Scripture — when God split the sea in two and led His people through on dry ground.
This video audio story brings the miracle to life with sound, atmosphere, and emotion as the waters rise like walls on either side and Israel steps forward into freedom.
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