The book you start today never mentions God. Not once. And He is on every page of it, moving through beauty pageants and palace politics and one uncle's stubborn conscience.

Some seasons of your life read like Esther, no visible miracles, no audible voice. Today begins a masterclass in trusting the Author you cannot see in the scene.

Haman cast lots to pick the killing day, and the dice landed eleven months out. He read it as luck. Heaven had bought the Jews time. That is Esther's whole method: no miracles, no voice, just timing so precise it can only be Providence wearing coincidence like a coat.

The communion table works the same quiet way. On the night he was betrayed, at the darkest possible hour, Jesus was not being cornered. He was instituting the meal that would outlast the empire that killed him. God's silence has never once meant His absence.