How reading Daniel differently than I ever had before encouraged me in a surprising way (and how I hope it encourages you, too).

In those days I, Daniel, was mourning for three full weeks. Daniel 10:2

“Why is Daniel mourning?”

That’s a question I never asked myself until recently. Usually, when I read Daniel, I look at the sensational “Bible stories.” Daniel and his friends’ vegan diet…interpreting the king’s dreams…the fiery furnace…and who could forget “Daniel and the Lion’s Den,” that Sunday School favorite.

Sometimes, though, I read Daniel to scratch my eschatological itch (it’s not contagious, don’t worry). I dive into the wild and wildly accurate visions that comprise the book’s second half, cross-referencing them with Matthew 24, Revelation, and Thessalonians. Mid-trib, pre-trib, post-trib, beasts and empires: I dissect, hypothesize, and wonder.

But both of those ways of reading Daniel hide something from me: Daniel himself.

Looking at the stories, I see Daniel, but only like we see the hero in a fairy tale: a two-dimensional cardboard cutout, symbolic of some attribute or other, but not really a person. And looking at the visions, I see Daniel, but he is nothing more than a bullhorn in the hands of the prophetic voice.

But this time, as I read, I focused on Daniel; I saw Daniel. I put myself in his shoes. I imagined being dragged away from my homeland as a teenager, forced to endure the taunts of an enemy who had concluded that their gods were better than my God because they’d beaten my family’s army and had the power. I felt his fear, so I marveled at his courage to stand tall and faithful. I smelled the pit’s stench, wondering if I’d have the same faith to wait through that dark night with the teeth and the terror. My heart soared with joy, remembering with him Jeremiah’s promise that Israel’s banishment would end after 70 years. Seventy years of hoping, waiting, dreaming, trusting…

And, crushingly, in the third year of Cyrus’ reign, Daniel was still in Babylon while many of his fellow exiles had already returned to Jerusalem.

In those days I, Daniel, was mourning for three full weeks. I didn’t eat any rich food, no meat or wine entered my mouth, and I didn’t put any oil on my body until the three weeks were over.

I don’t know, but I suspect his mourning was tied to watching his fellow citizens receive what he longed for: home. I don’t know why Daniel didn’t go back, but whether it was due to his age, health, responsibilities in Babylon, or something else, the sorrow had to be heartbreaking.

And, then, to see the vision of chapters 10-12, a messenger from God, a mighty apparition. What would he say? What incredible insight might he share about YHWH’s plans?

“Daniel, you are a man treasured by God.”

The angelic messenger would get around to minor details like the world’s end, but first?

Daniel, you are not abandoned. Your God delights in you. He treasures you. He wants what is best for you. You have not been forgotten. You are right where He wants you. Even though it may not be where you want to be, He loves you right where you are.

Daniel gets to hear what’s going to happen to his people. He is brought into the secret of the end of the age. He is given information and insight that precious few have been privileged to receive, much less managed to get their heads around.

And the angel tells him to seal all that up and quit worrying about where he’s at and what he’s missing out on. He says,

“But as for you, go on your way to the end; you will rest, and then you will rise to receive your allotted inheritance at the end of the days.”

Keep doing what God made you to do, wherever He has put you. When He’s ready, you will get to rest. When it’s ready, you will receive your reward.

I read Daniel differently, and it hit me: Daniel’s God is my God, too.

There is a God who knows the path of every atom in the universe and knows the end from the beginning. His plans include the fates of nations, continents, and entire planets. He speaks, and everything happens. To Him, the known universe is just detail work, and entire libraries are a breath.

That’s my God.

And then there’s me. I am miniscule, invisible, insignificant, with all my fears, my dreams, my contributions less than the dust falling from the world’s smallest grain of sand.

And He treasures me. I am small, but I am His. I know nothing, and He knows that He loves me. I have not been misplaced in the chaos of a swirling cosmos, nor can I get lost. I am forever in His sight, and He delights in me. I fail Him every day, and every day His mercies are new. I’m not a mistake, where I am isn’t a mistake, and I can’t “mistake” my way out of His love. He made me on purpose for His purpose.

And the same is true for you. I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but I hope that encourages you.

Keep doing what God made you to do, wherever He has put you. When He’s ready, you will get to rest. When it’s ready, you will receive your reward.