How a Kid Who Confused God’s Voice for His Boss Became the Last Great Judge of Israel (And Therapy Material for Millennia)
Let me tell you about Samuel, a man whose life story reads like a setup for a therapy session that lasts decades and requires multiple specialists.
He was the miracle baby his mother begged God for—and then immediately gave away to live with a priest in a temple when he was THREE YEARS OLD. Imagine being the answer to someone’s desperate prayer and your reward is getting dropped off at religious boarding school before you’re potty-trained.
He grew up in a religious institution run by a man (Eli) whose own sons were so spectacularly corrupt they made televangelists look ethical. These guys were stealing from the offering plate, sleeping with the temple staff, and basically running the first-century equivalent of a religious scam operation. And Eli’s response? “Boys, could you maybe not?”
Samuel heard God’s voice as a child—but thought it was his boss calling him, which is either the most relatable work experience ever or the setup for the world’s most confusing performance review. He then had to deliver terrible news to the only father figure he’d ever known. “Hey Eli, you know how your sons are terrible? Yeah, God’s going to destroy your entire family line. Sleep well!”
He spent his adult life trying to lead a nation that kept rejecting God’s leadership in favor of wanting a king “like all the other nations”—the ancient equivalent of “but everyone else’s parents let them do it!”
He anointed said king (Saul), watched him descend into paranoid, spear-throwing madness, and then had to secretly anoint a replacement (David) while Saul was still alive and actively hunting people who looked at him wrong.
And then—because Samuel’s boundaries were apparently negotiable even in death—some witch literally summoned him from the afterlife so Saul could have one more dysfunctional conversation.
This man had BOUNDARIES ISSUES, IDENTITY CONFUSION, CODEPENDENCY PROBLEMS, RELIGIOUS TRAUMA, and a lifelong pattern of trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved while working in a toxic organizational culture.
In other words, he’s perfect for talking about recovery.
Samuel’s story isn’t about hitting rock bottom with substances. It’s about the patterns underneath addiction—the codependency, the people-pleasing, the confusion about whose voice to listen to, the inability to let go when it’s time to let go, the grief of watching people you care about destroy themselves while you’re powerless to stop them.
Samuel is the sponsor who can’t let go of their sponsee even when it’s clearly not working. The adult child of an alcoholic who learned early to be hyper-responsible because the adults around them weren’t. The person in recovery who keeps trying to fix everyone else instead of focusing on their own healing. The one who hears voices (literally and metaphorically) and has to learn which ones to listen to.
So buckle up, because we’re about to explore how a Biblical prophet who never touched alcohol can teach us everything about the emotional and relational patterns that fuel addiction and make recovery so complicated.
Hannah’s Prayer (When Your Origin Story Is Someone Else’s Desperation)
Samuel’s story doesn’t start with Samuel. It starts with his mother Hannah, who was desperate for a child in a way that would require trigger warnings if this were a modern novel.
She was one of two wives (already a setup for disaster—has polygamy EVER worked out well in the Bible? Spoiler: no) married to a man named Elkanah. The other wife, Peninnah, had children. Lots of them, apparently. Hannah had none. Zero. Zilch.
And Peninnah—because humans have always been terrible and the Bible doesn’t sugarcoat it—kept “provoking her in order to irritate her” about her childlessness. The text literally says Peninnah did this year after year, which means this wasn’t a one-time mean comment. This was a sustained campaign of psychological warfare. Imagine Thanksgiving dinner, but every year, for decades, with someone whose entire personality is rubbing your biggest insecurity in your face.
So Hannah goes to the temple and prays. Not a quiet, demure, “Dear God, if it’s your will” prayer. The text says she was “deeply distressed” and “wept bitterly” and prayed so intensely, moving her lips but making no sound, that the priest Eli thought she was DRUNK and told her to sober up.
Picture this: You’re at your lowest point, pouring out your heart to God in desperate, silent prayer, tears streaming down your face, and the religious authority figure walks over and says, “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to put down the wine and leave the temple.”
That’s Hannah’s spiritual experience. Getting accused of being wasted while having a breakdown.
She wasn’t drunk. She was desperate. Devastated. At the absolute end of herself.
And she makes a vow: “Lord Almighty, if you will only look on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.”
Translation: “God, if you give me a baby, I’ll give him back to you. Permanently. He’s yours. Also, terrible haircuts for life.”
God answers. She conceives. She has Samuel. And then—true to her word, because Hannah apparently doesn’t make promises she doesn’t keep even when they’re INSANE—as soon as he’s weaned (probably around age 3), she takes him to the temple and leaves him there with Eli.
THREE YEARS OLD. Most kids that age are still figuring out how to use a toilet consistently and here’s Hannah saying, “Well, nice knowing you, son! Enjoy living with the priest and his delinquent sons! I’ll visit once a year and bring you little robes!”
She says: “I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.”
This is simultaneously beautiful, faith-filled, heartbreaking, and profoundly messed up.
Samuel’s entire existence is the answer to someone else’s prayer. His purpose was decided before he was born. His life was bargained away in a desperate negotiation with God. His mother’s devotion meant his abandonment. He’s like a divine IOU that Hannah cashed in and then handed over.
And yes, Hannah visited him yearly and made him little robes (which honestly sounds like the most depressing version of “care packages from home” ever—”Here’s your annual coat, try not to outgrow it before I see you next year!”). And yes, she had more children later (five more kids, actually, so clearly God was like “okay, you get to keep these ones”). And yes, this was a culture where dedicating a child to religious service was considered an honor.
But Samuel was THREE when she left him there.
This is the origin story of someone who grows up never quite knowing where they belong, whose value is tied to fulfilling someone else’s purpose, who learns early that love comes with conditions and expectations and contracts negotiated before you’re old enough to consent to them.
This is the origin story of someone who grows up never quite knowing where they belong, whose value is tied to fulfilling someone else’s purpose, who learns early that love comes with conditions and expectations.
In recovery terms, this is the setup for codependency. For people-pleasing. For deriving your worth from being useful to others. For never quite knowing what YOU want because your whole life has been about meeting everyone else’s needs.
Samuel grows up in the temple—a religious institution. He’s raised by Eli, who is a good-hearted but ineffective leader. Eli’s own sons, Hophni and Phinehas, are priests who are “scoundrels” who “had no regard for the Lord.” They’re stealing from sacrifices, sleeping with women who serve at the temple entrance, and generally corrupting everything they touch.
Eli knows about it. The text says people told him. And what does he do? He gives them a mild rebuke. “Why do you do such things?”
That’s it. No consequences. No removal from position. No accountability. Just “guys, could you maybe not?”
So Samuel grows up in a dysfunctional religious environment where the people in charge are either corrupt or unwilling to enforce boundaries. He sees the disconnect between what’s preached and what’s practiced. He learns that bad behavior gets tolerated and enabled.
This is the classic setup for someone who grows up in an addictive family system or environment. You learn to navigate dysfunction. You become hyper-responsible to compensate for the irresponsibility around you. You learn not to trust authority figures because they say one thing and do another.
Lesson one: Your origin story shapes you, but it doesn’t have to define you. Samuel was given away by his mother and raised in dysfunction, yet he became a voice of truth. Your beginning doesn’t determine your ending.
“Here I Am” (The Confusion of Learning Whose Voice to Listen To)
Now we get to the famous scene: God calling Samuel in the night. This is the story that gets told in Sunday School with flannel boards and songs, but nobody talks about how absolutely confusing and borderline comedic it actually is.
Samuel is lying down in the temple. It’s night. He’s probably around 12 years old at this point—old enough to have responsibilities but young enough to still be utterly clueless about most things.
He hears a voice calling his name: “Samuel!”
He assumes it’s Eli, so he runs to him: “Here I am; you called me.”
Eli, probably half-asleep and confused: “I didn’t call you. Go back to bed.”
So Samuel goes back to bed. Because when your elderly boss says he didn’t call you, you don’t argue. You just accept that you’re hearing things and try to go back to sleep.
Then it happens AGAIN. “Samuel!”
He jumps up, runs to Eli again: “Here I am; you called me.”
Eli, now probably annoyed: “My son, I did not call; go back and lie down.”
Notice Eli doesn’t even consider other possibilities yet. Not “hmm, that’s weird, maybe something else is going on.” Just “kid, you’re hearing things, go to bed.”
Samuel goes back. And THEN IT HAPPENS A THIRD TIME.
“Samuel!”
And Samuel—bless his persistent heart—runs to Eli AGAIN. “Here I am; you called me.”
At this point, most people would be like “okay, this kid is either pranking me or having a mental health crisis.” But Eli finally has a light bulb moment: “Oh. OH. That might be the Lord calling the boy.”
It took THREE TIMES for Eli to figure this out. And remember, Eli is the HIGH PRIEST. This is his job. Recognizing divine communication is literally in his job description. But apparently he’s so disconnected from God’s voice himself that he can’t even recognize it happening to someone else until it’s happened multiple times.
So Eli tells Samuel: “Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.'”
Which is beautiful and profound and also… shouldn’t someone have taught him this earlier? He’s been living in the temple for nearly a decade at this point. Nobody thought to mention, “Hey, sometimes God talks to people, here’s how you respond”?
It’s like if you got a job and nobody told you how the phone system works, so the first time a call comes through you just stare at it ringing for twenty minutes.
Let’s unpack this absolute mess of confusion, because it’s crucial for recovery.
First: Samuel doesn’t recognize God’s voice. He’s been living in the temple his WHOLE LIFE. Since he was three. Being trained as a priest. Surrounded by religious practice, ritual, teaching, all of it.
And he doesn’t know what God sounds like.
Why? Because he’s been listening to human voices his whole life. Eli’s voice. The corrupt priests’ voices. The institutional voices. The religious voices that talk ABOUT God without actually hearing FROM God.
He knows religion. He knows routine. He knows ritual. He doesn’t know relationship.
He can probably recite scripture. Perform ceremonies. Execute the rituals perfectly. But when God actually shows up and speaks? He has no idea what’s happening.
This is people who grow up in church, know all the songs, can quote Bible verses, but have never actually had a personal encounter with the divine. It’s religion without relationship. Performance without presence.
Second: Samuel keeps running to the wrong person. He hears his name called and assumes it’s the human authority figure in his life. THREE TIMES he goes to Eli before Eli figures out what’s happening.
And here’s the kicker: Eli is literally lying down in his own place in the temple. Samuel is in a different location. So Samuel is hearing this voice, jumping up, RUNNING to Eli’s location, waking him up, and then being told “I didn’t call you.”
This happens three times. That’s some dedication to being wrong.
This is what we do in early recovery—or in life before recovery. We hear our name being called (by our conscience, by reality, by our higher power, by our true self, by the still small voice that knows we’re not okay) and we keep running to the wrong sources for answers.
We run to the substance instead of to healing.
We run to toxic relationships instead of to healthy support.
We run to our old patterns instead of to new possibilities.
We run to what’s familiar instead of to what’s actually calling us.
Third: Eli—to his credit—finally recognizes what’s happening and teaches Samuel how to respond. “Say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.'”
This is sponsorship. This is therapy. This is the mentor who helps you recognize what you’re actually experiencing and teaches you how to respond to it.
Eli couldn’t hear God’s voice himself anymore (we know this because God has to speak through Samuel). But he could recognize it in someone else. He could teach Samuel what to do even though he couldn’t do it himself.
Fourth: When Samuel finally responds correctly, God gives him a TERRIBLE first message. God tells him that Eli’s family line is going to be judged, that Eli’s sons are going to die, that Eli failed to restrain them, and that this judgment is permanent.
Samuel is terrified to tell Eli. He’s a child being asked to deliver a prophetic word of doom to the only father figure he’s ever known. But Eli insists, and Samuel tells him everything.
And Eli’s response? “He is the Lord; let him do what is good in his eyes.”
Resignation. Acceptance of consequences. No fight. No denial. Just… acceptance.
This is what happens when you’ve enabled dysfunction so long that you just accept the inevitable destruction. Eli knows his sons are corrupt. He knows he failed to stop them. He knows consequences are coming. And he just… accepts it.
This is the family member of an addict who’s watched the descent for so long they’re numb to it. “Well, I guess this is just how it’s going to be.”
Lesson two: Learning to distinguish God’s voice from all the other voices is the work of a lifetime. And sometimes your first message is the hardest one to deliver.
Growing Up as the Prophet Nobody Wants (Being the Voice of Truth in a Culture of Denial)
So Samuel grows up. And the text says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of Samuel’s words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beersheba recognized that Samuel was attested as a prophet of the Lord.”
This sounds great. Successful prophet. Respected nationwide. God’s words through him are all fulfilled.
But here’s what that actually means: Samuel spent his entire adult life telling people things they didn’t want to hear, and watching those words come true whether people listened or not.
He’s the prophet during one of the messiest periods in Israel’s history. The judges are failing. The people are constantly rebelling. The Philistines are oppressing them. The religious leadership is corrupt. And Samuel is trying to call everyone back to faithfulness while they keep doing the same destructive things over and over.
This is the recovering person who gets clear and then has to watch everyone around them continue in their dysfunction.
This is the adult child of an alcoholic who gets therapy and then has to go back to family gatherings where everyone’s still playing the same dysfunctional games.
This is the person who gets sober and realizes that most of their relationships were built on shared dysfunction, and now that they’re healing, they don’t fit anymore.
Samuel is the voice of truth in a culture of denial. And it’s LONELY.
The text tells us about the Philistines capturing the Ark of the Covenant (because Eli’s sons took it into battle like a good luck charm and both died, just like God said). About Eli dying when he heard the news. About Israel continuing to struggle.
And Samuel keeps speaking. Keeps calling them back. Keeps trying to lead them toward God.
But nobody really wants to follow. They want the benefits of God’s blessing without the commitment to God’s ways.
Sound familiar?
This is people who want recovery benefits (health, relationships, stability) without recovery work (honesty, humility, daily practice).
This is “I want to feel better but I don’t want to change.”
This is “Can’t I just have the blessing without the boundaries?”
Samuel is watching a whole nation exhibit addictive thinking, and he’s powerless to make them change. All he can do is keep telling the truth and let them decide whether to listen.
Lesson three: Being the voice of truth doesn’t mean people will listen. Sometimes all you can do is keep speaking it and let go of the outcome.
“We Want a King” (When People Choose the Familiar Dysfunction Over the Unfamiliar Freedom)
Here’s where Samuel’s story gets really relevant for recovery, and also really depressing.
Samuel is old. He’s been faithfully leading Israel for decades. He’s appointed his sons as judges to help with the workload because apparently he didn’t learn anything from watching Eli’s sons destroy everything.
And—in a painful echo of Eli’s story that should have been a giant red flag—Samuel’s sons are corrupt. “His sons did not follow his ways. They turned aside after dishonest gain and accepted bribes and perverted justice.”
So Samuel’s sons are taking bribes, which is basically the first-century equivalent of embezzlement and fraud. Samuel, who spent his childhood watching Eli’s corrupt sons ruin everything, has somehow raised corrupt sons himself. The cycle continues. The dysfunction reproduces itself. It’s like a Biblical version of generational trauma.
The elders of Israel come to Samuel and say, “Look, you are old, and your sons do not follow your ways; now appoint a king to lead us, such as all the other nations have.”
Let’s break down this request because it’s loaded:
“You are old” – Translation: “You’re going to die soon and we’re already planning for it, awkward but true.”
“Your sons do not follow your ways” – Translation: “They’re corrupt and everyone knows it and we’re not doing this again.”
“Appoint a king to lead us, such as all the other nations have” – Translation: “We want to be NORMAL. We want what everyone else has. We’re tired of being different.”
This request breaks Samuel’s heart. The text says “he was displeased when they said, ‘Give us a king to lead us.’ So he prayed to the Lord.”
Displeased. Upset. Hurt. Probably angry. Definitely feeling rejected.
He hears this request as personal rejection. “I’ve led you for decades and THIS is what you think of me? You want someone else? You think I’m not enough?”
But God tells him something crucial: “Listen to all that the people are saying to you; it is not you they have rejected, but they have rejected me as their king.”
Read that again. “It is not you they have rejected.”
God has to separate Samuel’s worth from the people’s choices. God has to remind Samuel: This isn’t about you. This is about them. This is their rejection of divine leadership, not personal rejection of you.
But Samuel still has to feel it. Still has to grieve it. Still has to watch people choose wrong even though he knows better.
The people want a visible, tangible, human leader “like all the other nations have.” They want to fit in. They want to be normal. They want what everyone else has. They’re tired of being the weird nation with the invisible God and the prophet-judge system.
They’re rejecting God’s unique, invisible, spiritual leadership in favor of conformity to surrounding culture.
“Everyone else has a king. Why can’t we have a king? What’s wrong with having a king? Why do we always have to be DIFFERENT?”
This is the ancient version of “I just want to drink normally like everyone else.”
In recovery terms, this is people saying:
“I just want to drink normally like everyone else. I just want to fit in. I don’t want to be the sober one at parties. I don’t want to be different. I don’t want to explain why I’m not drinking. I don’t want to deal with people’s questions. I just want to be NORMAL.”
This is rejecting the harder, deeper, more transformative path in favor of what looks like an easier, more socially acceptable option.
This is choosing the familiar dysfunction of human leadership (which will fail them) over the unfamiliar freedom of divine leadership (which requires trust and surrender and being okay with being different).
And God tells Samuel to give them what they want. “Listen to them and give them a king.”
But first—and this is important—warn them. Tell them EXACTLY what they’re getting into. Lay out the consequences with perfect clarity.
So Samuel delivers one of the most devastating “I told you so” speeches in the Bible, except he’s giving it BEFORE the “I told you so” moment arrives. He’s pre-warning them. He’s doing the intervention before the crisis.
“This is what the king who will reign over you will claim as his rights: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of his chariots. Some he will assign to be commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and others to plow his ground and reap his harvest, and still others to make weapons of war and equipment for his chariots.”
Translation: “Your kids will be drafted. Military service won’t be optional. The king will use your sons for his purposes.”
“He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers.”
Translation: “Your daughters will be servants in the palace. They’ll work for the king whether you like it or not.”
“He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his attendants.”
Translation: “Everything you own? Not really yours anymore. The king will take the best stuff for himself and his buddies.”
“He will take a tenth of your grain and of your vintage and give it to his officials and attendants.”
Translation: “Taxes. Lots of taxes. Forever.”
“Your male and female servants and the best of your cattle and donkeys he will take for his own use.”
Translation: “He’ll take your workers, your animals, your resources. You’re not independent anymore.”
“He will take a tenth of your flocks, and you yourselves will become his slaves.”
Translation: “You think you’re free now? Wait until you have a king. You’ll be servants to a human system instead of children of God.”
“When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, but the Lord will not answer you in that day.”
Translation: “And when it all goes wrong—and it WILL go wrong—you’ll beg God to fix it, but the consequences you chose will be the consequences you live with.”
This is the most comprehensive “here’s what will happen if you make this choice” warning ever given. Samuel doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t soften it. He doesn’t say “well, having a king has some pros and cons.” He lays out every single way this will hurt them. Every freedom they’ll lose. Every resource that will be taken. Every consequence they’ll face.
And their response?
“No! We want a king anyway. Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles.”
ANYWAY. They say ANYWAY.
“We hear you, Samuel. We understand the consequences. We get that this will be terrible. We know we’ll regret it. BUT WE WANT IT ANYWAY because everyone else has one and we want to fit in and we want someone else to fight our battles for us.”
Lesson four: You can warn people about consequences with perfect clarity, and they’ll still choose the destructive path. All you can do is tell the truth and let them make their choice.
Anointing Saul (When You Pick the Wrong Person for the Job)
So Samuel goes looking for Israel’s first king. And God directs him to Saul.
Saul is described as “as handsome a young man as could be found anywhere in Israel, and he was a head taller than anyone else.”
Translation: He looked the part. Tall, handsome, impressive physical specimen. Perfect casting for “king.”
But looking the part and being the part are VERY different things.
We find out pretty quickly that Saul has some issues. He’s insecure. He’s hiding among the baggage when Samuel tries to present him as king. He needs constant validation. He’s impulsive. He has terrible judgment under pressure. He struggles with authority and boundaries. He gets jealous easily. And eventually, he descends into paranoid madness.
But at the beginning? He looked great.
This is choosing relationships, sponsors, therapists, friends based on external qualities instead of character. This is being impressed by charisma instead of assessing integrity. This is picking the person who looks like they have it all together instead of the person who’s actually doing the work.
Samuel anoints Saul. Publicly declares him king. Invests in him. Tries to guide him.
And Saul keeps screwing up.
He makes an unauthorized sacrifice because he’s impatient and anxious. He makes a rash vow that nearly kills his son. He fails to follow God’s instructions about destroying the Amalekites, instead keeping the best plunder for himself.
And each time, Samuel confronts him. Delivers hard truth. Tries to correct him.
And each time, Saul makes excuses. Blames others. Minimizes his failure. Performs repentance without actually changing.
After the Amalekite incident, Samuel delivers one of the most famous lines in the Old Testament: “To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams.”
Translation: “Your religious performance means nothing if you’re not actually following through with what you’re supposed to do. Your excuses and justifications don’t matter. You didn’t do what you were supposed to do.”
This is the sponsor telling their sponsee, “Going to meetings means nothing if you’re still lying. Reading the literature doesn’t count if you’re not actually applying it. You can’t fake this.”
And Saul responds with what looks like repentance: “I have sinned. I violated the Lord’s command and your instructions. I was afraid of the men and so I gave in to them. Now I beg you, forgive my sin and come back with me, so that I may worship the Lord.”
But Samuel sees through it. This isn’t real repentance. This is damage control. Saul wants Samuel to come back with him to maintain appearances. He’s more concerned about his public image than his actual relationship with God.
Samuel says no. “I will not go back with you. You have rejected the word of the Lord, and the Lord has rejected you as king over Israel.”
This is setting a boundary. This is refusing to enable. This is saying, “I will not participate in the facade. I will not help you look good while you continue to be disobedient.”
But then—and this is important—the text says, “Until the day Samuel died, he did not go to see Saul again, though Samuel mourned for him.”
Samuel set the boundary. But he grieved. For years. Until he died. He mourned the potential that was wasted. The king who could have been but wasn’t. The relationship that failed.
Lesson five: You can set boundaries with someone and still grieve what could have been. Letting go doesn’t mean you stop caring. It means you stop carrying what isn’t yours to carry.
Chapter 6: The Mourning That Wouldn’t End (Or: When God Has to Tell You to Move On)
After Samuel breaks with Saul, the text tells us something fascinating:
“Samuel mourned for Saul. And the Lord regretted that he had made Saul king over Israel.”
Both Samuel and God are experiencing regret/grief over Saul. But then God does something Samuel can’t seem to do: God moves on.
“The Lord said to Samuel, ‘How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil and be on your way; I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I have chosen one of his sons to be king.'”
God basically says, “Okay, that’s enough grieving. Time to move forward. There’s work to do.”
But Samuel can’t let go that easily. He says, “How can I go? If Saul hears about it, he will kill me.”
Samuel is still living in fear of Saul’s reaction. Still emotionally entangled. Still letting Saul’s potential violence control his actions.
This is the person in recovery who’s been out of a toxic relationship for months but still makes decisions based on what that person might think or do.
This is the adult child who’s set boundaries with their parent but still anxiously imagines their reaction to everything.
This is the sponsor who’s fired their sponsee but can’t stop thinking about them, checking on them, mourning them.
God has to give Samuel permission—and a directive—to move on. “Fill your horn with oil and go.”
Sometimes moving on isn’t a feeling that happens naturally. Sometimes it’s an act of obedience to a directive from your higher power or your therapist or your sponsor who says, “It’s time. You’ve mourned enough. There’s more for you to do.”
Samuel goes to Bethlehem. He looks at Jesse’s sons. And he makes the SAME MISTAKE again.
He sees Eliab, Jesse’s oldest son, and thinks, “Surely the Lord’s anointed stands here before the Lord.”
He’s impressed by appearance again. He’s going for the tall, handsome, impressive one. He’s repeating the pattern.
And God stops him: “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
This is God teaching Samuel—again—that external qualifications don’t matter. Character matters. Heart matters.
Seven sons pass by. Samuel thinks it might be each one. God says no to all of them.
Finally, Samuel asks, “Are these all the sons you have?”
Jesse says, “There’s still the youngest, but he’s out tending the sheep.”
David. The youngest. The shepherd. The overlooked one. The one nobody thought to bring in.
And God says, “That’s the one.”
David doesn’t look like king material. He’s young. He’s a shepherd. He’s the spare son.
But he has heart. Character. Faith. And that’s what matters.
Lesson six: God might have to tell you repeatedly to stop choosing based on appearances and start choosing based on character. The lesson repeats until you learn it.
Living in the Tension (When You’ve Anointed the New King But the Old King Is Still Alive and Insane)
Here’s where Samuel’s life gets really complicated and really instructive for recovery.
Samuel anoints David in secret. David is now the future king.
But Saul is still the current king. And he’s descending into madness.
Saul doesn’t know David is anointed. David doesn’t even fully know what his anointing means yet. He goes back to tending sheep.
Samuel has to live in this tension: knowing the future while stuck in the present. Knowing who the real king is while watching the false king deteriorate.
This is recovery in the messy middle. You know where you’re headed. You’ve had a glimpse of who you’re becoming. But you’re still dealing with the consequences of the past. The old patterns are still operating even though you know they’re not your future.
You’ve anointed your new self. But your old self is still throwing spears at people.
And you have to live in both realities simultaneously.
David gets called to Saul’s court to play music and soothe Saul’s tormented spirit. The future king becomes the current king’s therapist, basically.
And Samuel watches all of this unfold. Watches David grow. Watches Saul deteriorate. Watches the transition happening slowly, painfully, over years.
He can’t rush it. He can’t force it. He can’t make Saul die faster or make David be ready sooner. He has to live in the tension.
This is the patience recovery requires. You can’t skip to the end. You can’t rush your transformation. You have to live through the awkward middle period where you’re becoming someone new but you’re not there yet.
Where you’ve let go of old coping mechanisms but haven’t fully developed new ones.
Where you’ve set boundaries but the people you set them with haven’t accepted them yet.
Where you know your worth but circumstances haven’t caught up to reflect it.
Living in the tension. It’s uncomfortable. It’s slow. It requires trust that the anointing was real even when everything around you says nothing has changed.
Lesson seven: Anointing the new doesn’t immediately eliminate the old. You live in the tension between what was and what will be. This is the long obedience in the same direction.
Samuel Dies (The Ending That Doesn’t Resolve Everything)
Samuel dies during this transitional period. He doesn’t live to see David become king. He doesn’t get to see the culmination of what he started.
The text simply says: “Now Samuel died, and all Israel assembled and mourned for him; and they buried him at his home in Ramah.”
That’s it. National mourning. Respectful burial. But no triumphant ending. No final vindication. No “I told you so” moment with Saul.
Samuel dies in the mess. In the middle. In the tension.
David is still running from Saul. Saul is still on the throne. The transition hasn’t happened yet.
Samuel doesn’t get to see his prophetic word about David fully fulfilled. He plants seeds he doesn’t get to harvest.
This is hard for us to accept. We want closure. We want to see the outcome. We want our work to bear visible fruit before we die.
But sometimes you don’t get that. Sometimes you do your work, you speak your truth, you anoint the right people, and you die before it all comes together.
And that has to be okay.
In recovery, this means you might never see the family member you tried to help finally get sober. You might never get the apology you deserve. You might never see justice for what was done to you. You might plant seeds in others’ recovery that you never see bloom.
Your job is to do your work. To be faithful. To speak truth. To anoint what God shows you. Not to control outcomes or guarantee results.
Samuel’s legacy wasn’t dependent on seeing everything work out. His legacy was built on being faithful in the middle of mess.
Lesson eight: You might not see the resolution. You might die in the middle of the story. Your faithfulness matters anyway.
The Witch of Endor (When Even Death Doesn’t Stop People From Violating Your Boundaries)
There’s one more Samuel story, and it’s WILD.
After Samuel dies, Saul is facing a battle with the Philistines. He’s terrified. He tries to inquire of the Lord, but “the Lord did not answer him by dreams or Urim or prophets.”
God is done talking to Saul. The silence is deafening and terrifying.
So Saul—in desperation—does something he himself had banned: he seeks out a medium to summon the dead.
He goes to the witch of Endor in disguise and says, “Consult a spirit for me, and bring up for me the one I name.”
She asks who. He says, “Bring up Samuel.”
And somehow—shockingly—it works. Samuel actually appears.
And he’s PISSED.
“Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?”
Even in death, even from the other side, Samuel can’t escape Saul’s dysfunction. Saul is still violating boundaries. Still demanding things. Still refusing to accept that Samuel is done with him.
Saul whines about his situation. God won’t answer him. He’s afraid. He doesn’t know what to do.
And Samuel—even dead—has to deliver one more hard truth: “Why do you consult me, now that the Lord has departed from you and become your enemy? The Lord has done what he predicted through me. The Lord has torn the kingdom out of your hands and given it to David.”
Then he delivers Saul’s death sentence: “Tomorrow you and your sons will be with me. The Lord will also give the army of Israel into the hands of the Philistines.”
This is Samuel’s final prophetic word. And it’s to someone who violated multiple boundaries to demand it. Someone who refused to listen when Samuel was alive. Someone who’s now disturbing Samuel’s rest because he can’t face reality alone.
The message: You had your chance. You didn’t listen. Now the consequences are here. There’s no escape. No last-minute reprieve.
This is the horrifying reality of choices and consequences. At some point, it’s too late. The door closes. The die is cast. Tomorrow comes.
The next day, Saul dies exactly as Samuel predicted.
Lesson nine: Some people will violate your boundaries even after you’re dead. And sometimes the only message left to give is “the consequences you were warned about are here.”
What Samuel Teaches Us About Codependency
Let’s zoom out and look at Samuel’s patterns, because they’re instructive for recovery—especially for people dealing with codependency.
Samuel spent his entire life trying to lead people who didn’t want to be led. Trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved. Trying to speak truth to people who preferred comfortable lies.
He was the good son in a dysfunctional system. The responsible one. The one who compensated for everyone else’s failures.
He couldn’t separate his worth from his usefulness. When Israel rejected God’s kingship, Samuel heard it as personal rejection even though God specifically said, “It’s not you they’re rejecting.”
He over-invested in Saul. Mourned him for years. Couldn’t let go even when God told him to move on.
He kept trying to fix systems that were designed to fail. He appointed his corrupt sons as judges, repeating Eli’s pattern of hoping family members would magically become what they weren’t.
This is codependency: deriving your value from fixing broken people and broken systems. Being unable to separate their failures from your worth. Staying too long with people who aren’t changing. Mourning what could have been instead of accepting what is.
But Samuel also models recovery from codependency:
He learned to hear God’s voice above all others. He developed discernment about which voices to listen to.
He eventually set boundaries with Saul. “I will not go back with you.” Hard boundary. Clear consequence.
He moved on when God directed him to, even though it was painful. He anointed David. He invested in the future instead of being trapped in the past.
He didn’t stop doing his work just because people didn’t listen. He kept speaking truth whether anyone acted on it or not.
He let go of controlling outcomes. He anointed David and then let the story unfold without micromanaging it.
Lesson ten: Codependency is trying to save people who don’t want to be saved. Recovery is learning to do your work and let go of their choices.
What Samuel Teaches About Institutional Dysfunction
Samuel’s story is also about navigating institutional dysfunction—religious dysfunction specifically, but it applies to any corrupt system.
He grew up in the temple. Saw the corruption. Saw the leadership failing. Saw the gap between what was preached and what was practiced.
He could have become cynical. Could have rejected the whole system. Could have walked away from faith entirely.
Instead, he stayed. But he didn’t stay silent. He called out the corruption. He spoke truth to power. He held leaders accountable.
He became the change he wanted to see. He was the kind of leader Eli should have been.
Many people in recovery grew up in dysfunctional religious systems. Churches that preached grace but practiced shame. Leaders who abused power. Communities that enabled rather than helped.
And there’s a choice: reject everything, or reform what you can while protecting yourself from what you can’t change.
Samuel models the second path. He stayed in the system but he didn’t let the system define him. He served God, not the institution. He spoke truth even when the institution didn’t want to hear it.
This is recovery in dysfunctional environments: staying where you’re called while maintaining boundaries. Being truthful while protecting yourself. Serving without being destroyed by the brokenness around you.
Lesson eleven: You can stay in broken systems while maintaining your integrity, but it requires constant discernment about what’s yours to carry and what isn’t.
What Samuel Would Tell You
If Samuel could sit down and talk to you about your recovery journey, I think he’d say something like this:
“I know what it’s like to grow up in dysfunction and somehow be expected to rise above it. To be the responsible one when the adults around you are failing. To have your value determined by how useful you are to others.
I know what it’s like to hear voices—literal or figurative—and not know which ones to listen to. To confuse human authority with divine calling. To run to the wrong sources for answers.
I know what it’s like to speak truth that nobody wants to hear. To warn about consequences and watch people choose the destructive path anyway. To give your best advice and have it completely ignored.
I know what it’s like to invest in someone—to anoint them, support them, guide them—and watch them fail anyway. To mourn them for years. To struggle to let go.
I know what it’s like to live in tension between what was and what will be. To know where you’re headed but not be there yet. To have anointed your future self but still be dealing with your current reality.
Here’s what I learned:
Learn to recognize God’s voice. It will sound different from all the other voices—the institutional voices, the cultural voices, the voices of people who want to use you. When you hear it, respond: ‘Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.’
Tell the truth even when people don’t want to hear it. Your job is to be faithful, not successful. Warn about consequences. Speak with clarity. And then let people make their choices.
Set boundaries with people who won’t change. I stayed too long with Saul. I mourned too long. God had to tell me to move on. Don’t make my mistake. When it’s time to let go, let go.
Don’t choose based on appearances. I picked Saul because he looked the part. I almost picked Eliab for the same reason. Learn to see the heart, not the height. Character over charisma.
Live in the tension. You won’t see everything resolved in your lifetime. You’ll plant seeds you don’t harvest. You’ll start things you don’t finish. That’s okay. Your faithfulness matters anyway.
And finally: your worth isn’t in fixing everyone else. I spent my whole life trying to lead people who didn’t want to be led. I was devastated when they rejected God’s kingship because I heard it as rejecting me. God had to remind me: it’s not about you.
Your job is to hear God’s voice and respond to it. To speak truth. To anoint what God shows you. To do your work. Not to control outcomes or fix everyone around you.
You can be faithful in the middle of mess. You can speak truth in systems of lies. You can set boundaries without losing your heart.
And you can die in the middle of the story, before resolution comes, and still have lived a life that mattered.
Now stop trying to save everyone and focus on being faithful yourself.”
The Prophet Who Never Got the Ending He Deserved
Samuel’s story doesn’t have a Hollywood ending. There’s no triumphant final scene where everything comes together and he gets vindicated.
He dies in the mess. In the middle. With Saul still on the throne and David still running for his life.
He doesn’t get to see David crowned. Doesn’t get to see Saul finally fall. Doesn’t get closure on the thing he invested his entire life in.
But here’s what he did have:
He heard God’s voice and responded to it. He spoke truth for decades whether anyone listened or not. He anointed the right king even when it meant betraying the current one. He set boundaries with Saul even though it hurt. He moved on when God told him to. He was faithful in the tension between what was and what would be.
And after he died, the text says “all Israel assembled and mourned for him.”
They knew. Even if they didn’t listen while he was alive. Even if they rejected his counsel. Even if they chose their own way. They knew he was faithful. They knew he mattered.
Your recovery won’t have a perfect ending either. You won’t fix everyone. You won’t see every seed you plant bloom. You won’t get closure on everything you want closure on.
But you can be faithful anyway. You can speak truth anyway. You can set boundaries anyway. You can do your work anyway.
Samuel shows us that the point isn’t the ending. It’s the faithfulness in the middle.
It’s hearing the voice that calls your name and responding to it.
It’s speaking truth even when no one wants to hear it.
It’s letting go of people you can’t save.
It’s anointing what God shows you.
It’s living in the tension.
It’s dying in the middle and trusting that the story continues without you.
Samuel was the bridge between the chaos of the judges and the monarchy of David. He didn’t get to live in either promised land—the order before the chaos or the kingdom after the transition.
He lived in between. In the mess. In the work.
And so do we.
Recovery is living in between. Between what was and what will be. Between the old self and the new. Between the chaos and the kingdom.
Samuel shows us how to do it: Listen for the voice. Speak the truth. Set the boundaries. Let go when it’s time. Trust the process even when you can’t see the outcome.
And know that dying in the middle of the story doesn’t mean your life didn’t matter.
It means you were faithful in the hardest part: the part where you can’t see the ending yet.
The Takeaways (For Those Who Skipped to the End)
- Your origin story shapes you, but it doesn’t have to define you.
- Learning to distinguish God’s voice from all the other voices is the work of a lifetime. Your first message might be the hardest to deliver.
- Being the voice of truth doesn’t mean people will listen. Sometimes all you can do is speak it and let go of the outcome.
- You can warn people about consequences with perfect clarity, and they’ll still choose the destructive path.
- You can set boundaries and still grieve what could have been. Letting go doesn’t mean you stop caring.
- God might have to tell you repeatedly to stop choosing based on appearances and start choosing based on character.
- Anointing the new doesn’t eliminate the old immediately. You live in the tension.
- You might not see the resolution. Your faithfulness matters anyway.
- Some people will violate your boundaries even after you’re dead. Sometimes all you can say is “the consequences are here.”
- Codependency is trying to save people who don’t want to be saved. Recovery is doing your work and letting go of their choices.
- You can stay in broken systems while maintaining your integrity, but it requires constant discernment.
A Final Word
Samuel heard his name called in the night and spent the rest of his life trying to answer that call faithfully.
He didn’t always get it right. He mourned too long. He chose the wrong king. He couldn’t fix the people he loved.
But he kept listening. Kept speaking. Kept anointing. Kept being faithful.
And when he died, before the story was finished, he left behind a legacy of truth-telling in the middle of lies, boundary-setting in the middle of chaos, and faithfulness in the middle of mess.
You’re in the middle too. Between what was and what will be. Between the chaos and the kingdom.
Listen for the voice calling your name.
Respond: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”
And then do what it tells you to do, even if you never see the ending.
Samuel’s life mattered not because he saw everything resolved, but because he was faithful in the middle.
So can yours.