Introduction: When God Works the Night Shift
History has turned on sleepless nights.
On one sleepless night in Babylon, Daniel prayed and an empire shifted.
On one sleepless night in Bethlehem, shepherds watched and angels sang.
On one sleepless night in Susa, the king tossed and turned—
and God turned the tide of history.
It’s a fascinating truth: when man can’t rest, God is still at work.
He doesn’t clock out when you lie awake.
He doesn’t stop being sovereign when your eyes can’t close.
He works the night shift, arranging pieces in the dark that will make sense in the morning light.
The Book of Esther, perhaps more than any other book in Scripture, shows us what the invisible hand of God can do.
God’s name is never mentioned in the entire story, but His fingerprints are everywhere.
This is not a story of how clever people are—it’s a revelation of how clever God is.
How brilliantly wise, how sovereignly patient, how invisibly precise.
A pastor once said:
> “There is no such thing as blind fate, but there is a Providence that guides and governs the world.
Providence is God’s ordering all issues and events of things, after the counsel of His will, to His own glory.
The wheels of the clock seem to move contrary to one another, but they help forward the hands of the clock.”
Friend, God’s providence is like that.
When it seems like the wheels of your life are grinding against each other—when events don’t align, when prayers seem delayed—He is moving the hands of your story toward His divine hour.
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Scene One: A Queen’s Risk
By the time we reach Esther chapter 6, the drama is already at its breaking point.
In chapter 5, Esther, trembling yet resolute, puts on her royal robes and steps into danger.
To appear before the king uninvited was to risk death. Archeology confirms that in the Persian throne room, there stood a man beside the king—his only job was to strike down any intruder unless the king raised his scepter.
One tilt of that golden rod meant life; no tilt meant death.
Esther stands in the inner court, holding her breath.
And then—it happens.
The king lifts the scepter toward her.
Against all odds, the queen who should have died is suddenly granted favor.
The royal business halts; the courtiers fall silent.
The king, perhaps surprised by his own compassion, says,
> “What is troubling you, Queen Esther? And what is your request? Even to half the kingdom it shall be given to you.” (Esther 5:3)
That expression—“half the kingdom”—was a Persian idiom. It didn’t mean he’d actually divide the empire; it meant, I’m in a generous mood. Ask for anything.
Esther replies softly,
> “If it please the king, may the king and Haman come this day to the banquet that I have prepared.”
Now that’s wisdom wrapped in courage.
Esther doesn’t blurt out her request; she builds anticipation.
She invites the king and Haman—the very enemy who plotted her people’s destruction—to dinner.
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Scene Two: Haman’s Pride, the Gallows’ Shadow
That evening, the king and Haman dine with Esther.
The wine flows, the conversation sparkles.
Haman’s chest swells with pride—he alone was invited!
He imagines himself the favorite of both crown and queen.
But as he leaves the palace that night, pride meets its test.
At the gate sits Mordecai, the Jew, the man who refuses to bow.
Everyone else stands in reverence, but Mordecai stays seated, steady, silent.
Haman’s joy curdles to fury.
How dare this man ignore him!
Scripture says Haman “was filled with anger,” but he restrained himself long enough to go home and brag.
He calls for his wife, Zeresh, and his friends, and begins the monologue:
his riches, his promotions, his ten sons, his honors—
the entire resume of a man drunk on self-importance.
The Hebrew rhythm almost mocks him:
Blah, blah, blah.
Finally he admits, “Yet all of this means nothing to me as long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the gate.”
Imagine that—a man with everything, undone by one man’s posture.
Pride is like that.
It takes a small offense and magnifies it until it fills your entire horizon.
Let me illustrate.
Hold two quarters in your hand.
They’re small enough to see around.
But bring them close to your eyes—so close that they touch your lashes—and you’ll see nothing else.
Just fifty cents can block your entire view of the world.
So can envy. So can resentment. So can pride.
Haman’s wife gives him her counsel:
“Build a gallows fifty cubits high—seventy-five feet! In the morning, ask the king to hang Mordecai on it. Then you can go joyfully to the banquet.”
And Haman, grinning in wicked satisfaction, orders the gallows built.
A scaffold rises under the Persian moon.
He sleeps well that night, dreaming of revenge.
But somewhere else in Susa, another man can’t sleep.
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Scene Three: The Sleepless King
Chapter 6 opens with seven simple words:
> “That night the king could not sleep.” (Esther 6:1)
Coincidence? Not a chance.
This is divine insomnia—providential restlessness.
He tries everything.
He’s counted the sheep, watched the stars, paced the marble floor.
Finally, he calls for the royal record keeper.
“Bring me the book of chronicles,” he orders.
The servant opens it and begins to read aloud—the most boring reading material in the empire.
Now imagine: five years’ worth of entries, a kingdom’s diary.
Trade tariffs, military victories, court decrees.
But out of all those pages, the servant just happens to turn to the record of a foiled assassination plot—one uncovered years earlier by a lowly gatekeeper named Mordecai.
The king sits up.
“What honor was given to this man?” he asks.
The servant scans the record and replies, “Nothing was done for him.”
Nothing.
Five years of silence.
Five years of forgotten service.
Five years where Mordecai’s good deed lay unrewarded.
Oh, how that speaks to us!
There are times when you do the right thing—serve faithfully, give quietly, pray earnestly—and it seems heaven has forgotten your file.
No recognition. No applause. No promotion.
But God’s record books never lose an entry.
He knows. He remembers. And in His time, He rewards.
At this very moment, Haman is rushing toward the palace to ask permission to execute Mordecai.
He can’t wait for morning. His gallows is ready.
But while Haman hurries to destroy, God is already arranging deliverance.
The timing is so perfect it could only be divine.
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Scene Four: Providence in Full Display
The king, still wide awake, hears the commotion outside.
“Who’s in the court?” he asks.
“It’s Haman,” a servant replies.
“Bring him in,” the king commands.
Haman struts in, confident, rehearsing his request.
Before he can speak, the king asks,
> “What should be done for the man whom the king delights to honor?”
Haman’s eyes light up.
He thinks, “Who could the king possibly mean but me?”
And he begins to imagine his own parade:
“Let him be arrayed in the king’s robe.
Let him ride the king’s horse.
Let one of the noble princes lead him through the city proclaiming,
‘Thus shall it be done to the man whom the king delights to honor!’”
The king smiles.
“Excellent,” he says. “Now take the robe and the horse, and do exactly that—for Mordecai the Jew who sits at the gate. Leave out nothing you have said.”
If there’s ever been a moment when heaven laughed, it must have been then.
The proud man is humbled; the forgotten man is exalted.
The gallows meant for Mordecai now looms for Haman himself.
And a city awakens to see the prime minister leading a Jew through the streets, shouting words he can hardly choke out:
> “Thus shall it be done to the man whom the king delighteth to honor!”
Friend, God doesn’t need to shout to change the story.
He just needs one sleepless night.
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Scene Five: When God Turns the Page
What a reversal!
In one night, God rearranged everything—without thunder, without earthquake, without miracle on the surface.
Just a sleepless king, a forgotten servant, a turned page, and divine timing.
Let’s pause and look at the hand of God in this story:
Esther delayed her request just long enough for the king’s insomnia to strike.
The servant opened to exactly the right page.
Mordecai’s unrewarded loyalty now becomes his deliverance.
Haman’s pride builds his own downfall.
Every detail is synchronized with heaven’s calendar.
Every moment, even the sleepless ones, are woven into God’s redemptive design.
Sometimes we think God is late because He moves slowly.
But delay is not denial—it’s design.
You may feel tonight—or this very Sabbath morning—that nothing is happening.
Your prayers have stalled. Your dreams are rusting.
But God is still turning pages you haven’t read yet.
He can use insomnia to move empires.
He can turn fear into faith, waiting into wisdom, and enemies into instruments of His will.
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Application: What “Susa Nights” Teach Us
This story teaches us three truths about the providence of God:
1. God is at work even when circumstances look hopeless.
Esther faced death; Mordecai faced execution; the Jews faced annihilation.
Yet the unseen God was already writing their rescue.
Hopelessness is often just a chapter title, not the story’s end.
2. God is at work even when life feels unpredictable.
Nothing in this story follows human logic.
From banquets to gallows to parades—it’s all upside down.
But unpredictability doesn’t mean absence.
Providence thrives in the unexpected.
3. God is at work even when sin seems unstoppable.
Haman’s arrogance looked untouchable; his plan seemed final.
But sin never gets the last word.
At the height of evil’s power, God simply steps in—and the story flips.
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Conclusion: The God Who Never Sleeps
Psalm 121:4 declares,
> “He who keeps Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.”
God doesn’t take naps on your destiny.
He doesn’t close His eyes to your tears.
He doesn’t forget the Mordecais who labor quietly at the gate.
So if your night is sleepless, remember:
He’s working the night shift.
He’s turning pages in your story.
He’s arranging divine appointments you’ll only understand in hindsight.
Esther couldn’t see it.
Mordecai didn’t feel it.
But when morning came, the whole empire knew—
God had been awake all along.
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Closing Appeal
My friend, you may be living through your own “night in Susa.”
You’re weary, waiting, wondering what God is doing.
But just because you can’t see His hand doesn’t mean it’s not there.
He’s the God who moves unseen, who redeems forgotten deeds, who works all things for good.
Trust Him in the dark.
Wait through the sleepless night.
Because when morning breaks, you’ll see what He was doing all along.
And you’ll say with Mordecai:
“Thus shall it be done to the man whom the King delights to honor.”
