(The Little Girl Who Changed a General)
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I. Captivity and Compassion
The Syrian army had been raiding Israel again. They rode in with torches and iron, leaving behind smoke and silence. One of those raids carried off a little girl. Scripture doesn’t tell us her name—only that she was very young and that she was placed in the household of Naaman, commander of the army of Syria.
She had no say in where she slept or what she ate. She had no freedom to go home. But though she lost her land, she never lost her Lord. Though she was taken from her people, she was not taken from her purpose.
And there, in the house of her captor, she saw something no one else seemed to see. Her master, Naaman—the man whose word sent armies marching—was hiding a secret. He was brave, powerful, respected, and admired…but beneath the armor was a disease that was eating him alive.
Leprosy. In that world it meant judgment. Isolation. Shame. The mighty man of valor had become the man of sorrow.
And here’s the moment heaven leaned close to watch. The child could have said, “Serves him right. That’s God’s payback for what he did to my people.” But she didn’t. She looked past the uniform, past the cruelty, and saw a man who needed mercy.
> “Would that my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.” (2 Kings 5:3, ESV)
That’s all she said. Just a sentence, whispered with compassion. But God can turn a whisper into a worldwide witness.
She didn’t stand before Naaman. She didn’t have a hearing. The message simply traveled—
from a servant to her mistress,
from the mistress to Naaman,
from Naaman to the king of Syria,
from the king of Syria to the king of Israel,
and finally to the prophet of God.
Grace has a way of finding its audience.
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II. Naaman’s Secret and His Pride
Naaman is a fascinating man. He’s everything society respects—disciplined, decorated, decisive. The Scripture even says,
> “By him the Lord had given victory to Syria.” (v. 1)
But success can’t heal the soul. You can win every battle outside and still lose the war within.
Naaman’s skin was a visible reminder that there are things we cannot command. He could order men to fight, but he couldn’t order health to return. He could conquer kingdoms, but he couldn’t conquer corruption in his own flesh.
So when he hears that a prophet in Israel might heal him, hope stirs—but pride tags along. He gathers what pride always gathers: wealth, position, credentials. The Bible says he loaded ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, ten changes of clothing. He brought a caravan that looked like a royal parade—because pride always wants to pay for what grace gives freely.
He even carried a letter from his king. He was still trying to get a healing through political channels. But God doesn’t heal through bureaucracy; He heals through belief.
When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes. “Am I God, to kill and make alive?” Even kings have limits, but prophets know a limitless God.
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III. The Journey to the Prophet
Elisha hears about the panic and sends a message:
> “Let him come to me, that he may know that there is a prophet in Israel.” (v. 8)
Naaman arrives with all his horses and chariots—dust rising, banners waving, guards standing at attention. It’s a procession of prestige.
And Elisha doesn’t even come out.
He sends a messenger. A servant to a general. The message is simple, almost insulting:
> “Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored, and you shall be clean.” (v. 10)
No ceremony. No music. No prophet waving his hand. Just a command to dip in a muddy river.
Naaman is furious. “Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?” (v. 12)
He wanted something grand, something dramatic—something worthy of a general. But God wanted something humble, something obedient, something that would peel off his pride.
We don’t like cures that make us look small. We want miracles that let us keep our dignity. But there’s no dignity at the door of grace—only surrender.
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IV. Five Dips Wouldn’t Work
Naaman storms off in a rage. But God has surrounded him with servants again. Isn’t it interesting? It was a servant girl who sent him here, and now it’s servants again who keep him from walking away.
> “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much rather, then, when he says to you, ‘Wash and be clean’?” (v. 13)
Those words stop him cold. They sound like the Holy Spirit whispering: You’ve done harder things for lesser rewards. Why not obey God when it’s simple?
So Naaman turns around. He walks down the embankment into the Jordan. The men watch in silence. The water is muddy, ordinary—nothing holy about it except obedience.
He dips once…twice…three times…four…five.
No change.
The spots are still there.
The skin is still diseased.
The servants shift uneasily on the bank.
And here’s the line that carries your soul home:
Five dips wouldn’t work.
Five dips still leave you in control.
Five dips still let you hold the reins.
Five dips are close, but not surrendered.
It takes seven.
It takes completion.
It takes all the way in.
Because obedience that stops short of surrender never reaches grace.
Maybe that’s where someone is today—five dips into faith. You’ve prayed sometimes, trusted occasionally, forgiven partly, obeyed halfway. But God is calling you deeper. He’s saying, Don’t stop now. Go all the way in.
So Naaman bends his knees again. Six dips.
Still nothing.
Every time he goes under, another layer of pride washes off.
Then comes the seventh dip.
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V. The Joy of the Miracle
He disappears under the water one last time.
The current swirls.
The servants hold their breath.
And when Naaman rises, the sunlight catches the river spray, and they see it—
skin like a child. Smooth. Whole. New.
The Scripture says,
> “And his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.” (v. 14)
The proud general stands there laughing—laughing through tears.
The disease that made him hide has vanished.
The burden that no army could lift has been lifted by grace.
The very water he mocked has become the place of his miracle.
Can you imagine the sound on that riverbank?
Shouts, laughter, praise.
Naaman splashing water like a boy again.
Soldiers clapping each other on the back.
And somewhere, miles away in Syria, a little girl’s faith is dancing.
He came to Israel covered in shame and left clothed in joy.
He arrived with gold and garments but left with a testimony.
He came as a conqueror; he left as a convert.
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VI. Your Jordan Moment
Friend, that’s not just Naaman’s story—it’s ours.
We all have something beneath the armor that needs healing.
We all have some Jordan we’d rather not step into.
Maybe yours is forgiveness. Maybe it’s surrender. Maybe it’s trust.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ve already dipped five times.
You’ve done enough to look faithful, but not enough to be free.
You’ve prayed halfway through the problem and then pulled back.
You’ve obeyed while still negotiating the outcome.
But five dips won’t work.
God’s asking for all seven.
He’s asking for complete trust.
He’s asking you to go under—and let Him bring you up new.
The miracle isn’t in the water; it’s in the willingness.
The power isn’t in the prophet; it’s in the promise.
And the joy—oh, the joy—waits on the other side of obedience.
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VII. Benediction of Joy
When Naaman came up the seventh time, heaven smiled.
The Jordan rippled with holy laughter.
Grace had done what gold could never buy.
And that’s still true.
The same God who met a Syrian general in muddy water can meet you in the middle of your struggle today.
Don’t stop at five.
Don’t settle for almost.
Go all the way in.
And when you rise—
rise rejoicing.
Rise renewed.
Rise with the laughter of Naaman and the faith of a child.
> “Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company, and he came and stood before him. And he said, ‘Behold, I know that there is no God in all the earth but in Israel.’” (v. 15, ESV)
That’s what revival sounds like—
Behold, I know.
May that be our confession today.
May our hearts be washed in the river of grace until the spots of pride and doubt are gone, and we, too, can rise with joy.
