Think about chariots. Whether you realize it or not, in the Ancient Near East they were symbols of might and glory. They were fast and could carry two or more soldiers; a military ancestor to the modern day tank. They protected their riders up to the waist, and in some cases, were armed with meter-long scythes on each wheel, cutting down infantry or cavalry caught too close to its warpath. Powered by one or more horses, these early war machines brought fear to the eyes and ears of those facing off in battle. In the Old Testament, chariots are often used to describe the prowess of one’s military. When chasing down the Israelites as they departed Egypt, it is said “... [Pharaoh] made ready his chariot and took his army with him, and took six hundred chosen chariots and all the other chariots of Egypt with officers over all of them.” (Exodus 14:6–7). God answered with a “mighty hand and an outstretched arm” proving His care for His people so they would not trust in military power but in His name. But, what do we trust in . . . ultimately? Unlike God’s faithfulness, chariots could fail. They were not suited for many battles since they required open, flat space and were less maneuverable than infantry and cavalry. Chariots, the symbol of power and hope, often became nothing more than a flimsy facade. What is your “chariot”? We all have something that provides us with ultimate hope, ultimate security. Like the Wizard of Oz, we stand behind a curtain pulling levers releasing fire and smoke, an illusion of strength. But will it really stand? Can it save? Will it forgive?