Living as a Woman Loved by God
There’s a certain kind of woman who draws people in—she’s a friend to everyone, and everyone’s friend. Maybe you’ve met her. When she walks into a room, she brightens it, not by demanding the spotlight but by noticing those around her. She listens with her full attention, leans in with curiosity and genuine interest, and leaves you feeling like you’re the most important person in the world.
This kind of woman doesn’t scan the room to see who’s there, nor does she compare herself to others to determine her worth. She remembers names. She remembers stories. There’s no edge to her kindness, no silent scorekeeping, and no calculation of “what do I get in return?”
People might mistake her magnetism for natural charm or well-practiced social skills, but her presence is that of a woman who belongs to God. She isn’t desperate for others to fill her cup with affection or validation—because it’s already full. Her worth rests in being deeply, undeservedly loved by God, and that security frees her to love others.
Then there’s another kind of woman—the one who sees someone new walk in and feels something tighten inside. She notices the subtle shifts in the room and begins, almost instinctively, to compare. The more she measures herself against what she sees, the smaller she feels—and the harder she works to compensate. Sometimes she withdraws from the conversation; at other times, she reaches for the spotlight, hoping to reestablish her sense of worth before the moment slips away.
The truth is, we recognize both women. At different times, we’ve been both women. But only one reflects the fullness in which we were created to walk.
When Love Is Large and Self Is Small
The difference between those two women is not personality or temperament. It’s not confidence, charm, or social instinct. The difference is whether they are living as women who know they are loved by God. To live this way is to live from fullness rather than from lack. It’s to move through rooms—and relationships—without grasping, because you’ve already been given in Him what your heart is tempted to seek elsewhere.
Humility flows naturally from that kind of security. When you no longer feel the need to prove your worth, you are free to lower yourself in love. When you no longer measure yourself against others, you’re able to give yourself for their good.
God’s love has always set His people apart. We see that in the Old Testament, even in the books of the Law where God’s love isn’t directly mentioned as often as other parts of Scripture. But God makes clear in places like Deuteronomy 7 when Moses speaks to the people, that He chose Israel not because of their strength, righteousness, or usefulness—but because of His covenant-keeping love:
“The LORD had his heart set on you and chose you, not because you were more numerous than all peoples, for you were the fewest of all peoples. But because the LORD loved you and kept the oath he swore to your ancestors, he brought you out with a strong hand and redeemed you from the place of slavery, from the power of Pharaoh king of Egypt.” (Deuteronomy 7:7–8)
Though the word “love” only appears a couple of times in the book of Numbers, God’s covenant faithfulness is unmistakable. He remains present in their wandering (Num. 9:15–23). He’s patient in their rebellion. He disciplines, forgives, and refuses to abandon them despite their complaints and constant mistrust (Num. 14:17–20). God’s love isn’t sentimental language; it's covenant commitment, an unbreakable faithfulness that displays His glory and intent to bring salvation to the whole world.
When Israel forgot who loved them—and who they were because of that love—insecurity took root. Their relationships fractured, they grumbled about provision, and they questioned their leadership. Their vertical trust weakened, and horizontal tension increased.
The same happens today: pride swells when God’s love feels small. Pride magnifies our needs, our fears, our reputations, and our comparisons. It makes us preoccupied with how we are perceived, how we measure up, and whether we are being overlooked. It’s a life curved in on itself, living as though the cup were empty—and scrambling to fill it.
From Celebration to Competition
We see this dynamic unfold in the story of Miriam. She wasn’t a minor figure in Israel’s story. After the Lord delivered them from Egypt, she stood on the banks of the Red Sea with tambourine in hand, leading the women in praise:
Sing to the LORD,
for he is highly exalted;
he has thrown the horse
and its rider into the sea. (Exodus 15:20–21)
She had witnessed God’s power firsthand, and she had influence, visibility, and a place among the leaders of His people. But by Numbers 12, about a year later, something had shifted. Miriam was no longer seen rejoicing in God’s deliverance but appeared discontent with the role God had given her. Along with her brother Aaron, she began to criticize Moses “because of the Cushite woman he married” (Num. 12:1).
It was a strange time to bring up Moses’ wife—after all, plenty of time had transpired. But as one scholar explains, “Humans with a contentious mind will look far and wide in time and space to find something on which to base their grievances.”1
Their primary complaint is evident in their next statement: “They said, ‘Does the LORD speak only through Moses? Does he not also speak through us?’” (Num. 12:2). Beneath the criticism lay comparison. Beneath the comparison lay insecurity. Miriam’s “underlying concern was jealousy and possibly concern over losing some of her spiritual status to this woman. Perhaps Moses’ wife was viewed as a threat to Miriam’s position as the most influential woman in Israel.”2
When God’s character and love no longer seem big enough to meet our needs, someone else’s calling begins to look like a threat, her platform feels like our diminishment, and the cup that once overflowed with praise begins to rattle with entitlement.
What stands in contrast to Miriam’s complaint is Moses’ posture. The text pauses to tell us: “Moses was a very humble man, more so than anyone on the face of the earth” (Num. 12:3). Moses didn’t defend himself. He didn’t scramble to protect his reputation; he didn’t need to compete for significance. “The LORD heard it” (Num. 12:2). That was enough.
His humility came from learning that his calling and his significance were not self-made, which meant they couldn’t be self-protected. Everything had been given to him by God—his cup wasn’t empty. He didn’t need to draw from the approval of others, even his own siblings, because he stood secure in the presence of his promise-keeping God.
A woman whose worth is secure in God doesn’t feel threatened or jealous when someone else carries influence she once held—or never had. Like Moses, she can walk humbly, entrusting her reputation, her calling, and her visibility to the Lord who assigned them in the first place.
She doesn’t need to grasp for position or guard it in fear, because her cup isn’t empty. It’s already been filled by the steadfast love of God. And from that fullness, she is free: free to celebrate others, free to serve selflessly, free to step forward or step aside—knowing that her significance rests not in where she stands in the room, but in whose she is.
Living from a Full Cup
In Numbers 12, after the Lord addressed Moses, Aaron, and Miriam, Miriam experienced consequences for her actions. “As the cloud moved away from the tent, Miriam’s skin suddenly became diseased, resembling snow” (Num. 12:10), a reflection of her heart.
In this entire encounter, Moses hadn’t yet said a word, but when he finally speaks, his words are a prayer for the one who had accused him:
Moses turns to the Lord with a great emotive entreaty, “O God, please heal her!” Faced with the dilemma of letting Miriam suffer the consequences of her rebellion against him or pray for her restoration, Moses graciously becomes the intercessor on behalf of his accuser.
Even in discipline, Miriam received God’s grace and mercy. If she had experienced chronic leprosy, she would have been banished for life. Instead, “Miriam was confined outside the camp for seven days, and the people did not move on until Miriam was brought back in” (Num. 12:15).
Moses’ intercession, loving as it was, points beyond Miriam’s story. Jesus didn’t only ask the Father to heal us—He bore the disease of our sin. While Miriam was confined outside the camp for her actions, Jesus chose to be crucified outside the gate “so that he might sanctify the people by his own blood” (Heb. 13:12). He carried our pride, our jealousy, and our selfishness, absorbing the consequences so that we could be restored fully and forever. 3
To live as a woman loved by God is to live from a full cup—the cup filled at the cross. And when you know you’re deeply, undeservedly loved by Him, you no longer enter rooms or relationships needing to be filled. You enter full, and what overflows is the love of Jesus.
1 R. Dennis Cole, Numbers, vol. 3B, The New American Commentary (Nashville: Broadman & Holman Publishers, 2000), 201.
2 Michael Rydelnik and Michael Vanlaningham, eds., Moody Bible Commentary (Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2014), 230.
3 R. Dennis Cole, Numbers, vol. 3B, The New American Commentary (Nashville: Broadman & Holman Publishers, 2000), 207.
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