When Dennis O’Neil and Neal Adams introduced John Stewart in Green Lantern #87 (1971), they did more than create a backup for Hal Jordan—they broke barriers. A Black Marine Corps veteran from Detroit, John arrived during the civil-rights era, confident, brilliant, and unwilling to bow. Adams said later, “We didn’t want a stereotype; we wanted a man who could stand toe to toe with gods.

There are seasons when God doesn’t just hand you a seed — He sends you as one. He places you in families, workplaces, churches, and communities, not simply to receive a harvest, but to become one. You are the seed God plants to bring change, light, and fruit to places that have gone dry. And like any seed, you may have to endure darkness, pressure, and time before your purpose begins to grow.

Because favor isn’t chaos. It’s coordination. It’s when God steps into the middle of what looked messy and brings structure, clarity, and peace. See, the same God who spoke light into darkness in Genesis still speaks order into our confusion today. He aligns people, opportunities, and timing so that what once felt scattered begins to make sense. That’s divine order — and it’s one of the most underrated forms of God’s favor.

The Word of God never returns void. It may be buried deep beneath disappointment or delay, but it’s alive, active, and growing — even when you can’t see it.

Spiritually, that same tension exists in our lives. We sow faithfully, pray persistently, and believe wholeheartedly, yet sometimes it feels like nothing’s happening. The ground looks undisturbed. The air feels quiet. The waiting feels endless. And that’s where most people give up — right before the bloom.

That moment between seed and harvest is what I call “the weight of waiting.” Waiting is heavy because it tests both your endurance and your belief. It’s the space where you can’t see what God is doing, but you must trust that He’s still doing it. It’s not wasted time — it’s working time, where the roots grow deeper before the fruit appears.

We live in a world that measures success by visible results—numbers, likes, money, applause. But Heaven doesn’t operate that way. Every prayer whispered, every act of kindness, every tear shed in intercession, every step of obedience—it all counts.

But they aren’t helpless. They’re armored. They’re equipped with purity bombs, purity crystals, shields, bows, sais, and supernatural sight. But more than that, they’re armed with faith, unity, and discipline. They know their mission. And they know that any crack in their armor could lead to disaster.