Lord of the Exodus,
You tell Your people to set apart the firstborn
human and animal
as a sign that all life belongs to You.
What opens the womb is Yours by right,
because You opened the way out of Egypt.
You bind the memory of deliverance
on hands and foreheads,
so that work and thought alike
are marked by what You have done.
You command that the story
be told from one generation to the next:
“We were slaves, but the LORD brought us out
with a mighty hand.”
You lead not by the shortest road,
but by the one we can bear.
You know our frame
how quickly fear could drive us back
if we saw war too soon.
So You take us the long way,
through the wilderness toward the sea.
By day You go before us in a pillar of cloud,
by night in a pillar of fire
never leaving,
never silent,
never absent.
Your presence is both map and shield.
You carry the bones of Joseph,
because promises made are promises kept.
Even in a caravan of the living,
You remember the dead.
Your faithfulness spans centuries;
Your hand finishes what it begins.
Lord, claim my first and my best,
not as payment,
but as worship.
Let my life be a living memorial
to Your rescue.
Guide me by Your presence,
even when the route feels slow.
Keep me close to the cloud by day
and the fire by night,
until the journey’s end.
In the name of Jesus,
the greater Deliverer,
who is both the Firstborn and the Way,
Amen.