- Covered In His Dust
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- Acts Chapter 21
"When disciples followed a rabbi, they followed him closely so they would never be out of his sight, never be someplace where they couldn’t hear him speak. They followed him so closely that his sandals often kicked up dust."
May you be covered in His dust.
If this is your first time receiving Covered in His Dust, WELCOME. I’d love to hear where you’re reading from. Just reply and let me know.
Before you dive into my notes, I encourage you to read Chapter 21 first.
Yes, I include all the scripture below, but there’s something about sitting with the whole chapter first — giving yourself room to be curious.
What doesn’t make sense?
What catches you off guard?
Who’s that?
Those questions will make the notes hit deeper.
Stand firm Saints! ☀️
At the end of Acts 20, we were on the shore.
Paul had just finished speaking to the Ephesian elders.
He knelt down with them and prayed.
There were tears.
There were hugs.
There was heartbreak.
They knew they’d never see his face again.
And still—they walked with him to the ship.
It was a goodbye full of love and pain.
Full of the Spirit.
Full of surrender.
The kind of goodbye that leaves something undone in your chest.
Like part of you stayed on the shore.
Let’s jump into Chapter 21
And when we had parted from them and set sail, we came by a straight course to Cos, and the next day to Rhodes, and from there to Patara. And having found a ship crossing to Phoenicia, we went aboard and set sail. When we had come in sight of Cyprus, leaving it on the left we sailed to Syria and landed at Tyre, for there the ship was to unload its cargo.
At first glance, it looks like an ordinary travel log—just names, places, and routes.
But look closer…
It’s the path of obedience. Each city isn't just geography, it’s a decision. A step closer to suffering. A step deeper into God’s will.
Imagine standing on the deck. The wind hits your face. You see Cyprus off to your left. And you know—you’re getting closer to Jerusalem. Closer to danger.
Luke remembers which side Cyprus was on because this wasn’t ordinary. It wasn’t forgettable. It mattered.
That’s why he includes it. It’s a quiet record of men who trusted God more than they feared what was coming.
Copyright 2019 Ralph F. Wilson
And having sought out the disciples, we stayed there for seven days. And through the Spirit they were telling Paul not to go on to Jerusalem.
Wait. What’s going on here?
The disciples are telling Paul not to go to Jerusalem but just last chapter Paul says,
"And now, behold, I am going to Jerusalem, constrained by the Spirit, not knowing what will happen to me there."
The Greek word translated “constrained” is δεδεμένος (dedemenos), from the root δέω (deō). It literally means bound, tied, fastened, or imprisoned.
In other words, Paul wasn’t just nudged by the Spirit—he was bound by Him. Tied up. Gripped. Carried forward.
This is the same word used in Acts 12:6, when Peter was bound with chains in prison, and in Luke 8:29, where the demon-possessed man was tied with shackles.
So when Paul says he’s “constrained by the Spirit,” he’s not saying, “I feel led to go.”
He’s saying, “The Spirit has tied me up and is leading me there. I couldn’t break free even if I wanted to.”
The Holy Spirit was revealing the same future to everyone:
Danger.
Hardship.
Arrest.
The difference was how people responded to that revelation.
To Paul, the Spirit’s warning was confirmation: “This is going to hurt. Keep going.”
To the disciples, it was a plea: “Paul, don’t go. You're going to suffer.”
Same Spirit. Same message. Different interpretations.
And that’s deeply human.
When we see someone we love heading toward pain, our instinct is to pull them away—even if it’s God’s will.
But Paul wasn’t making a reckless decision. He was making a Spirit-led, Spirit-constrained one.
He didn’t love suffering. He loved Jesus more than comfort.
Man, that kind of obedience is humbling.
And we’re just getting started—more warnings are coming.
When our days there were ended, we departed and went on our journey, and they all, with wives and children, accompanied us until we were outside the city. And kneeling down on the beach, we prayed and said farewell to one another. Then we went on board the ship, and they returned home.
Every one of them showed up.
That’s rare in the ancient world. Entire families walking out with Paul and his team?
It shows how much these believers loved them. They weren’t sending off a guest. They were saying goodbye to family.
They knelt together on the beach.
Not in a synagogue.
Not in a house.
But in public, in the open, on the shore.
There’s something so raw and real about that image: Sand on their knees. Wind whipping through their robes. Tears. Prayers. The ship waiting behind them.
They feel the weight of it.
So they walk him out, drop to their knees, and pray.
Because that’s what Christians do when we know someone is walking straight into suffering for the sake of Jesus.
We don’t stop them.
We kneel with them.
When we had finished the voyage from Tyre, we arrived at Ptolemais, and we greeted the brothers and stayed with them for one day.
Just one little verse. But it’s a glimpse of the early Church in action—bold, united and alive.
Paul wasn’t just passing through—he was reconnecting with family. Brothers and sisters in the faith.
Everywhere they stopped, there were believers. People who loved Jesus. People who welcomed them in, even if they’d never met before.
And that says something powerful:
The gospel had already gone out. The church was growing. And even in unfamiliar cities, there was a sense of home.
Makes you wonder what those conversations were like around the table that night.
On the next day we departed and came to Caesarea, and we entered the house of Philip the evangelist, who was one of the seven, and stayed with him. He had four unmarried daughters, who prophesied.
Back in Acts 6, Philip was chosen as one of the seven to help distribute food to widows—what many consider the first deacons.
But that’s not how Luke introduces him here.
Philip had stepped into something bigger than just service.
He was boldly proclaiming Christ (see Acts 8:5–8, 26–40).
To Samaritans.
To the Ethiopian.
To strangers on desert roads.
So Luke calls him what he had become: an evangelist.
Paul staying in Philip’s house is no small detail.
The same Philip who watched Stephen get stoned at the feet of Paul. The same Philip who had to flee Jerusalem because of the persecution that Paul helped lead.
Now? Years later?
The persecutor is staying in the home of the persecuted. The man who scattered the church is now being welcomed by one of its earliest messengers.
And not just welcomed—hosted.
That’s the power of the gospel.
No bitterness. No revenge. No hesitation.
They both gave their lives to the same Jesus. And now they sit under the same roof.
That’s a picture of the church only God could write.
While we were staying for many days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. And coming to us, he took Paul’s belt and bound his own feet and hands and said, “Thus says the Holy Spirit, ‘This is how the Jews at Jerusalem will bind the man who owns this belt and deliver him into the hands of the Gentiles.’”
Agabus wasn’t a stranger.
Back in Acts 11, Agabus showed up with a prophecy about a famine—which came true. So he had credibility. He was trusted.
That matters when a hard word is being delivered.
When we heard this, we and the people there urged him not to go up to Jerusalem.
That line hits different when you realize who's included in the “we.”
That means Luke—Paul’s trusted friend and travel companion—was urging him not to go. Maybe Timothy too, if he was still with them (he was earlier in Acts 20). And the believers in Caesarea—including Philip and his prophetic daughters.
All of them.
Everyone in the room— People Paul trusted. People who loved him. People filled with the Holy Spirit.
And every single one of them said:
“Please don’t go.”
This scene is one of the most raw, Spirit-filled, emotionally charged moments in Acts.
Not because of a miracle. But because of love. Because of obedience. Because of the cost of following Jesus—when everyone else is telling you to stop.
Then Paul answered, “What are you doing, weeping and breaking my heart? For I am ready not only to be imprisoned but even to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” And since he would not be persuaded, we ceased and said, “Let the will of the Lord be done.”
Agabus didn’t say, Don’t go. He just showed what would happen. I think sometimes we confuse revelation with prohibition. But Paul didn’t.
But here’s the million-dollar question: How do we hear from God?
Start here— If it contradicts Scripture, it’s not God. God doesn’t change His mind. He doesn’t say one thing in the Bible and whisper the opposite in your heart. If you don’t know His Word, you’ll confuse His voice with your own desires. Get in the Bible. That’s how you learn the sound of His voice.
God’s voice brings clarity. Not confusion. He may lead you into hard things. But He doesn’t lead you with chaos. Even when Paul knew suffering was coming, he had peace. Not comfort. Not ease. But peace that anchored him. God’s voice doesn’t always make you feel safe. But it always makes you feel sure.
God’s voice is often confirmed—but not determined—by others. People who love you may plead with you not to go. They might even be right about the pain ahead. But that doesn’t mean they’re right about your assignment. God told Paul to go. Everyone else said don’t. Paul went.
If God has spoken—you obey. Even if no one else understands.
And sometimes... it’s just a whisper.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just steady, quiet, and clear.
And the more you walk with Him, the more you’ll recognize that whisper when it comes.
One last thought.
We often think, “If God is leading me, it’ll be easy.”
But Scripture shows us—it’s not either/or. It’s both.
God can lead you straight into hardship. Not to hurt you. But to use you.
So how do you know what to do???
Stay in the Word.
Lean into wise counsel.
Follow the peace of Christ.
And listen for the whisper.
Then go where He sends you—even if it’s hard.
After these days we got ready and went up to Jerusalem. And some of the disciples from Caesarea went with us, bringing us to the house of Mnason of Cyprus, an early disciple, with whom we should lodge.
Paul ... is still going.
After everything. The weeping. The belt prophecy. His closest friends begging him not to do it. He stands up, quietly gets ready, and walks toward the storm anyway.
That’s not stubbornness. That’s faithfulness.
No applause. No dramatic send-off. Just quiet, gritty obedience.
And here’s what got me: they went with him.
Some of the disciples from Caesarea—guys who just tried to talk him out of it—still walked beside him.
They didn’t agree, but they didn’t walk away. They trusted that if Paul was going to follow God’s will, they were going to help him get there.
Man, that’s what mature, Spirit-filled community looks like. Not controlling. Not manipulative. Just faithful enough to say, “Even if this is hard to watch, I’ll walk with you.”
That’s the church Jesus died for.
And it’s the one we’re called to be.
Just as Paul was moving toward Jerusalem, we’re moving toward his letter to the Romans.
Written before chains.
Before the trial.
Before the shipwreck.
But filled with the same fire that carried him through all of it.
Get ready.
I love you,
George
Uncovering Scripture
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George Sisneros is a full-time missionary in Guatemala and the founder of Ordinary Missionaries and the El Rosario Christian Academy for Boys.
He’s been married to his wife, Vonda, for 26 years. He’s a father to nine children, five adopted.
In 2024, George and his wife expanded to Cuba, joining forces with nine pastors committed to transforming lives through the gospel.