We enter this chapter alongside Saul, a young man of striking presence from the tribe of Benjamin, and find ourselves drawn into a story that feels surprisingly familiar. Saul is the son of Kish, “a man of standing,” and though he stands head and shoulders above all Israel (1 Samuel 9:2), his life at this point is defined by an ordinary responsibility: the search for lost donkeys. When Kish’s animals wander off, Saul steps up with quiet determination. We can almost feel his tension as he tells his servant, “Let us go again; perhaps my father will stop thinking about the donkeys and be concerned about us” (9:7). Who among us hasn’t worried that a simple misstep—lost property, a failed plan—might overshadow our own place in the family or community?
Saul and his servant trace the animals through familiar towns—some who recognize Kish bemusedly note that his son is not with him—but the donkeys remain missing. They press on to the region of Zuph, and as dusk settles, the servant suggests seeking guidance from a “man of God” in the nearby town. The servant reminds Saul that this prophetic figure has a reputation for knowing things before they happen. Saul, perhaps surprised that such a man exists at all, replies, “Well said; come, let us go” (9:6). In that exchange we hear echoed our own discoveries: sometimes help appears in unexpected places, and our moments of frustration can become the doorway to something far greater than our immediate needs.
When they arrive, they find Samuel not far off, dressed in his prophetic garb, and Samuel’s greeting sets our hearts pounding: “Here is the man of whom I told you: ‘Behold, the one who will govern the people of Israel’” (9:16). Samuel is already thinking of Saul as king, though neither Saul nor anyone else yet knows this. As we read that line, we sense how God’s timing transforms a simple errand into a pivotal encounter. How often have we set out for one purpose, only to stumble into our true calling?
Saul approaches nervously, and Samuel invites him to a meal with the other guests. We can almost smell the roasted meat and fresh unleavened bread as they share food and drink. As the company settles into the evening, Samuel seats Saul “among the guests” (9:22), giving him a place of honor without yet revealing why. It’s a reminder that hospitality can prepare our hearts for revelation, that shared meals can become the setting for life‑changing announcements.
After they’ve eaten, Samuel and Saul slip away from the public gathering to a private room. Samuel pours oil on Saul’s head, a tangible sign of calling and consecration, and speaks words that must have felt astonishing: “The LORD has anointed you to be prince over his inheritance. When you leave me today, you will find two men by Rachel’s tomb … and they will say to you, ‘The donkeys which you went to seek have been found’” (9:15–17). Samuel foretells details of Saul’s upcoming confirmation, but the first surprise is the sheer fact of God’s choice. We’ve watched Saul merely looking after some stray animals; now he learns he has been selected to govern the people.
Samuel continues, giving Saul a glimpse of the future: “Then you will go to Gibeah of God, where there are Philistine raiders. … You shall meet a company of prophets coming down from the high place with a lyre and a harp and a tambourine and a flute and a sackbut before them, and they will be prophesying” (10:5). In that vision we sense both the challenge and the equip‑ ment God provides for Saul’s journey: enemies to face, but also a prophetic community to encourage him. In our own lives, we, too, receive not only our call but the promise of companionship and spiritual refreshment along the road ahead.
Saul listens in awe, and Samuel gives him practical instructions—to go home, to wait seven days, and to watch as each piece of Samuel’s prophecy comes true. Although we hear him holding back a question—“Why then have I found favor in your sight, that you should show me such kindness?” (10:24)—Samuel’s words hang in the air: “Go, and may the LORD be with you” (10:6). That blessing lands on Saul like a benediction for every one of us who hears an unexpected call: wherever this leads, we do not journey alone.
The chapter ends with Samuel dismissing the assembly, sending everyone back to their homes. Yet in the hush that follows, we know that something fundamental has shifted. Saul returns with a heart stirring with questions and a sense of destiny that he cannot yet fully grasp. He has begun as a searcher of donkeys and ends as a seeker of God’s purpose for his life—a transformation that speaks directly to the twists in our own paths, where humble beginnings and routine tasks can become the soil for divine encounters.
As we step back from this narrative, several truths rise to the surface for us. God often calls us when we least expect it, using ordinary circumstances to set the stage for extraordinary purposes. Guidance may come through prophetic voices or historical promises, but what ultimately matters is our willingness to listen. Samuel’s hospitality models the importance of welcome, of creating space for revelation over a shared table. And Saul’s mixture of wonder and humility reminds us that when we sense God’s favor, our first response should be gratitude and readiness, not entitlement.
In our own stories, we, like Saul, may begin by seeking help for small losses—misplaced keys, failed projects, uncertain futures—only to discover that God’s agenda is far broader than our immediate concerns. Whether through a quiet word of encouragement, a meal shared with a mentor, or the unfolding of prophetic insight, we are invited to receive our calling with open hearts, to trust in God’s provision, and to step forward into the life prepared for us long before we ever knew our need.