They say the greatest stories begin with a single word.
One evening, as the sun slipped behind the hills and the shadows reached long across my living room floor, I opened my Bible to a verse I’ve read hundreds of times. Genesis 1:1. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” It was familiar, comforting—a verse etched into Sunday School posters and whispered over campfires.
But that night, something tugged at me. A question surfaced I hadn’t asked before: What if that first word didn’t mean quite what I thought it meant?
In Hebrew, the original language of the Old Testament, Genesis 1:1 begins with a single, weighty word: Bereshit. We translate it simply as “In the beginning.” But Hebrew is so much fuller, like a canvas with colors hidden until the light hits just right. Bereshit is formed from two parts: the prefix “be” meaning “in,” and “reshit,” which implies not merely "the beginning" in a chronological sense—but the first-fruits, the chief or preeminent place. Hidden in that one word is a clue: This isn’t just about time. It’s about priority.
When God begins at bereshit, He doesn’t just mark a starting line. He declares His place at the center. He paints Himself as the origin, the life behind all breath, the One before we were and after we’re gone.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had many false starts. I’ve rewritten plans. Launched days fueled by coffee and urgency, only to end them drained and anxious. I’ve tried to begin again with self-help, with fresh journals, with tightly written resolutions. And they never seem to hold.
But Bereshit reminds us: Creation didn’t begin with effort. It began with God.
That Hebrew verse—seven words long, full of mystery and rhythm—starts not with earth, not with sky, not even with us. It starts with Him. Bereshit bara Elohim et hashamayim ve’et ha’aretz. In the beginning—in the first, in the chief place—God created.
One rabbi once explained that re’shit also shares roots with wisdom, found in Proverbs 8:22: “The Lord brought me forth as the first of His works, before His deeds of old.” If creation began with wisdom, then perhaps our lives were never meant to begin with busy. They were meant to begin with God’s voice, God’s imagination, and God’s presence.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—the ache to reset, to begin again, to wake up and find your life aligned with something deeper than your to-do list.
Bereshit whispers a simple invitation: Begin with Me.
Start your morning before you scroll. Begin your choices before you panic. Put Me in the chief place. That’s what it means to walk with God—not just on Sunday, but inside every moment that feels like a beginning.
I sat staring at the page that night for a long time.
And I wondered—if one Hebrew word can reshape how we see creation, what other small seeds might God have planted in scripture just waiting to be unearthed?
One quiet truth I carry from that evening is this: We were never meant to create out of chaos alone. We were made to create from the presence of the Creator. That’s what He did. Out of darkness, He spoke light. From shapeless void came winds and waters, stars and soil.
Out of nothing—but only after Himself.
That’s the rhythm I want in my life again. Less building on sand, more on stone. Less scrambling for order. More speaking with the One who made order from nothing.
He didn’t just begin the world.
He is the beginning.
And when we place Him there—in the reshit of our hearts—we make space for something beautiful to be born.
They say the greatest stories begin with a single word.
One evening, as the sun slipped behind the hills and the shadows reached long across my living room floor, I opened my Bible to a verse I’ve read hundreds of times. Genesis 1:1. “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” It was familiar, comforting—a verse etched into Sunday School posters and whispered over campfires.
But that night, something tugged at me. A question surfaced I hadn’t asked before: What if that first word didn’t mean quite what I thought it meant?
In Hebrew, the original language of the Old Testament, Genesis 1:1 begins with a single, weighty word: Bereshit. We translate it simply as “In the beginning.” But Hebrew is so much fuller, like a canvas with colors hidden until the light hits just right. Bereshit is formed from two parts: the prefix “be” meaning “in,” and “reshit,” which implies not merely "the beginning" in a chronological sense—but the first-fruits, the chief or preeminent place. Hidden in that one word is a clue: This isn’t just about time. It’s about priority.
When God begins at bereshit, He doesn’t just mark a starting line. He declares His place at the center. He paints Himself as the origin, the life behind all breath, the One before we were and after we’re gone.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had many false starts. I’ve rewritten plans. Launched days fueled by coffee and urgency, only to end them drained and anxious. I’ve tried to begin again with self-help, with fresh journals, with tightly written resolutions. And they never seem to hold.
But Bereshit reminds us: Creation didn’t begin with effort. It began with God.
That Hebrew verse—seven words long, full of mystery and rhythm—starts not with earth, not with sky, not even with us. It starts with Him. Bereshit bara Elohim et hashamayim ve’et ha’aretz. In the beginning—in the first, in the chief place—God created.
One rabbi once explained that re’shit also shares roots with wisdom, found in Proverbs 8:22: “The Lord brought me forth as the first of His works, before His deeds of old.” If creation began with wisdom, then perhaps our lives were never meant to begin with busy. They were meant to begin with God’s voice, God’s imagination, and God’s presence.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—the ache to reset, to begin again, to wake up and find your life aligned with something deeper than your to-do list.
Bereshit whispers a simple invitation: Begin with Me.
Start your morning before you scroll. Begin your choices before you panic. Put Me in the chief place. That’s what it means to walk with God—not just on Sunday, but inside every moment that feels like a beginning.
I sat staring at the page that night for a long time.
And I wondered—if one Hebrew word can reshape how we see creation, what other small seeds might God have planted in scripture just waiting to be unearthed?
One quiet truth I carry from that evening is this: We were never meant to create out of chaos alone. We were made to create from the presence of the Creator. That’s what He did. Out of darkness, He spoke light. From shapeless void came winds and waters, stars and soil.
Out of nothing—but only after Himself.
That’s the rhythm I want in my life again. Less building on sand, more on stone. Less scrambling for order. More speaking with the One who made order from nothing.
He didn’t just begin the world.
He is the beginning.
And when we place Him there—in the reshit of our hearts—we make space for something beautiful to be born.
