Journey
Dear Sarah,
By the time you find this, we will be long gone. Isaac and I have a difficult journey to make today. He thinks we're going to worship God with a sacrifice, but I haven't told him the whole story. It's too heartbreaking for me to think about telling him. Or you, for that matter. But I owe you some sort of explanation, because I'm not sure he's coming back with me.
You remember as well as I do how we longed for a child for such a long time. A baby to hold, flesh and bone. You insisted I have a baby with Hagar, your maid, but we both knew Ishmael was not really what we had hoped for. Oh, he's a fine boy. I'm so very proud of him. But he's not OUR baby. And when God kept promising that YOU would have a child—well, I would have laughed, too, if I were you. It all seemed so impossible. Mainly because I am so old. We're both well past child-bearing years. Yes, I had believed God when he told us to leave our homes and head out into this desert, this "promised land." But I guess in my heart I still believed there were some things even God couldn't do.
There were even times I was tempted to turn back to those old gods we used to worship. You know, the ones that promised if you did this ritual or that one, you'd get what you wanted. I was tempted. I think you were, too. But something in us kept us on track. Something in the back of my mind kept wondering: what if God really could come through?
I remember laughing when you told me you were pregnant. Oh, the joy! And then it hit me: how in the world were we going to pull this off, as old as we were? But somehow we managed, and when Isaac was born, his name seemed natural. "Laughter." Of course! And we laughed, too, when we realized we were so old that Medicare was going to be paying for the Labor & Delivery room!
Isaac has grown into a fine young man, my dear Sarah, due in no small part to your love and care for him. I'm so very proud of him. I'm not all that proud of how we treated Hagar and Ishmael, but that's a subject for another time. I want you to understand how much I love Isaac—and why this journey is so hard.
God spoke to me the other night, Sarah, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. God told me to travel to a mountain, a few days' journey away, and to offer a sacrifice. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but Sarah, God said the sacrifice is to be Isaac. I don't understand it, either. Why give us a son like Isaac and then ask for him back? I don't understand, I just know I have to do this. Which is why we left early this morning, and why I'm afraid only I will be coming back.
But, Sarah, God has not brought us this far to leave us now, to destroy everything he himself has built. I have to believe this is some sort of test, that God has already designed a way out. Deep in my heart, I'm holding out hope that God will provide a lamb for the sacrifice instead of our son. But I don't know. Right now, all I'm doing is obeying. I'm doing, to the best of my ability, what God asked me to do.
Please don't hate me, Sarah, and please don't hate God. I know this is awful news. But let's wait to see how this works out, and trust that God has a plan. I will be back in a few days.
Your loving husband,
Abraham
By the time you find this, we will be long gone. Isaac and I have a difficult journey to make today. He thinks we're going to worship God with a sacrifice, but I haven't told him the whole story. It's too heartbreaking for me to think about telling him. Or you, for that matter. But I owe you some sort of explanation, because I'm not sure he's coming back with me.
You remember as well as I do how we longed for a child for such a long time. A baby to hold, flesh and bone. You insisted I have a baby with Hagar, your maid, but we both knew Ishmael was not really what we had hoped for. Oh, he's a fine boy. I'm so very proud of him. But he's not OUR baby. And when God kept promising that YOU would have a child—well, I would have laughed, too, if I were you. It all seemed so impossible. Mainly because I am so old. We're both well past child-bearing years. Yes, I had believed God when he told us to leave our homes and head out into this desert, this "promised land." But I guess in my heart I still believed there were some things even God couldn't do.
There were even times I was tempted to turn back to those old gods we used to worship. You know, the ones that promised if you did this ritual or that one, you'd get what you wanted. I was tempted. I think you were, too. But something in us kept us on track. Something in the back of my mind kept wondering: what if God really could come through?
I remember laughing when you told me you were pregnant. Oh, the joy! And then it hit me: how in the world were we going to pull this off, as old as we were? But somehow we managed, and when Isaac was born, his name seemed natural. "Laughter." Of course! And we laughed, too, when we realized we were so old that Medicare was going to be paying for the Labor & Delivery room!
Isaac has grown into a fine young man, my dear Sarah, due in no small part to your love and care for him. I'm so very proud of him. I'm not all that proud of how we treated Hagar and Ishmael, but that's a subject for another time. I want you to understand how much I love Isaac—and why this journey is so hard.
God spoke to me the other night, Sarah, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. God told me to travel to a mountain, a few days' journey away, and to offer a sacrifice. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but Sarah, God said the sacrifice is to be Isaac. I don't understand it, either. Why give us a son like Isaac and then ask for him back? I don't understand, I just know I have to do this. Which is why we left early this morning, and why I'm afraid only I will be coming back.
But, Sarah, God has not brought us this far to leave us now, to destroy everything he himself has built. I have to believe this is some sort of test, that God has already designed a way out. Deep in my heart, I'm holding out hope that God will provide a lamb for the sacrifice instead of our son. But I don't know. Right now, all I'm doing is obeying. I'm doing, to the best of my ability, what God asked me to do.
Please don't hate me, Sarah, and please don't hate God. I know this is awful news. But let's wait to see how this works out, and trust that God has a plan. I will be back in a few days.
Your loving husband,
Abraham
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