Dashing into the bank today, I see a dear, old friend. A quick and cheerful “hello” turns into a virtual coffee break (without the coffee, more’s the pity) right by the glass double doors, and I remember.
Remember the days and long, long months of prayers. Petitions that seemed all unanswered. The weariness of soul, the dearth of hope, and the eventual road to surrender. It was hard.
It was hard, those years, and today, I full know; know that somewhere, a mother can’t do it. Can’t come to surrender. Has no courage to open clenched hands, laying sweet Isaac down.
Then, to lay herself right down, too.
This word is for that mother, the one who trembles before an altar of stone. Who teeters unsteady on hard earthen brink, hopeless and ready to quit.
Don’t quit, tired mother. For God, He’s not quit. He’s workin’ and movin’ unseen. Don’t you quit.
You can give up Isaac. And I’ll tell you why…
It’s because of Whose hands are enfolding.
They’re bigger than yours. His back’s bigger, too, and He’s all designed for the carryin’. You’re not.
He’s after redemption (not destruction, you see?). He’s after the healin’ and mendin’. When you take your hands off, that’s when He’s full-empowered, and He gets right straight to that business.
That’s all I’ve got. That’s all that He gave me for you whose name I don’t know. But He does.
In His love,
P.S. – If your Isaac is bigger; say, a spouse, friend, or parent, this word today’s for you, too. Don’t quit.