Isaac On the Altar

The beloved teenage son, after years of being homeschooled and attending private school, has piles of scholarship money sitting at his feet.  And he's not sure he wants it.  Uncertainty, indecision, and fear follow him about, clouding his thinking.  His gifts and talents are held in tension by the way his brain holds onto and processes information.  And this is all part of His loving Father's design and plan for him.

And he talks about the army.  And I picture drill sergeants yelling and bullets flying and soldiers hoping to come home safely from dangerous desert places.  And I weep.

And I think of how many times I've stood and wept at Memorial Day parades, watching the flags waving, watching the veterans march by.  I remember how many times I've spoken up in support of the military, expressing my gratitude for their willingness to sacrifice and put their lives in harm's way.

Their lives.  Not my son's.

And I hear the voice of his school principal saying that perhaps the Lord is asking me to put my Isaac on the altar and trust in God's provision.  And I remember hearing that story as a young girl in Sunday School, watching my sainted teacher act it out.  Pretending to march up Mount Moriah, carrying the wood.  Placing the imaginary son on the altar.  Looking to see the ram, caught by its horns.  It was a powerful story then.  I never thought I'd be asked to live it.

And a friend, an army chaplain calls him while on vacation with his family and talks to him and encourages him.  And my son brightens, expressing gratitude for the gifts of time and encouragement.  He sees the possibility of challenge and success and the opportunity to test himself and become a man.

I tell my brother about the phone call and say, "Wouldn't our dad be proud of his grandson?" he who proudly squeezed himself into his army uniform and marched in his hometown Memorial Day parade, year after year.  And my brother tells me the story (how is it that I never heard this until now?) of the army chaplain who befriended our father, he who as a young boy used to walk past churches, wondering what went on in there.  And that chaplain sowed the seed of the gospel.  And it took root.

And I know that God is in this and He will provide.  And I hear His voice saying, "Never will I leave you.  Never will I forsake you."  And He means it.

And I am so grateful.  The list of God's gifts, great and small, continues:



230.  The men and women of our armed services.
231.  The families who love them and let them go.
232.  The blessings of being in the body of Christ--what our pastor called, "the privileges of membership."
233.  Seeing the men in the church speaking truth and grace and encouragement to my son.
234.  Witnessing the baptism of a new convert--a hard-core atheist transformed by the gospel, wooed out of the kingdom of darkness and welcomed into the kingdom of light.  Being reminded, once again, that it is all, all true.
235.  Being surprised, once again, by the first chorus of spring peepers.

236.  The snow fountain which blooms so briefly but so beautifully each spring.

237.  Swans on the reservoir.  Yes, they are fierce and aggressive, but so lovely to look at.

238.  Childhood friends.

239.  Learning of a saint triumphant who has earned his rest.  Reading the legacy of the lives he touched.  Knowing he had done what God had put him on this earth to do.

240.  Faithful Sunday School teachers.

241.  The ministry of CareNet.  Lives transformed by the gospel.

242.  The Pirates winning their first game of the season, reawakening memories of my dad.

243.  The beloved Swede, reaching out to a young man being raised by a single mom, sharing his love of hunting.
244.  The hard-working, salt-of-the-earth, God-fearing farmer who runs the hunting camp and finds joy in introducing young people to the sport.

245.  The young man shaking like a leaf after getting his first turkey.