if you say go

I've been wrestling with God over a couple of issues for about a year. I don't mean a controlled verbal debate, I mean I've been acting like a 6-year-old child who isn't getting her way.

He's been trying to teach me patience and faith, asking me to specifically follow his instructions, but I've been kicking and screaming, yelling, "I want it now! Why not now? Why don't you just bless me now?" And I haaate it.

It's actually kind of ridiculous behavior. But it's had to be this way for me to come to this point. I'm the spoiled brat not getting her way, and He's the understanding Father trying to teach his kid a life lesson.

In March of last year, I felt like my whole life was in pieces. I didn't get into Harvard, I was just getting out of a rough two-year emotionally abusive pseudo-relationship, things with my family were starting to fall apart, and then Wofford came into the picture...it was my wilderness experience. It was the time I had to blindly walk by faith and trust God when he said, "Go to this place," even though I was scared. Now, I'm relating to Abraham the same way in a different part of his story.

Since I was five years old, I can remember dreaming about being a doctor. My dad taught me how to do a suture when I was 10, I would stitch bananas back together and have brain surgery on my Barbies. I was going to go to Havard, followed by Harvard med, and save the world. No sweat. That's just how it was. My whole life has been centered around this idea of being a surgeon. I've made it a part of my life without it ever even existing.

So as I've gotten older to my current stage of life as a sophomore in college, I've been frustrated that he hasn't followed my life plan and given me exactly what I wanted when I asked for it. I had it all mapped out. I would be done with med school when I was 25, do all my specialization, marry another surgeon, have this genius super family, etc. Instead, he asked me this summer to lay that big dream on the altar and stick a knife in it.

I've read Genesis 22 over and over again—slow, fast, in various translations. My favorite translation is in the New Living Translation. I've come to a few conclusions about this situation:

1. Some time later, God tested Abraham’s faith. “Abraham!” God called.

"Yes," he replied. "Here I am."

God liked to test Abraham's faith—a lot—didn't he? It almost seemed to be God's twisted way of messing with Abraham every now and then, just to see if he'd screw up. I feel like that sometimes. Sometimes I get tired of God's tests of my faith. I just want a summer break every now and then. But, alas, we all know that God tests our faith for good reasons and to grow us.

2. “Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much—and go to the land of Moriah. Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains, which I will show you.”

Can you imagine what Abraham thought when God asked him to sacrifice Isaac—his "son whom he loved so much"? I'll bet Abraham was pretty ticked. Why wouldn't God have asked him to sacrifice something easy, like a ram, a sheep, or even some luxuries in life? Why his beloved son?

I can relate. I have begged God over and over to take something else. I've even gone so far as to offer up myself as a lifelong foreign missionary, start all these cool charities, never to enjoy Froot Loops, snow, or Christmas ever again, just so I could keep my dream—the dream that I love so much.

3. The next morning Abraham got up early. He saddled his donkey and took two of his servants with him, along with his son, Isaac. Then he chopped wood for a fire for a burnt offering and set out for the place God had told him about.

I know it seems like Abraham was quick to run and chop up some firewood so he could rush his son to the sacrificial altar, but don't let the lack of details in this passage fool you. There's no way he sprinted to Moriah. He probably took his time going up the mountain so he could savor a few last moment with Isaac. Along the way, I'm sure he thought over and over, "God, are you sure you want me to do this? This seems like the craziest idea you've ever had. Maybe I didn't hear you correctly."

It's taken me more than a year to make it up the mountain. At first, I thought I could rush up and shove it on the altar because God really wouldn't take it from me. Instead, he would provide me with exactly what I wanted in its place. But I was wrong. He really does want this precious dream of mine—every piece of it. And I've sauntered up the side of the mountain for a long while, hesitating all along the way, clutching it tight in my arms, and wondering if I shouldn't just turn around and carry it back to the bottom.

4. On the third day of their journey, Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. “Stay here with the donkey,” Abraham told the servants. “The boy and I will travel a little farther. We will worship there, and then we will come right back.”

After a year, I'm now standing where Abraham was. I can see the altar from here. So why can't I just walk up and lay it down? I don't know yet. God has worked me over all the way here. I've had to worship him the whole way up.

I do know that on this journey, I've gotten rid of some things—insecurities, issues that weren't yet resolved, things from my past—that I otherwise would've held on to. These were the things I needed to get rid of to make it to the top.

The most incredible times of worship—when I have never felt God's presence more—were the times it was just me and Him. The times I felt the greatest pain in my life. I can imagine Abraham was feeling some incredible pain as he escorted his son up the mountain, but knew that he would worship in his agony when he reached the top.

It seems as though the pain of this journey has increased the farther along I go. I know that it's coming. Soon I'll have to let go of this dream. When that time comes in just a short while, I'll be in pain. And in that pain, I'll worship.

5. So Abraham placed the wood for the burnt offering on Isaac’s shoulders, while he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them walked on together, Isaac turned to Abraham and said, “Father?”

“Yes, my son?” Abraham replied.

“We have the fire and the wood,” the boy said, “but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”

“God will provide a sheep for the burnt offering, my son,” Abraham answered. And they both walked on together.

So many pictures run through my mind in these verses: 1) that Isaac, the sacrifice, carried his own cross to the place he was to die, just as Jesus did, 2) that Abraham would put him there and plunge the knife into his heart, just as our sin nailed Jesus to the cross, and 3) how true Abraham's words were—that God did, indeed, provide the Lamb of God to be sacrificed for our sins.

But I also questioned what Abraham meant here. Was he just confident that God would come through with a substitute? Or was he just trying to avoid panic and hysteria in his son when he found out he would be the sacrifice?

I don't know what God means for me. The outcome is uncertain. However, I do know that God's grace is enough for whatever happens. I do know that he, in his providence, will still reign supreme in my life. I do know that I am grateful for the sacrifice Jesus made for me on the cross.

6. When they arrived at the place where God had told him to go, Abraham built an altar and arranged the wood on it. Then he tied his son, Isaac, and laid him on the altar on top of the wood. And Abraham picked up the knife to kill his son as a sacrifice. At that moment the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, “Abraham! Abraham!”

“Yes,” Abraham replied. “Here I am!”

“Don’t lay a hand on the boy!” the angel said. “Do not hurt him in any way, for now I know that you truly fear God. You have not withheld from me even your son, your only son.”

I understand why God wants this from me. I've made it my idol. I've been like a little child, clutching some posession, pouting and yelling, "It's mine! Not yours!" It's defined my life for almost 19 years. I've lost part of my identity to it.

Ultimately, my identity only lies in Christ. He's the only one that provides the definition for who I am in this world. He wants my total devotion. I started praying for brokenness on March 31, 2008 and he's worked his way in my life up to this point. He needs a direct line to me with nothing else standing in the way. And I'm willing to go there.

7. Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. So he took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in place of his son. Abraham named the place Yahweh-Yireh (which means “the Lord will provide”). To this day, people still use that name as a proverb: “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.”

Then the angel of the Lord called again to Abraham from heaven. “This is what the Lord says: Because you have obeyed me and have not withheld even your son, your only son, I swear by my own name that I will certainly bless you. I will multiply your descendants beyond number, like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will conquer the cities of their enemies. And through your descendants all the nations of the earth will be blessed—all because you have obeyed me."

I've selfishly held on to this dream for a long time. In my mind, it's always belonged to me. But, God asked for it and I said, "OK." And it's been a long process giving it up. I don't know what will happen next—whether he'll take it up and consume it with fire, provide a substitute and bless me for my obedience, or do something completely out of the ordinary that I never thought of (which is usually what happens).

Whatever the outcome, he'll provide what I need and I'll be satisfied—even if it hurts. I've realized I'm too ridiculous to figure out my own life. I just keep screwing my "plans" up. I'm willing to let go of ALL the reigns and give him control. I'll trust and obey no matter what happens.

My prayer today:

Here, before your altar, I am letting go of all I've held—of every motive, every burden, every thing that's of myself. I just want to wait on you, my God. I just want to dwell on who you are.

Beautiful, beautiful—I am lost for more to say. Beautiful, beautiful—Lord, you're beautiful to me.

Here, in your presence, I am not afraid of brokenness, to wash your feet with humble tears. I would be poured out until nothing is left. I just want to wait on you, my God. I just want to dwell on who you are.

(Kari Jobe's "Beautiful")