Do you think he suffocated the night before his sacrifice-to-be of his only son?
I know scripture states he believed God and knew God would raise Isaac from the dead.
But don't you think that deep down in the shadow of his son sleeping, and in the silence of Isaac's quiet breathing, Abraham, himself, had moments of heaving as he watched the chest rise and fall one more time, knowing it was chest he gave life to, and tomorrow, he would destroy?
Do you think he slept?
I've been considering Jesus in the garden, sweating drops of blood or standing before the judges.
I know He was fully God, but He was fully man, too. His body had every natural instinct we have.
Do you think He had moments when His insides screamed, Oh, Father, no?
Or moments where his feet took one more step of life after another along the way to the Cross, although physically his human spirit screamed for retreat?
Wouldn't that only be natural?
Or the millions of martyrs across the centuries, who waited through their final hours for their earthly doom...
Do you wonder if in a silent place of their mind they heard the whisper, Was this truly worth it?
I'm not Abraham, or Jesus, or a martyr. I don't think any of us are.
But don't we all have our Isaac, the thing we stay watch through the night, to squeeze what we think may be the final moments of life from?
Don't we all have the dream, the child, the marriage we suffocate over when we consider it's absence in our lives?
I think of some friends who God denied the opportunity of consideration. In a moment the breaths, giggles and tears became memories. I've watched as they are called to sift through the wreckage of sorrow with hope.
I'm not a great man or woman of faith. I'm just an a child who is obedient on the outside, but inside, my soul is wading through the voices telling me that He's forgotten my heart, again. I'm fighting my urges to slip into J's room one more time, to fully live the final moments entrusted to me with this child.
I'm battling the lie that I'm suffocating.
I'm helping my sons sift through the questions.
I'm sorting with my girls through the reality that their homegoing has been lapped again.
I'm grieving deeply with Jamie, in hope.
I keep waiting for this part to get easier, the letting go. But maybe, if it ever does, we shouldn't be doing this anymore, because with each precious soul in our home, we are called to love fully and wildly.
Mattie came a week ago. There was this moment when I was in my room, and she was playing with the boys. I looked out my doorway, and she was giggling, pure and without reservation.
It was Glory.
My heart caught for a moment, and the Spirit whispered to me, That was your yes that helped restore that giggle.
Sunday night, we picked up Baby M's half brother and sister and took them to our church's fall festival. With Grandma's help, we decked them out in costume style.
I took them home and watched them close the door, only to have Sister throw it open again and scream, Catie, this was the best night of my life.
And she leaped from the top of the porch into my arms.
It was Glory.
And the Spirit whispered, That was your letting go.
There's a reason we use the term "hands and feet of Jesus."
His hands and feet must take over because by nature our fingers are clinched tightly on the inside, and our toes are curled, screaming at us to flee. By nature, we feel it's our place to protect ourselves and the ones we love. It's natural.
But the reality is, this fallen world is unnatural. Our natures were never meant to run from the One we were designed for. Our chests were never meant to suffocate in surrendering to the One who gave us breath.
It's all unnatural; that's why it hurts.
We were not made for the lies, or goodbyes, or the whispers, or the doubts.
We were made for Glory.
Yet, here on earth, we abide to sift through the rummage and be continually amazed by the restoration, the redemption, and the healing.
To stand, as our faces are continually being unveiled with ever-increasing Glory.
Knowing we were designed, that we are moving towards a Glory that far outweighs our present sufferings and sacrifices.
Remembering we were not made for the suffocation nights. We were made for Jesus.