He was the boy of promise. Born of promise to me. Born of my love. A right son. Of my body; the two became one and one flesh was birthed. As He had promised.
His Voice. The Voice that spoke those very words of promise. The Voice that bid me leave my home and turn away from all familiar. The Voice! That brought me out to show me a night sky afire with His words to me. Of many sons! The Voice that changed my name, and changed my life.
He asks me take his.
I rose early. Measured my steps to his tent. Somewhere between a man and a boy, his awkward form was sprawled in slumber. I shook him. Too harshly. His eyes filled with surprise as he started awake. He saw me and his eyes softened.
“I trust you,” was all they said.
We rose together. Set out together. I prepared for my burnt offering. My son. Words I do not know spilling from my spirit in my fervent plea. A quiet peace rests deeper than my heart. His Voice has never let me down. I know His Voice.
His Voice has never let me down.
Three days. I told the servants to wait. And as I turned to my son, I studied him in the quiet.
His eyes, they tore at me. Still speaking, “I trust you.”
We went out together. He carried the wood to build the fire. I the fire and the knife. In solemnity we stole our way on. Silence bound me from speaking, but my mind was afire with words – again – to which I know not the utterance or meaning.
“Father?”
I turned to him, my heart aching with blinding pain at his voice, “Yes, my son?”
“The fire and the wood are here,” he said. “But where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”
“God, himself,” I answered softly, “will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.”
I ushered him nearer me. My arm outstretched to him. He came near. His eyes met mine, still saying those words:
“I trust you.”
And when the place was as His Voice had described to me, and the altar was built and wood arranged before all heaven. When I took his hands and bound them. When I led him to the altar. When I lay him down before it. When my burdened spirit overflowed my fervent prayers from my parched lips and shook my innermost soul with such a maelstrom of feeling…
His eyes, in every moment… in every second… still whispered…
“I trust you.”
And throwing my eyes to heaven, from where God’s Voice is a fountain of life to me throughout all my years, I lift the weapon He bid me raise. And all of the words I have used to describe you, Abba, are not enough! I do not yet know Your Name! But still in my eyes, You will see…
“I trust You.”