Walking with Dad

I consider my name, Isaac, and wonder why it was God who said I be called this, which means, "He laughed." Perhaps is it was because I came to my father at a very old age, and my mother also. I know I am his favorite, and he loves me better than Ishmael, but I will never forget the story of what I thought, for a brief moment, might have been the end of me. I look upon my sons, Esau and Jacob now, wondering if I would be able to do what my father did.

One day, when I was barely twenty years of age, I walked with my father and some servants on a three-day journey, then he told them to wait at a certain place and that he and I were going up to prostrate before God. He said that we would be back. He placed the heavy load of wood on my back for the altar in which the burnt offering would be laid. He carried the fire and the knife.

We walked to Moriah, and the wood splintered into my back. My knees became as weak as an invalid, the blisters on my feet caused a rush of sharp pain up though my leg with each step in my sandals. When I thought I couldn't walk any longer with this load, we stopped at an appointed place. There was always a reason why Dad stopped at a specific place, so I didn't question it, but I did ask him along the way where the lamb was that was to be burnt. We had everything else for the offering, but we did not have the unblemished lamb. He said to me, "God will provide the sacrifice my son." There was no pause between sacrifice and his reference to me. I swallowed hard as I laid down the wood as carefully as I could. What a relief to be freed of that heavy burden.

Dad looked at me with tears welling up in his eyes. He came to me and bound me with ties on my wrists and feet and placed me on the altar. I sobbed quietly, but then looked up into my father's face again. I could have fought him and could have got free, but deep inside my heart I could feel a peaceful spirit. It was beyond my understanding. There had to be a reason he was doing this. I knew my father listened to God Almighty, and that he loved Him more than he loved me. I knew that. I watched him worship and pray without end. My father wasn't one to ask questions if someone he trusted told him to do something; he just did it.

He closed his eyes, then opened them as he came down with the knife, stopping shortly before stabbing me. I couldn't scream or struggle. I was still in this strange sort of shock. My father's eyes stared off into nothing, in a daze, as if he were listening to an old friend I couldn't see.

I looked off into the distance and saw a ram struggling in the bushes. My father unbound me and went after the ram. It was sacrificed instead of me.

Clearly, my father loved God even more than me, his favored son, that he would rather lose me by his own hand than lose God's trust. He told me the story of how God had blessed him on account that he obeyed His voice. There would be many descendants coming from Him, and a mighty lineage from my own loins because I did not protest or say a word of offense against him when I was bound. My father passed the test of obedience, and I was spared. His name is Abraham, which means father of many.


See Genesis 22:1-15

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