Sarah's Promise

"Sarah, Sand, and Sea"

photo bgrace

I said to her, “This is how you can show your love to me: Everywhere we go, say of me, He is my brother.” Gen. 20:13
Every time I read this statement my insides cramp up into a dull nausea. I shudder. It makes my skin crawl. Out of context, as an isolated sentence, unattached to any particular person or any specific circumstance, words simply written on a page—they aren’t so awful. Brotherly love is noble. Telling someone your needs, especially your wife, isn’t necessarily unhealthy. It’s all good, right? Not when we know the context in which these words were spoken. We know whom they were spoken by, to, and about. We know the history behind them. We know that in fact, they are true, and yet their meaning was twisted to serve untruth. What we are never told is how the “her” in this story felt about them. You might say Scripture doesn’t tell us, so it’s not important. I disagree. I believe there are places in Scripture that the author actually invites us to speculate. To wonder. To enter into the story. To read ourselves into the situation so that we might FEEL something about it. In these places God can speak to us about our lives, and His work in them. This passage has been one of those places I’ve entered into that way. I’d like to share the thoughts that have come to my mind as I have pondered this story, and Sarah’s journey.Consider this:
Now Abraham moved on from there into the region of the Negev and lived between Kadesh and Shur. For a while he stayed in Gerar, and here Abraham said of his wife Sarah, “She is my sister.” Then Abimelech king of Gerar sent for Sarah and took her. Gen. 20:1-2
He did it again. It’s the cry that must have echoed in Sarah’s soul through this dark night.
Feel her pain reverberating heaven-bound into a prayer.
Imagine her sitting in the dark on the harem floor the first night, preferring it's cold compress to the soft solace of pillows and blankets. Way past despair, the engulfing blackness pressing her spirit toward numbness, fighting to keep her soul from caving in, she may have managed to whisper, “God, only You can save me now.” I used to look at this part of Abraham’s story as mostly about Abraham. My attitude toward it was a mixture of contempt and sympathy. Somewhere between “How could you be so stupid to make exactly the same mistake twice?” and “Yeah, I’ve done that, too.” But I see something different now, something more. Abraham’s offense to Sarah was much worse the second time around. And for Sarah, there was now much more at stake than a marital betrayal. Now in question were the words and promises of God. If you take a good look at Abraham and Sarah’s journey in sequence, it is very interesting to note what revelations were given, to whom, and how things became more specific and more clear over time. (This is gonna take a while, so get comfortable.) So we have to go back about 23 years to where God shows up first to Abram, who at the time was married to a barren Sarai. God gives him a command and a promise. The command was to leave and go to a land God would show him. The promise was that God would make of him into a great nation, give him a great name, and the ability to bless many people. Abram believed God enough to accept the promise and obey the command. (Gen. 11-12) But it isn’t until a while later that God appears to him and makes it clear that this promise will be through Abram’s offspring or seed. Abram built an altar in that place—a reminder that God spoke a promise to him—a good idea, because he seems to have trouble remembering. All seems well…then something goes wrong. Because of a famine Abram makes his way to Egypt to find food. Then the “facts” begin to overwhelm Abram. He becomes afraid that he will lose his life because of Sarai’s beauty and begins a pattern of deception that will haunt Abram and his descendents for many years to come. And so Sarai joins Pharaoh’s harem. I wonder what was going through Sarah’s heart and mind at this point. Sarai knew she was barren. In ancient days, you never hear that a man can’t have children. Its always considered a female issue. But because Pharaoh didn’t realize she was married, he didn’t know she was barren. In a culture where a woman’s value, and a man’s stature and livelihood depended on his heirs—Sarai must have felt pierced on two accounts. Her husband had forsaken her for his own protection. All illusions that he would love her enough to fight for her to the death were ground to a pulp. He walked her into a dangerous place knowing it could threaten his marriage. It didn’t even seem to occur to him that he had another choice. He didn’t even consult God about it that we know of.
What must that have felt like to Sarai? Maybe he didn’t really want her. Perhaps he wanted a way out. This would release Abram from being “faithful” to her. Now he was free to enter into another marriage. All Sarai’s feelings of inadequacy and insecurity must have risen to the surface. Her hopes that God would fulfill the promise to Abram through her now completely dashed. She didn’t know for sure if God meant it would be through her—and at her age, it seemed crazy to hope. But I’d bet my last dollar it was the cry of her heart. And now, I bet she felt so stupid for having wished for that. But it gets worse, she was faced with a further humiliation. Pharaoh would eventually discover she was barren, and then what would become of her? Would he have any use for an aging wife who could bear no children? Can you see Satan’s whispers to her? Ha, you wanted to believe you were someone special. This promise from God doesn’t need you. God only cares about Abram. There is no hope for you. God doesn’t want you anymore, you’re no use. Abram doesn’t want you anymore, he’s better off without you. He even said so. And Pharaoh’s gonna find out soon enough that you won’t serve him any purpose either. You are nothing. But the Lord intervened, and so Abram went on his way with Sarai and returned to the place where he had first met God. God spoke to Abram and confirmed again His promise to him. He even told Abram to walk the land, and take it all in. To savor the enormity of the gift He was bestowing upon Him. And there, Abram had a few great moments. He risked himself in battle, recovering Lot and his possessions, and he even gave God credit for all that had been given him. Then something significant happens. God shows up to Abram in a vision and says this, “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your very great reward.” Simply stated, God is saying, “I AM your protection, and through me all your blessings will come.” God is saying I will keep you safe so that I can give you all your blessings.
Abram’s response to God makes so much sense—He reminds God that he STILL doesn’t have a child. So what else matters since He doesn’t have the one blessing that will lead to all the others? Then he tells God how he’s gonna resolve the dilemma. His servant will be his heir. And the Lord clearly spoke, affirming the words He had already given Abram. “It will be a son coming from your own body.” Your offspring. Your seed. And then God did something really beautiful. He gave Abram a picture. A visual reminder. No less significant than Noah’s rainbow. He said, “Look up at the heavens and count the stars.” “So shall your offspring be.” Now every time Abram looked up at the night sky, he would see God’s promise. Abram believed God. It was credited to him as something that He did that was right. Makes sense, doesn’t it—that when He tells us something, the right thing to do is to believe Him? God made another promise to Abram. He said I brought you to this land, and now I’m going to give you possession of it. But here Abram wavers a bit. How will I know that this will happen? Can’t you give me some proof? God doesn’t give him proof. He gives him a covenant. A promise. A one way promise. Which meant, no matter what, the covenant depended only on God, not on Abram. And God keeps his word. But time passed. Meanwhile nothing happened. Those are the hardest times to believe. Can you see their minds churning? We must have missed it. We must have misunderstood. What did God say? Did he say Sarai? No. Not specifically. So it must be up to us to do something. And like Abraham offered his servant to God as an heir, Sarai offered her maidservant to Abram as the bearer of the heir. We could be really hard on them at this point, but there’s a couple of things I’d like to point out here. First, Abram and Sarah were going against everything that looked like fact to them to believe God. They were old. They didn’t have any children. And they didn’t really know all that much about God. They had no Bible, they had very little information. In the time and culture of that day it was acceptable for a woman to offer her maidservant to her husband to bear a child. You say they should have known better. I think it’s more fair to say that Abram and Sarai were doing their best to try and "help" God keep his promises. They were going on what they knew and understood within the context of what He said. They were trying to make sense of the information they had. I think where they missed it over and over again was in the simple lack of seeking God before they acted and waiting for Him to lead. And here, the text tells us that Abram listened not to God, but to Sarai. This is a very important lesson. Even when those closest to us seem to lead us in what makes sense—we must always listen for Yahweh’s voice. Perhaps Sarai had grown a bit jaded over the years. Obviously God didn’t mean me, so go ahead and do what you need to do. I won’t keep you from your “blessing.” She even tried to cheer herself up. I’ll still get my family through Hagar. But when she began to be treated with contempt by the woman she had leant to her husband, it all just fell apart inside. The hurt she’d been suppressing erupted. Her words are so poignant to Abram,
“You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my servant in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me.”
Sarai was reaping what both she and Abram sowed. Neither of them had consulted God and both were suffering the consequences. Thirteen years later, God shows up and reconfirms his covenant with Abram. Gives him a new name, and gives him and his descendants a responsibility—an act of obedience--within the covenant. And for the first time God does something else. He gives Abraham the piece of information he’d been missing all this time. God gave Sarai a new name and a promise. Sarah (it means princess) would be the one through whom Abraham’s blessing would come. He told Abraham their son’s name and something even more specific. He gave him a timeframe. He said that Sarah would bear Isaac by this time the following year. And Abraham believed God. How do we know? (I’m not a guy, but I’m pretty certain you’d have to be pretty certain that God was the one talking to you before you went ahead and cut yourself and the rest of the males in your household in such a sensitive place.) When you believe what God is telling you, you are willing to do what He asks of you, even if it seems a bit extreme. Before you can act, you must first believe. Interestingly enough, God showed up again and told Abraham in Sarah’s hearing that Sarah would bear a son by that time next year. Most of the attention focused on this story rests on Sarah’s laugh—a doubting laugh, one that I’m guessing was soon quieted, perhaps in humilty and gratitude. But I want to focus on what you might see as a minor detail, but I think it’s huge. God made sure Sarah knew that His promise was to her, not just to Abraham. And God made sure that Abraham knew Sarah knew. Ponder this. All these years…24 years since God first told Abram he would have an heir…Sarah never knew for sure if God meant her. God had never clearly spoken about it. But now…she had God’s word that Isaac would not only come through Abraham, but through her as well. She had hoped and then had been disappointed. Maybe at times she trusted, she believed…like when God saved her from Pharaoh’s harem…that must have been why…right? But then so much time passed, it was too hard. She settled for less. She got used to the idea of Ishmael. But I think deep down she felt abandoned. Unimportant--that’s how God viewed women, right? They were a dispensable part of the plan. But no…God spoke. Sarah was blessed too. Sarah had a new name too. She was included. She was honored. She had not been forsaken or forgotten or set aside. She had not kept Abraham from his dreams or his purpose. In fact, she was going to be the one with whom his dreams would come to life. God had named her son. He would give her an Isaac through Abraham. And if that weren’t enough? It would be within a year. No more waiting and waiting and waiting without proof. She had to get pregnant within the next three months. Can you feel her breaking free from all the horrible untruths and doubts and hurts and fears she’d been carrying around all this time? Can you feel The Accuser finally losing the power to tell her lies about herself? Can you feel the shame she had been carrying in front of everyone begin to fade? Can you feel the doubting, hopeless laugh begin to regain its sweetness, its faith, its strength? And Abraham seems to be gaining strength too. He has another shining moment. He stands up for the perishing souls in Sodom and Gomorrah, and is able to rescue at the very least a few of his family members. He gives us every reason to believe He has become the great man of God we know him to be. And now, right after God shows up, in this amazing place of faith and strength, on the cusp of the promise being fulfilled, we come to the place (way, way far back) that this post began.
Now Abraham moved on from there into the region of the Negev and lived between Kadesh and Shur. For a while he stayed in Gerar, and here Abraham said of his wife Sarah, “She is my sister.” Then Abimelech king of Gerar sent for Sarah and took her.
Having taken a look at Sarah’s journey to this point, when I sit with her on the cold hard floor of the harem, I have a lot less to say to her. I have a lot more respect for her pain, her confusion, and suddenly instead of all the useless things I might think of to say to her, I’m asking questions with her. (Pretend you don’t know the end of the story. It helps.)
I’d have a few questions for Abraham. I’m guessing there is a part of Sarah that understands Abraham and Abraham’s weaknesses. I mean, she struggled to believe too. But it doesn’t change the pain. This man just stood up to God on behalf of an entire city of pagans, but he didn’t lift a finger to defend her. What about all the beautiful moments they had shared since they heard God’s promise together? Were all the things he said lies? Did he not mean them? Or did he just change his mind? So God was a shield for Abraham and would protect him, so he could go save Lot, but not her? And what did Abraham believe anyway? That God still meant all these promises for him but not for her? That they weren’t connected after all? That she was a dispensable part of the plan? Couldn’t he at least have waited it out for ONE year? Yes, they are important questions, but really very insignificant compared to the questions I’d have for God. I think Sarah’s greatest question to God was this: Do You make promises You don't keep?
Will You keep your promise to me? Will you give me my Isaac? God, are You any different than him?
Will You abandon me too? I think her heart just about exploded with emotion.
Why now? Why after everything became so clear? Why after the assurance that she was given by God that she was the one? Was God just playing with her? Teasing her by opening her heart up to desire what she had all but given up on just to snatch it away again? Or was it possible that somehow, by Abraham’s actions, God’s promise to her could become void? Did Abraham have the power to undo it? Why would God make a promise He couldn’t keep? Could God even be trusted? If you think Sarah didn’t ask these questions, think again. When we come to the place where our faith in God is tested--where the facts don’t line up with the truth He has told us—we only have three places to go in our heads. I got it wrong, it wasn’t God. It was God, but He doesn’t mean it anymore, or at least not like I thought. It was God, it is God, and He will somehow change the facts to line up with the truth He has spoken. Unfortunately, the only place to get our answer is Him—the very One we’re having issues with. Yes, we all know the end of the story. God miraculously intervened on Sarah’s behalf. He did everything He needed to do to keep His promise. Despite Abraham. Despite Sarah. And in the timeframe He had spoken, Isaac was born. (Nothing is impossible with God.) But I find myself asking God, is that always the case? Do You always intervene? Do Your promises always imply a one-way covenant? What if they are dependent on our choices? Could Your promises to me be nullified by my own actions or the actions of another? I used to think I knew the answers. Now I’m much more acquainted with the questions.
I am no longer a fatalist. I believe God gives us choice and our choices have consequences. I would like to believe that God knows ahead of time where those choices will lead us, and that His promises are made in His knowing the end from the beginning. But maybe that’s just an oversimplification, a way we try to control God and relieve ourselves of responsibility. But in this case...God came through.
I’m so glad God didn’t let anything get in the way of His promises to Sarah. I’m so glad He didn’t let anything get in the way of His promises to Abraham. I don’t have a guarantee, but I have a prayer...that someday I'll be able to look back and see that God was consistent and true to Himself, and to me, all along. Because my God is the God of Abraham, and perhaps even more importantly, the God of Sarah.

Reasons and Miracles

"Every day with its new reasons will I affectionately and gratefully praise You." Psalm 145:2 Photo by Bgrace: Em at sunset

Albert Einstein said,
"There are two ways to live your life - one is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as though everything is a miracle. "
Its been almost exactly three years since my last trip to Ocean City, NJ--part of the time God decided to open up the realms of the heavens and mess with me. I feel too tired to sort through all the emotions that have surfaced after going back.
I'm glad I went. I reclaimed parts of me that felt endangered. I went to Browns for doughnuts, woke up in time to catch the sunrise on the ocean, got a Jersey Girl sweatshirt (born there and proud of it) and a great shore wreath for my front door.
I ran into a lot of reminders--though I chose not to feel victimized by an oppressive force. I turned them upwards to the only One who knows and understands with a hope that someday it will become more clear.
I spent most of my time enjoying the miracles with me instead of trying to figure out the ones behind me. I love my girls. I love how much they love me. I wanted to capture their joy...because these days I'm able to enter into it with them. We had wonderful moments--new reasons for laughter and love. The stuff that life is made of. If Matt could have been with us it would have been perfect.
I woke up at 5:30 again this morning. (For so many reasons that has to be an act of God.) So I went to find my Bible with a prayer..."Can you just talk to me about today?" "I just want to talk about now." I opened up to Psalm 145. The first two verses were more than enough for today's trek.
When taking my whole journey into consideration, I don't feel like I can have a big "hooray for God" party. I have too much pain and not enough understanding to do that in honesty. But I can acknowledge and be deeply grateful for the blessings of today...and for right now that's all I am going to require of myself.
Today I have such a deep love for Matt in the core of my being and a deep contentment in my relationship with him and our children that I KNOW none of this came from a personal dissatisfaction with my life. I was content in my marriage--now I am even more so. Deep down I've always known that, but there are times when it is hard to trust what you know.
It's nothing less than a miracle that I can finally rest in that...a new reason to bless God.
My Father in the heavens,
please keep waking me up to the miracles around me.
Don't let me become a victim of despondency, complacency, numbness, hopelessness, or confusion.
In every today grant me the graces of insight, joy, and gratitude
That I may enter into the new reasons you give me to affectionately and gratefully praise You.
Until you lead me into clarity regarding all the rest, please grant me faith in
Your goodness and love,
Your sovereignty over my path,
Your constant working in all that I cannot see
To bring about Your will and Your kingdom
In me, through me, around me and beyond me.
And help me not to expect myself to feel ok about those things which are not ok.
Amen

The Mountain in My Backyard

A wheatfield with a backdrop of Mt. Rainier
Photo by Bgrace

I’m sitting on my deck in my pajamas with a giant cup of coffee, the last corner of blueberry buckle, the morning sun streaming down on my shoulder and a cool breeze blowing across my face. Sam is walking Dad and Mom is watching TV with the girls. All of that may prove helpful, but I have to credit Jean with giving me the phrase I needed to write this post. This is, after all, my third attempt. The first was last week in WA. But I felt too drained to put my thoughts and feelings into a readable form. The second attempt was on the 28 hour trip home in the middle of the plane. Middle row, middle seat… Matt on my right sleeping like a baby; the guy on my left in dire need of a shower and some deodorant. I came up with about 30 “first” sentences. Didn’t like any of them. Amazing Jean watched the girls all week, took care of Sam, and got my house ready for my parents. (Yes, I am spoiled.) Anyways, she was talking about how challenging it was and she said, “It’s harder than you’d think! Now I know what it’s like for you. I needed a Jean!” We laughed about it, but it is so true. You can be around someone and see the ins and outs of their life, but when you actually walk in their shoes and shoulder their responsibilities, you realize there was a lot you didn’t realize. The closer we get to sharing someone else’s experiences, the better our ability to comprehend their journey, and the difficulty of it…and the more compassion we have. Ted and I were talking about the “unfairness” of my journey…and the overwhelming pressure I feel from “people” and their expectations of me through this process.

Ted and Nancy have a beautiful backyard…it backs up on land protected for wildlife and is quiet and serene. And there’s this mound that Ted has been working on for the last couple years…a little hill of flowers in their backyard. Matt and I spent some time weeding and spreading mushroom compost on it for them. Perhaps that’s why my mind grabbed on to the metaphor. It’s like I was telling Ted…I feel like everyone around me has this hill in their backyard—a little mound with flowers on top. And they climb their little hill and come back down. And some of them are young and energetic and it’s no big deal at all. And some of them are old and have weak knees and it’s hard, but they deal with the difficulty and climb their hill every once in a while and feel good about the effort. I feel like they hear about the difficulty I’m having about climbing the hill in my backyard, and in their mind’s eye, they see their own hill. Because they’ve never seen anything like the hill in my backyard. They don’t realize the hill in my backyard is Mt. Rainier. (Nancy told me about 5 people die every year trying to climb it.) So these people, who have never tried to climb ANYTHING even remotely similar to Mt. Rainier are looking at me and saying, “What in the world is her problem? What is wrong with her that this is such a struggle? Shouldn’t she know how to climb the hill in her backyard? Isn’t it obvious that you just put one foot in front of the other and go? Can’t she just follow the pathway? Why isn’t she just staying on the trail?” And I’m going…you don’t understand. This is not the hill in your backyard, this is something VERY different. In fact, there is no trail. And storms can come out of nowhere and turn a moderately safe climb into a suicidal attempt. In some places, you can evaluate your next step with every possible caution, and through no fault of your own, end up making a horrible misstep. I watched a movie once where these people were climbing a mountain and they went to walk on what they thought was perfectly solid snow covered ground and it was actually just an accumulation of snow with nothing underneath it but air…and even though they were very good climbers, checked every information that was available to them, and took every precaution they still fell to their death. So, in my metaphorical world, I am trying to tell people about the climb in this movie and suddenly I realize they’ve never even seen snow on their hill, much less a snow covered mountain. They have no idea what I’m trying to explain and they are making all sorts of judgments about my abilities to climb hills, follow paths, my ability to evaluate difficulty or handle stress. They’re saying, “Just put one foot in front of the other, Becky, stick to the path and you’ll make it up and down the mound and you’ll be just fine. It’s so frustrating because the more I try to explain the more unreasonable I come across because they can’t actually understand the scale of difference between what I’m describing and what is in their backyard. So my point here is not that I think those people should feel sorry for me. Obviously a little compassion would be nice. But that’s THEIR problem, not MY problem. My problem is that I care way too much about what those people think of me and how they define my journey. And I’ve allowed their opinions of me and my journey to cause me enormous amounts of distress…even though I know full well they have no idea what I’m going through. And I know full well they probably wouldn’t have survived this long. I see myself through their eyes all the time and I feel the weight of their condemnation and condescension and the force of their conclusions and I carry the burden slung around my heart…which comes very close to stopping under the pressure. Somehow I wish I could say in a way they could really get it...“this is harder than you’d think.” I can’t walk this for everyone or anyone else anymore. As Ted so wisely said, “It’s enough in one lifetime to have to deal with ourselves.” I have to let go of other’s expectations. And I’m trying to let go of so many of the expectations I have of myself. Because the truth is, I expect myself to be as good at climbing Mt. Rainier as everyone else is at climbing their flowery mound. I think I shouldn't be breathing any harder than they are at the end of our separate climbs. And not only do I allow everyone else to punish me, but I punish myself. Ted’s told me I need to start being kind to myself. I know he's right. I’ve been thinking about you all as I write this--and I’d like to pass that on…be kind to yourself. Each of you has an Everest or McKinly in your backyard. The fact that you have your own mountain has given you the capacity to be compassionate with mine. Most people have no idea the hell we go through. But God does. That's been a real point of dissonance for me. I KNOW He knows. And so I know He understands how difficult the climb is. But I also know He could CHANGE it if He wanted to...or at least make it easier. Maybe He’s not so much standing at the top looking down with expectation as He is a companion along the way. It’s hard for me to let Him be that. I’d rather Him move my mountain. He made the damn thing, didn’t He? Perhaps it’s more important for Him to move me.

Me, Matt, and Helen

Me, Matt, and Helen

Photo by bgrace

For Matt, going to Mount St. Helens is like something on par with my kids getting to go to Disney World, or my Dad getting to meet Mike Schmidt, or me getting to preach on a Sunday morning in church. And since it was only an hour and a half drive from Ted and Nancy’s, we headed out yesterday after an early lunch. One of the guides said it was perfect for viewing--a clear blue without a cloud in the sky kind of day. Matt and I followed a trail alongside a mountain so he could look at the “geology.” He was the only person with his back to the volcano looking at the ground. I was having fun taking pictures--250 of them. The one above is my favorite. The trail was pretty deserted except for us, so I sat and just took in Helen for a bit. If you’ve never been there, it’s hard to describe its enormous presence. The thought that came to my mind was this…even great mountains fall apart. Or in this case blow apart. There are many passages in scripture that liken God to a rock or a mountain. Often in the last few years God has seemed more like an erupting volcano than a solid rock in my life. The truth is that each of those metaphors fall short of God. God is greater than all mountains: He created them, He sustains them, and He blows them to pieces at will. My soul feels a lot like Helen right now: a big cavern where my ins and outsides have been blown apart and lots of ash is spread over the ground. Matt came and sat by me with his collection of rocks, and we looked at Helen together. A couple weeks ago I wrote a song. So I asked him if he wanted to hear it. He nodded. Into the great valley of ash I sang these words:

He is my shelter

He is my peace

He surrounds me

The mountains shall turn back

The hills disappear

Yet He shall remain here

Matt kissed my cheek and said, “I love you.” Even with the lava simmering in the caverns of my heart,
Even with the big hole in my soul, Even with all the ash on the ground, I knew it was true. I love you too Matt.
“For though the mountains should depart and the hills be shaken or removed, yet My love and kindness shall not depart from you, nor shall My covenant of peace and completeness be removed, says the Lord, Who has compassion on you.” Isaiah 54:10