The story in church this week was about Abraham. In his quest to follow God he longed for descendents. But as an old man well into his nineties he as yet had no heir. Then God invited him to look up.
He brought him outside and said, "Look now toward heaven, and count the
stars if you are able to number them. So shall your descendants be." Genesis 15
Counting the stars would take a long time.
I know a man whose mother died in a car accident when he was seven. One of his last conversations with her involved
counting. He asked if she wanted to hear him count to ten thousand. She said yes. Although she kept her hands busy with folding clothes, and stirring supper, his mother listened all the way to the end. He holds that memory in a sacred part of his heart.
Despite what looked like an impossible situation, Abraham chose to believe God. He hoped he would have a son, and if you
have read about him you already know he did. He went on to be the father of a nation, the one called Israel.
When we know for certain what will happen, part of us shuts down. There is no reason to expend energy chasing something that is a forgone conclusion. I know that winter will come in a matter of weeks, and spring a few months after that. Hence I have no motivation
to try to coerce nature. She is headed that way without me.
My marriage is less of a sure thing. I feel pretty confident that I will stay married, but will it grow? There is no certainty that I will make it through the winter of my own self absorption, into the warm light of generosity. The precariousness of the outcome is an impetus to
hustle.
But I have something better than knowing. I have hope. And I pray that my kindnesses toward John will one day be as numberless as the stars.
