I Am Sarah.

Genesis 18 tells the story of Sarah and her faded heart.  I say faded, because years had gone by and hope had waned.  I sense her as strong in her youth, risky and daring if you read her efforts in Egypt, but as life rubbed against her flesh and will, she simply learned to live without.

She had longed for a child, longed so much she gave her husband over to her servant to birth offspring.  She wanted a heritage of her own.  Yet jealousy ate at her to despise Hagar and cast blame on her husband.

But the Lord wasn't finished with her story.  The Lord had a call yet for Sarah.  A plan yet for her heritage.

Yet Sarah had lost trust, had surrendered hope, had let faith recluse.

With three men [angels] the Lord reminded her of the promise he had made years before to Abram, the promise of generations under his care.  A nation as his flock.  She listened from inside the tent and felt the years tug at the wrinkles of her skin, turning belief into sarcasm.

I sat on a wall, tall and thick with rocks and mortor upholding the hedges growing thick.  The Barbados sunrise screamed with brillance: reds and oranges and yellows blistering over the sea.  The five o'clock sun beckoned and awakened me, I stretched with the morning light to be quiet with the Lord.

And as morning drew, so did the Lord.  His words so pristine, made audible to my heart.  I would have a husband.  His call and plan were clear.  My heart left to no doubt that it was He growing in me faith, due to his assurance.

Years wore down my conviction, and belief turned to doubt.  And I, like Sarah, hid in behind a tent.  Not knowing, not trusting, not believing.  Letting go of the words I knew to be so clear and True.  My trust turned to embittered laughter, my hope turned to defeat.

Along the way I would remember, and see that bright sunrise and feel my heart testify:  I know that I know that I know... then life would remind me still, it wasn't so.  Anne recalled his promise over me one summer (she knew, but rarely anyone else) but I shook with doubt and let tears stream hot down my angry cheeks.  And I, and like Sarah, let laughter aim towards heaven, and my heart harden to the hope of the dream.

Hebrews 10:23 says: "for he who promised is faithful."  Sarah and I both had heard, had known, had clung to his promise.  Then doubted that He was faithful.  Time aged our belief, our strength, our hope until it dried up like a raisin in the sun.  We let it wither and die.  But God speaks boldly back to Abraham, and Sarah, and me, and questions: "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"  (Genesis 18:14)  and lets us choose our response, despite his knowing the rhetoric answer.

Sarah lay one day with child in her arms: Isaac, the Lord's called and sacred lineage.

I fell in love with a man: Mark, my beloved, the Lord's assurance of his plan.

Sarah looked down at Israel, and felt the breath and conviction of promised hope.

I placed a ring on Mark, and know it as testimony of covenant fulfilled.

~~~
Thanks to Megan Holst Besemer who rose with me for those Barbados mornings, and Anne Visker Harbough who reminded me of his promise in my tears.