here's something I e-mailed out to the college students who are reading through Genesis with me to encourage them in it.
A longing. A child's
cry. A piece of land to call home. Have you ever had a longing? Sometimes when reading the book of Genesis,
it seems, amongst other things, a book of dreams and longings. Sometimes it's longing fulfilled, other times,
welcomed only from a distance. And in
between, the longing shadows our steps not allowing escape.
Longings are for something we don't have. But how do we become aware of them? We hear it in the laughter and cries from the
couple teaching their little one in the nursery. We see it when our friend goes home, hands
holding the soft touch of the girl of his dreams, playfully teasing when no one
sees. We taste it when holidays are
spent without a father who is gone.
In the story of Abraham, the longing for a child's laughter
dominates his story in Genesis. It stretches the fabric of hope, obedience and love to the
test often stretching us more than we can bear.
The larger picture—a piece of land.
A promise from Yahweh. A generational multitude. As time went forward, it was
apparent the dream would not come in their lifetime, but they began looking
toward a heavenly country which God is preparing for them. Yet in the midst of this grander dream, we
have a penetrating longing for a small family balanced with the personal
promise from Yahweh.
Have you ever had a dream?
While we may not be hoping for the chance to hold the tiny fingers miraculously
originating from our very life breath, not to
mention our flesh, we have other dreams of what may come. Some come only in a whisper not willing that
any other hear their sounds in case it is cursed to failure. Others, come with a quiver unwilling to be
looked at straight in the eye for the gaze being too penetrating. Others are there but refuse to be corralled,
refuse to be clarified, doomed for a nebulous existence. Abraham knew clearly what he longed for. It was as clear and plain as silence in the
night. Sarah could not help a nervous
laugh when mentioning it. Without
laughing, the tears might come. Better
not to talk about it, though silence never made anything go away, it just makes
things quiet.
I remember back in college, the longing of children was the
dream of another culture and generation.
The dream of finding the right someone hit a little closer to home but
keeping the hushed tones managed to keep the attention on the here and now, for
there’s still time isn't there? The longing
for now settled upon our schooling. For
some the dream centered around the pediatric or surgical occupation. Others dreamed of becoming the author, the
dream of making more than our parents made.
The hope of hearing from Mom and Dad or more a look of admiration and
respect, and acceptance.
How do these things fit into the glory of God? That comes in the heavenly country we're
looking forward to. But before that
happens, we have a lot to learn. About
faith. About loving-kindness. About hope.
In this narrow journey God takes our dreams and tears them down resurrecting
them to new life. And we find out that
there is nothing more important than walking before God and being blameless.
Longings are about the impossible crashing property of
possibility. As we learn about faith,
being uncompromisingly obedient to the God of our youth, we realize these
longings are things unachievable without help from the divine. Anything less, God’s promise lessened, His
glory compromised. Though the words are
simple, the question stretches comprehension, is anything indeed too difficult
for the Lord?
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