Relief. Some days it feels like the only thing we can pray for.
Abraham and Sarah knew that ache. They waited 25 years for God to answer their longing for a child. And then, in their old age, Isaac was born—the miracle son, the promise of God wrapped in flesh. Isaac was more than a boy. He was the answer to their prayers.
And then, in Genesis 22, God asked Abraham to give Isaac back.
Can you imagine the weight of that? To lay on the altar not just your son, but your future. Your hope. Your legacy. The very thing you had begged God for.
I wonder if that’s where some of us are right now. Carrying things we love so deeply—our families, our ministries, our dreams—that we grip them tighter and tighter, afraid of what might happen if we loosen our hands.
But the story of Abraham and Isaac isn’t really about losing. It’s about trusting. Abraham’s faithfulness didn’t control the outcome—it trusted the One who does. That faithfulness became the soil of legacy. “Through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed—because you have obeyed me” (Gen. 22:18).
Faithfulness is the thread that ties stewardship and legacy together.
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Stewardship says, “It’s all His.”
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Legacy says, “What I embody, I pass on.”
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Faithfulness says, “I trust Him with the outcomes.”
But here’s the thing about trust: you can’t receive a gift with clenched fists.
If someone places a gift in your hands, you can’t keep gripping what you already hold. You have to let go. You have to open your hands. You have to put down what you’ve been clutching in order to receive what’s being offered.
That’s what God was asking of Abraham. And it’s often what He asks of us—not because He wants to strip us bare, but because He wants to give us something deeper, something we could never grasp on our own.
So here’s the question for us this week: What is your Isaac? What are you holding tightly, afraid to let go?
The invitation is not to abandon it, but to place it on the altar—open-handed, surrendered, trusting the God who provides.
Prayer
Lord, I confess how tightly I hold the things I love. Teach me to trust You with what You’ve entrusted to me. Give me courage to live faithfully—not clutching outcomes, but resting in Your hands. Amen.