This is the story of God showing up. In unlikely places. At unlikely times. With impossible messages for two women who are in impossible situations. But God has a question for both, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” It is a good question. We will do well to think about it.

Last week we left Hagar, pregnant and alone in the desert. God had sent His angel to find her - telling her she was seen, and she was heard. He sent her back into the tents of Sarai, with the name of her coming son whispering reassurance in her heart, “Ishmael – The Lord hears.”

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There they are, pretty much at the beginning of the story. We usually concentrate on Abraham, but these days I am thinking about the relationships between women and our brokenness, so I have been spending time with Sarai (who will soon be renamed Sarah) and Hagar.

They are a mess.

And they are crucial to this story God tells us about His plan for saving the whole world. Sort of funny, that. Think about it. God decided to put His plan for redemption into the womb of an old woman… a beautiful woman – but an old discouraged lost all hope and what little there was of faith woman.

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"Stay here and wait with the donkey," Abraham says to his servants, "while the boy and I go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you."

This is where we find ourselves most of the time: waiting with the donkey—while God is working out the bigger issues with the Abrahams and the Isaacs of the world. We don't see the bigger struggles going on. We don't have to make the real commitment to die for our love of God or to sacrifice all we have. We simply have to wait.

But we are not waiting for nothing. We are waiting for them to come back.

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Broken again. Hands emptied. Silly me. I thought I was entering the days of fullness and abundance. Each morning I met the sun as it rose with anticipation and an open heart. Five days to embrace sea and sand. Five days to write and plan. And here I am with pages and pages of notes and thoughts and knee-deep in sorrow, loss; depression creeping in, splashing around my knees like the cold water of the afternoon storm. Broken again.

This last morning I stare out into the sea and ask God, ask myself, “What did I expect? A cup filled to the top; a confidence unshakable,” I whisper into the quiet.

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I grew up in a house full of women. I was just a young girl, so I didn’t quite understand the complexities of the dynamics at the time but looking back on it through the haze of the years, I realize that my mother was a force to be reckoned with. She had grown up under both the torment and joy of four older brothers and somewhere along the way she determined that she would stand her ground and speak her mind.

Momma wanted to give birth to a son named Joe, but all four of us turned out to be girls, so she gave up on the fourth and called her Nancy Jo. We were spread out along 14 years and two husbands, and she loved to say she broke the mold with each of us. We looked nothing alike and our personalities had little in common. We loved each other, resented each other, argued with each other, and insisted on taking our vacations together. We sat up late into the night talking and drove each other crazy on road trips. Family. Females. Sisters.

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There he was, running away with little in his arms, but a blessing on his head. His name was Jacob, and he had a bad reputation for being a liar and a thief; a deceiver without integrity, only seeking his own advantage. Willing to destroy any relationship to elevate himself. He could play the perfect dark and disturbed hero on a Netflix series.

My new friend sitting across from me in the coffee shop leans in to admit in a whisper, “I really don’t like Genesis. Those people were supposed to be the heroes – but look at Jacob – I just don’t get it.”

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Are you a little overwhelmed with the horrors you are hearing about and reading about these days? I am. It seems every morning there is a new heartbreak, another voice of crazy shouting words of hatred and ugliness into our world. Anger marches down the street to destroy the innocent. Corrupt minds plot deception in their dark rooms. Words rip apart our relationships and diseases attack our fragile bodies. Each morning there is the newest daily dose of bad news.

"What is going on in this world of ours?" I think with dismay.

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My head is in the sink, her hands in my hair, water streaming the chemicals down the drain, as I overhear her explain the meaning of her name; ‘Morning dew on orchid petals’. She is finishing a conversation with the woman who just stood up from where I now sit.

“I was the youngest of three daughters and my father named all of us. He wanted to give me the most beautiful name of all because, he said, I was the most beautiful… his favorite. Her accent holds to her Korean origins.

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Do you have family you would contemplate selling off to traveling merchants? Family that you wouldn’t mind too much if they found themselves far, far away in a foreign land with little chance of ever showing up again at Thanksgiving dinner? 

 Most everyone has heard the story of Joseph. 

 If you read the story for yourself, you will realize that the children’s version of Joseph as a young man glosses right over his obnoxious personality.

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This morning as I stare into the greens of the leaves,

         edges white and glowing

         the sourwood limb draping down 

         in black shadow outline

         and the sun pierces through with its hot light;

I am in worship of my God,

My Creator.

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What an amazing thought.

I tend to forget about God’s rights to me. He designed me. He created me. In His own image. There must have been some purpose for such an elaborately designed creature such as myself.

Oh, there it is…dominion. Over the fish and the birds and the livestock and the earth and let’s not forget about every creeping thing. And be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it. All of that is in there if you keep reading.

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What do you do when God gives you the worst possible answer? We had prayed for repentance, renewal, restoration – yet God has rained down death and destruction upon the children’s heads.

Why would God do that – if there really is even such a being as God of the Universe – a good and caring God? Why would He not tip the cup forward to overflow with the things He loves: justice and righteousness?

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God and Adam had work to do on that first Saturday afternoon so long ago: the naming of the all the birds in the sky, the beasts, and the livestock. It was pretty sweet that God allowed Adam the honor of naming those living, breathing creations. I wonder if God was writing it all down in a thick bound book, His finger engraving their names in a godly calligraphy?

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I think of God’s winged creatures: the soaring hawks and the sweet melodies of the songbirds, conveniently forgetting the yellow jackets and the mosquitoes.

Until I look down at my left hand where my wedding band should be. Oh, yeah. That.

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How many thousands of years did we men and women look up into the heavens and wish that we too could fly?

When God wants to make a point to us about His power, His protection, His majesty, He parades out the wonders of His winged creations.

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“In the Beginning….”

It reads like the stuff of fairy tales. Can you hear it? Sit quietly and listen.

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Fear of the Lord for this generation is a troublesome thing. We are busy casting out all fear and calling on God as good buddy and companion to do our bidding. We stand mistaken about God’s ways – for they are not our own.

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