Reading Genesis 22–23 alongside Hebrews 11 stopped me in my tracks today.
Just a few chapters earlier in Genesis, Abraham’s deepest ache was painfully simple: he wanted a son. An heir. A future. He waited decades for the promise, wrestled with doubt, and cried out to God for what felt like the most reasonable prayer imaginable. And then—miraculously—Isaac arrives.
Which makes Genesis 22 almost unbearable.
The same son Abraham once begged God for is now the son God asks him to place on the altar. And what’s most striking to me isn’t fear or resistance in Abraham—it’s the absence of hesitation. Hebrews 11 tells us Abraham obeyed because he trusted God completely, even believing God could raise Isaac from the dead. Abraham had reached a place where the promise no longer mattered more than the Promiser.
That convicts me deeply.
I can pray fervently for things—clarity, opportunity, relationships, calling—and yet once I receive them, I grip them tightly. I protect them. I assume they are mine to keep. Abraham reminds me that faith doesn’t end when the prayer is answered. Sometimes faith is proven after the blessing arrives—when God asks whether I trust Him enough to still place it back in His hands.
And the weight of Abraham’s obedience echoes far beyond that mountain.
Scripture tells us that through Abraham, all nations would be blessed. That promise traces back, in part, to this moment of surrender. One quiet, obedient “yes” became a turning point in redemptive history.
We often talk about the ripple effect of evil—how one sinful choice multiplies harm across generations. But Genesis 22 invites us to pause and consider the opposite: the immeasurable ripple effect of obedience. What if faithfulness carries just as much generational weight? What if our quiet acts of trust—seen by no one but God—become blessings we’ll never fully see this side of eternity?
Abraham never saw all the nations blessed. He just trusted God with what mattered most to him.
I want to live in this level of obedience.