The Story of Issac

I put my hand on his shoulder, ready to make the descent and he looks up at me and i know something has changed forever.

It all seemed so easy, when as the sun rose, HIS voice was so strong, so clear, the message burnt into my brain and I woke the child and told him to walk with me.
The village was sleeping when we left and my son ran to keep up with my steady pace.
We climbed the hill and as we rose higer, the trees grew smaller, stunted and finally there were none and the child strugggled but I knew what I must do.
We rested and I allowed the boy a sip of sour wine, he was unsure of this adventure, but I reminded him that God spoke through me and even as I said it, I felt the god energy shine through me and I started walking again, the child trailing behind me, too obedient a boy to turn, to hide.

At the summit, I waited for a message, a sign and built and alter to HIS glory, sure of my purpose, sure of HIS blessing.

And then, HE spoke to me and it was as if the world was on fire and I fell to the ground and understood HIS message perfectly, with a new light of clarity, of purpose.

I had been tested and not found wanting, my God was happy with me, I bathed in the light of his approval, my heart was lightened and my soul sang with worship for HIM.

We started back down the mountain and I was tired, my very bones aching with exhaustion and I stretched out to reach my son, to balance myself, to prepare myself for the journey and the message I must take back and share with the faithful, but my child, my first born, the one I would have offered up to HIM, a sacrifice of perfect love, ducks his shoulder under my touch, recoils from me and for a second looks full into my face and something has changed forever.

We walk back in silence and I realise that my Lord has tested me more deeply than I believed possible and has taken more from me than I can bear.

At the village, the child slips away and I do not see him again until nightfall.

About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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