At the AltarSometimes I feel a bit like Abraham. The things nearest my heart are sitting on a hunk of rock and I'm standing, poised with my knife. I keep glancing over my shoulder, listening for a bleeting squeak.
"C'mon God, where's my lamb? I'm getting tired of waiting and holding this heavy knife."
My frightened heart is looking back up at me, crying, "No! Please, don't!"
So I stay standing, in anguish. Torn between holding on to what I want and following through with obedience.
I am at that altar every single day.