Just like Sarah

Do you remember the story of the promise to Abraham and the birth of Isaac?

I think that we often keep the spotlight on Abraham and forget about Sarah. Even the Bible gives an account of Abraham and his faith and his patience and his righteousness, but not of Sarah’s pain.

You see that laugh that Sarah laughed when she heard the promise? I get it. I absolutely get it.

She was the one that was expecting to carry the child. I can assume that initially, after God promised Abraham, she would have expected that she would not see her period the following month, and that since God had promised, He would actually bring it to pass immediately.

I can feel her pain every time she felt sick and discovered that it’s just regular sickness, not the morning sickness that comes with pregnancy. I can understand how she felt despair every time she saw her period (if she wasn’t already past menopause).

I can understand the hope she had in the first few months or the first few years.

And then 24 years pass, and someone comes to try to raise her hopes again? Very funny indeed. Oh, I totally get why she laughed.

“Let me just be barren in peace. Who are these ones that are trying to give me false hope? I’ve been there, done that. It’s just not happening.”

You know they say hope deferred makes the heart sick? I can understand Sarah’s sickened heart. I can imagine her feeling sad, depressed, disappointed, and even bitter against God for coming to give her a gleam of false hope. Oh, how much better it would have been if she didn’t have to look forward to...nothing.

So, these strangers that know nothing about them, know nothing about her age and her womb, come with their big mouths and say the same thing that God must have lied about before. Who are these ones trying to fool? I understand that laughter because I have laughed many times, just like Sarah.

I used to have such childlike faith, unwavering and solid. Until I started growing and realizing that having faith doesn’t mean you always get what you want. Until I realized that praying or desiring something doesn’t always equal answers being received.

And slowly, slowly, my faith started waning. I would pray for something, make declarations, but somewhere, somewhere in the crevices of my heart, I would laugh. I would laugh just like Sarah. Because it was easier for my heart to make a joke out of it than to build up the courage to truly hope again.

I started seeing myself as the “moral lesson child.” The one God makes go through a lot every time without seeing results. The one with stories that make people say, “Wow! You really have been through crazy experiences. How do you manage? You’re so strong.”

I started looking forward to being disappointed by God. It’s crazy, right? It truly is very crazy because I would be actively encouraging other people, but I had already come to believe that my own story would always be different.

So to save myself from the heartache of hoping, and watching, and waiting, I just turned off the switch subtly, quietly, subconsciously even. And when I should be holding on to faith, I would laugh, just like Sarah.

I started believing that God wasn’t my biggest fan. I stopped asking Him for things I wanted and started asking Him for strength to remain strong whenever things went south. Because guess what? I was always expecting things to go south.

While I understand that certain things can go on for a while for reasons like teaching us patience and establishing our faith, and so that we can also encourage others when they pass through the same trials, I stopped seeing mine as a season. I thought that was my life. I thought God had ordained me a mini Job. The one where He says, “Look at Titi, best in enduring hardships, and she still loves Me.”

But recently, I’ve made up my mind to actively come out of that mind trap.

Because God is as God in my case as He is in other people’s cases.

You see that song, “Favour, it surrounds me like a shield”? I didn’t really like it. Because people used the song to give testimonies and show off what God has done for them. But I was always laughing, just like Sarah. Because guess what? My own story is always different. What’s the point when God will still use my life to teach patience and endurance? What’s the point in pronouncing that and raising my hopes? Let me just keep listening to “No Glory in This World” because I don’t think there is actually glory in this world for me.

I started feeling like the prodigal son’s senior brother, who spent all his life doing right by his father but was never celebrated. But other people? The prodigal people? God will literally leave all He’s doing to run and meet them where they are and clothe them with all manner of goodness. Never mind that their path hasn’t been nearly as smooth as the elder brother’s.

This thing I’m trying to explain, I don’t think many people would understand it, especially if you’ve not felt this way before, but I sure hope you do.

There was a time I used to say, “God doesn’t like me. He may love me, because of course, God is love, but He certainly doesn’t like me.”

And I might not be far off if I speculate that that is something Sarah must have said at one point or another.

Because how did Hagar get pregnant just once like that? Are they not living in the same house, eating the same food? Why was her story different?

I can totally understand Sarah. But you see, we don’t have to be like Sarah.

I made up my mind that instead of praying from a place of fear of being disappointed, I will pray from a place of deep faith, from a place of victory. It is not exactly easy when you and Sarah share a lot in common, but it’s worth a shot.

I have stopped looking at God as someone who doesn’t give you good things because He wants to teach you a lesson.

You see, even though we always say, “God is good all the time,” I started seeing God and good as mutually exclusive.

Anytime I saw something that was good and I wanted it, I would assume God didn’t want me to have it. He wanted to teach me contentment. He wanted me not to be materialistic. He wanted me to fix my eyes on Him alone. I’m talking good grades, good jobs, and stuff like that.

Which is very untrue, because there are too many places in the Bible where God clearly tells us to ask. He said to ask of Him, and He would give the nations as our inheritance (Psalm 2:8). He told Solomon to ask for anything, and He would do it (2 Chronicles 1:7). He said to open our mouths wide, and He would fill them (Psalm 81:10). David constantly inquired of God before taking action, and God always helped him (1 Samuel 30:8).

And the one I like the most is when God put a burden in Nehemiah’s heart, and Nehemiah spoke to the king. He made so many bold requests that at some point I was like, why not just ask modestly? Ask for a bit, then go and hustle—or really, suffer through the rest by yourself. But Nehemiah asked the king for everything he needed, and he got it all (Nehemiah 2:1–8).

These scriptures help me. To have faith to the point where I’m almost delusional. That is exactly what I want. That was the major difference between Sarah and Abraham. They were both in the same barrenness situation, but Abraham didn’t see it like Sarah did. Not for a second did he waver in faith, and God counted it to him for righteousness.

You may call it delusion. But isn’t that what faith is? Substance. Things hoped for. How??? Evidence. Things not seen. Whaaat?

Yeah. That is what I want my faith to look like now. I told myself that I will no longer refer to myself as the “moral lesson child”, but as the one that God loves deeply and truly. The one God is willing to go the extra mile for. The one that God wants to see smile and genuinely say, “Thank You, God.” The one that God is arranging so many good things for, not just so many tough times for.

And if there’s anyone, like me, that has laughed like Sarah, there’s actually good news!

Sarah laughed again when she carried that baby. To the point where she had to name him “Laughter.”

It was a beautiful full-circle moment that made me understand that God doesn’t write half-finished scripts. He finishes his good work.

So, if you’ve ever been in this situation, I say to you, you will laugh! Not out of despair, or sarcasm, or hurt, but out of joy and gratitude and thanksgiving.

Believe me, we will laugh again. This time around, the second kind of laughter—just like Sarah.

Until next week,
Titilayo.