The following is chapter 5 in the children’s series, If They Could Talk; the story of our redemption as it unfolds from Genesis to Revelation. This is the story of Isaac as found in Genesis 22.
My Friends,
Animals talk more than you know. The human discussed more than any other was Abraham, and he would have a son.
We animals wondered about the Creator’s promises to Abraham. The man was a century of years and his wife a decade less; so news of pregnancy and birth was no small matter. His name would be Isaac, and we knew he was special. Firsthand, I would come to know this true; let me explain.
The desert thicket was my home. A humble existence, but an acceptable one for my kind; you humans call me a wild boar—I prefer just boar.
It was midday, a heavy heat sat on the land—movement brought perspiration. Resting under sparse shade, I decided to forego foraging till the day’s heat tempered.
Startled by company, an old man and a young boy made their way down the path. Scooting backward not to be seen, I positioned to see who was entering this dry and weary land. The boy carried wood; the man carried the makings of a fire and a knife. Finding this odd, I followed the peculiar pair.
As man and boy conversed, I recognized them quickly. It was Abraham, the man to whom God would talk; the boy his young son, Isaac. We animals reasoned that it must be through this only son that God’s promises to Abraham would be fulfilled. A restored relationship between Creator God and man rested with the son.
What were Abraham and Isaac doing with the wood, fire, and knife? Darting and peering from bush to brush, it was easy to see the love between a father and a son—a special relationship surely enjoyed.
As desert journey gave way to mountain ascent, boy Isaac asked father Abraham, “Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” The picture now made sense; their destination an offering. But there was no lamb. Abraham answered us both by explaining, “God Himself will provide the lamb.”
The mount obtained, Abraham built an altar; the carried wood its fuel. I looked again for the animal that would give its life to appease God for man’s sin, but there was none. My eyes narrowed to see the horror; Isaac was tied to the altar of wood. Tears of passion filled the man’s eyes; tears of bewilderment filled the boy’s. Abraham motionless, knife held high—poised to plunge.
I gasped. This could not be. The heir of the promises must not be slain!
And then the One who made us all called forth—powerfully and compassionately. “Abraham, Abraham! Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.” Abraham collapsed, and both man and boy wept upon the other.
The Voice spoke once more. The promises of years ago given again. “I will make you into a great nation.” “I will bless you.” “All peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”
I pondered this all. God is serious about His pledges. What I learned that day on Mt. Moriah is that He wants you humans to be serious about their fulfillment, too. Perhaps this almost sacrifice of an only son is key to His restored relationship with you.
Hopefully, The Boar