He wasn’t praying for daily bread when the realization struck him. He wasn’t preparing for a harvest, and he wasn’t in need of clothes. When the realization of God’s provision struck him, he wasn’t in need of any of the things we typically ask for when we pray to Jehovah Jireh.
When Abraham first praised the One who provides, he was giving as much as he was receiving. The hands he held up in praise had, just moments before, held a knife over the throat of his beloved son. It wasn’t in the moment of his greatest emptiness that he felt God’s provision; it was the moment of Abraham’s greatest emptying—all that he loved and hoped for and dreamed about, placed on an altar of sacrifice.
That had to be a lonely moment, as he steeled himself for the harrowing act he faced. Before he truly knew and felt the sufficiency of God, he had to trust in it. But then—emptied of himself and all of his plans, with a knife raised in excruciating hope—God showed Himself and exceeded Abraham’s hopes and expectations.
How could Abraham take such a leap of faith? Because he understood that before God could provide all, He had to own all. In other words, Abraham knew that he had no right or claim on anything, not even his own child. As the rightful owner of Isaac, God could do and demand anything He pleased.
It’s really a terrifying thought. But Abraham already knew one thing about his God: Jehovah is good. And a good God who owns everything will provide everything. That is sufficiency.
What is it that you and I cling to most fiercely? Is it our children, our health, our home, our financial state or lifestyle, a parent or a loved one? Here’s the question I’m asking myself this week. Am I clinging because I doubt God’s sufficiency, I doubt that He is good, or I doubt that He can provide?
At the end of the day, my faith is revealed not as much by what I don’t possess but what I am willing to give up.