@thesoulful_writer: There is a sentence in the call of Abraham that troubles my heart, that I find my hands unconciously putting the book aside, for the soul to linger alittle more on what I just read. God tells Abraham leave. Leave the land that knows your footsteps, the graves that know your bloodline, the familiar smoke of your morning fires, the voices that can call your name from a distance and know it is you. Leave the comfort that has been cruel to no one. And Abraham leaves. And then he arrives in the land. The land God had spoken of. The land that carried heaven’s fingerprints. This land, I would presume, was supposed to prove that obedience is not foolishness. And Scripture says, there was famine in the land. Yes, famine in the promised land. The promised land was hungry. The place God called him to had no bread. And this is where a man’s theology begins to tremble. Because nobody tells you that sometimes the first face of promise is lack. Rarely do we speak of when the promise of God does not feed you yet. Lets bring it home alittle; When the people who told you congratulations have gone back to their lives, and you are left alone with the cost of what you prayed for. Or when a man gets the job he begged God for, after years in a place that had become familiar enough to feel like home. He walks in with gratitude folded neatly in his chest. Then before his name has settled on the email signature, the corridors begin to whisper. Restructuring. Budget cuts. Retrenchment. And suddenly the office he called blessing begins to feel like a room with a hidden wound. Or a man who builds a home after years of denying himself. Every stone has a story. Every wall remembers sacrifice. He had imagined peace waiting for him at the gate. Children laughing. A woman moving through the house without fear. Evening tea. Quiet sleep. Then he moves in and hears the area is no longer safe. Break-ins. Strangers watching. Stories told in lowered voices. And the house he built as an altar begins by testing his rest. Or for a man who enters love again after life had humbled him. He had prayed carefully this time. He had not rushed. He had listened. He had hoped with the caution of a man who knows how badly the heart can limp. Then the first year becomes war. And somewhere in the hidden room of his spirit, the question rises. Not loudly. A man does not always accuse God with his mouth. Sometimes he accuses Him with exhaustion. With a stare into the ceiling. With a quiet drive home. With a prayer that has lost its shoulders. Then quietly like Abraham, you learn hunger is not the final interpretation of this promised land. Famine is not proof that the promise has died. Absence of bread is not the absence of God. And sometimes faith is not the man standing in abundance with both hands lifted. Sometimes faith is the man standing in a hungry land, with dust on his feet, fear in his chest, and no evidence except the memory of what God said.

The Soulful_Writer

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Tuesday 23 June 2026 11:20:30 GMT