jehovah jireh

before the ram appeared

When I read Genesis chapter 22, I don’t feel inspired. I feel unsettled and uncomfortable. I feel the ache. Most of us, if we’re honest, rush to the ram. We skip ahead because we know how the story ends.  We know God provides. But before the ram came the three days.

God tells Abraham to take his son Isaac and sacrifice him as a burnt offering. Isaac is the son of promise (Genesis 17:19), the son on whom he built his future. And I find myself asking a question that sometimes we don’t think we’re allowed to say out loud: God, why would you even ask that?

We know God provides. But before the ram came the three days.

Genesis says they travel for three days.  We read those words so quickly. But three days is a long time when you’re walking toward something you don’t understand. Isaac carries the wood while Abraham carries the knife and the fire.  And heaven is silent.  Along that climb, Isaac asks, “Where is the lamb for the offering?”  It’s an innocent question. One that is simple and trusting. And I imagine it landing like a weight on Abraham’s chest.  Abraham answers, “God will provide.” But there is no ram in sight, no visible solution.

I know how the story ends, and maybe you do too. God provides a ram in the thicket, the knife never falls, and the promise is preserved. But Abraham didn’t know any of that when he started walking. And if I’m honest, I’m not sure if I would’ve taken the first step up that mountain. 

There was a season in my own life that felt like that climb. Living and serving in Africa wasn’t random for my family. It was prayed over and confirmed. We believed God had led us there, and we believed it was where He intended for us to stay. So, when that season began to close unexpectedly due to circumstances outside of our control, it didn’t feel like a normal transition. It felt like something sacred was being taken because, in my mind, I had intertwined God’s calling with that place. I remember praying with confusion and frustration, “God, You brought us here. You opened the doors. You confirmed this calling. Why does it feel like You’re taking it all away?”

That’s when Genesis 22 stopped feeling distant.

Isaac wasn’t just Abraham’s son. He was the fulfillment of God’s promise, the future Abraham believed God had spoken over his life. Africa wasn’t just a place to me. It was where I believed that God had called our family. It represented prayer, obedience, sacrifice, and joy.  So when that season ended, it didn’t simply feel like moving, but rather like laying something sacred on the altar. Not because Africa was the promise, but because I couldn’t yet see what God was doing beyond it. There was no ram in sight, only questions and grief.  Only the steady ache of watching a dream loosen from my grip. Sometimes the hardest obedience isn’t stepping into God’s calling, but surrendering the way you expected Him to fulfill it. 

Sometimes the hardest obedience isn’t stepping into God’s calling, but surrendering the way you expected Him to fulfill it. 

I wish I could say that I walked that mountain confidently, trusting God without hesitation. But mostly, I felt confused, frustrated, and disoriented. I didn’t see provision. I saw loss. Everything felt turned upside down. Had we heard God wrong? How long will this hurt? What will happen next?  Those were the questions I carried.

Genesis 22 says Abraham named the place, Jehovah Jireh, “The Lord will provide.” But that name came after the altar, after the knife was lifted, after the surrender. The provision wasn’t visible before the climb. It became visible as Abraham continued to obey. And maybe that’s the part that we don’t like. 

Yet, Abraham kept walking anyway. How? 

Hebrews 11 tells us that Abraham believed God could even raise the dead. Somehow, he trusted that the promise would not die on that mountain. He couldn’t see how both things could be true. That’s the beautiful part. Genesis doesn’t show us a fearless hero. It shows us quiet obedience anchored in who God had already proven Himself to be. 

Abraham had walked with God long enough to know that God does not break His word. That truth didn’t remove the ache, and it didn’t shorten the three days. But it reminded Abraham that confusing circumstances don’t change God’s character. Maybe that’s why Abraham could keep walking. Not because he could see the ram, but because he trusted the God who already could.

We translate Jehovah Jireh as “The Lord who provides.” But the name carries a richer picture than just meeting a need. It comes from the Hebrew root meaning, “to see.”  The idea is that the Lord sees… and He sees to it. Abraham couldn’t see the ram yet. But the God who had called him to obey already could. 

If you are in the three days right now, if heaven feels silent and the ram is nowhere in sight, it does not mean God has forgotten you. Not seeing His provision is not the same as being outside His care. Like Abraham, you may not be able to see what God is doing, but that doesn’t mean He has stopped working. Maybe we misunderstand provision. Sometimes we assume that it means immediate rescue or visible solutions. But sometimes provision looks like the strength to keep walking. Sometimes it looks like trust forming quietly in the dark. 

Looking back now, I can see that God never withdrew His calling. He simply changed the landscape where I would live it out.

Abraham didn’t name the place after the ram. He named it after the God who provided it. We remember the ram because it is the miracle we can see. Abraham remembered the God who had proven Himself worthy of his trust all along. 

That’s why I keep coming back to the three days. They remind me that faith keeps walking even before we can see what God has already provided.

Reflection questions:
1. What “three days” are you walking through right now where God’s provision is not yet visible? 

2. How might God be forming your faith during the waiting, before the “ram” appears?