Daisies In Diaries 8:  The Wait In The Dark

Hello dear sisters, and welcome to Daisies in Diaries.

What we do here is very simple. We retell diaries that were never really written down, but could have been. These women from the Bible, from history, from the faith, lived real lives, went through real struggles, cried real tears, and made real choices.

So we take one moment from their story, and we imagine it in diary form to make it close, alive, and relatable. We picture what they might have thought, what they might have whispered, how they might have prayed on that day.

Each time we meet, we pluck one daisy, we open one diary, and we let their story speak into ours.

Today, the diary we are opening is from Daisy Sarah, the wife of Abraham. This entry is titled: The Wait in the Dark!

 

Daisies In Diaries 8: The Wait in the Dark

Many, many years ago, when Abraham made his intentions known to Terah, my father, by asking for my hand in marriage, nothing could have prepared me for the life that waited ahead. 

Abraham was the gentlest man I have know all my life. His voice was soft, his eyes calm, and his smile had a way of making you feel safe. There was something quiet about him, something different. He never argued, never forced anything, but when he said, “Yahweh has spoken,” everything in him became firm, unshakable.

I used to think that marrying Abraham meant peace, comfort, and a quiet life among flocks and tents. I did not know that I was saying yes to a man whose very life belonged to Someone I could not see.

 

I did not know that loving Abraham meant learning to live between promises and silence. 

The years that followed were nothing like what I imagined.

We left home with no map, no explanation, and no assurance except that Yahweh had called. I have lived in deserts and strange lands.

I have seen angels and wept over barrenness.

I have held on to promises that seemed impossible, and I have seen them bloom in my very arms.

But nothing, not one of those moments, could have prepared me for what happened four days ago.

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Four days ago started like any other morning, or so I thought.

But when I opened my eyes, I knew immediately that something was wrong.

The silence in the house was strange.

It was too still… too still.

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Usually, by the time I stirred, a cup of mint tea would already be sitting beside my bed. Isaac always brought it himself. He never forgot. That was his little way of saying, “Good morning, Mother.”

But that morning, there was no tea! The little clay cup wasn’t even in its usual spot.

I turned my head toward the window, expecting to smell the faint smoke from Abraham’s altar. He never missed it. Before the whole camp woke, the scent of his burnt offering would fill the air, like the breath of devotion rising to heaven.

But that morning, there was no smoke.

No scent.

No hum of early prayers.

Only the wind.

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I sat up slowly, wondering if perhaps I had overslept. When I looked outside, I saw that the sun had already climbed high, it was nearly the sixth hour of the day. I gasped. I had never slept that long in all my life.

I hurried to wrap my shawl around my shoulders and stepped out into the yard. The camp was already alive. The maidservants were grinding grain. The shepherd boys were herding the flocks. Water pots clattered, and voices floated in the air. Everything looked normal, but my world wasn’t.

I couldn’t find Abraham. I couldn’t find Isaac. I looked around and called, “Eliezer!”

Almost immediately, the steward appeared from one of the tents, his walking stick in hand, his brow furrowed. “My lady,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Where is my lord?” I asked. “And where is the boy? I haven’t seen them this morning.”

Eliezer hesitated. “My lady… the master left very early.”

“Left?” I repeated. “Where to?”

He shifted on his feet, choosing his words carefully. “They set out for a sacrifice. He took two of the younger men and one donkey. They carried wood and flint, and some bread and water too. It looked like a long journey.”

“A long journey?” I asked again, confused. “But why would my husband not tell me? And with Isaac too? He never goes that far without saying goodbye.”

Eliezer lowered his gaze. “It was before dawn, my lady. He did not wish to wake anyone.”

I nodded slowly, though my heart was unsettled. Something about it didn’t sit right, not because I suspected anything wrong, but because everything about the morning felt strange. Too quiet. Too sudden. Too secret.

Abraham had always shared everything with me. Every altar, every journey, every word Yahweh spoke to him. Why would he now rise in silence?

I stood there for a long while, watching the hills where they must have gone, the sun glinting off the horizon. My chest ached with a strange heaviness. I tried to busy myself in the kitchen, to pour water for the women, to grind a little grain, but my hands wouldn’t stay steady.

And then I remembered the night before.

Abraham had been restless. I had woken up twice and found him outside the tent, staring into the stars as though searching for something. His face was troubled, his eyes full of thought. I had called softly, “My lord, what is wrong?”

He had turned, smiled faintly, and said only, “Everything will be well, Sarah. Everything will be well.”

He said it again before lying beside me. But even then, his breathing was heavy, and I knew he did not sleep.

Now those words rang in my head. Everything will be well. But what did he mean by that?

The first day passed. The second day came.

Still, they did not return.

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By the evening of the second day, I was done trying to hold my heart together.

I had prayed and wept so many times I lost count, yet the ache only grew heavier. Every time I heard footsteps outside, my heart leapt and fell again. Every time I thought of Isaac’s laughter, I broke down.

 

 

That night, when the last of the women had gone to sleep, I slipped into the inner room of my tent and knelt. I could not sit anymore. I could not think anymore.

My whole being just wanted to speak with Yahweh.

I whispered, “Oh God, my Yahweh… You know all things. You see all things. Nothing in our house is hidden from You.

It looks as if You have asked Abraham to do something again, something bigger than him. I know that man. He cannot rest until he obeys You. For him not to tell me, it must be something heavy. Something that frightens even him.

But Yahweh, please give him strength. My husband is faithful, but he is also a man. Give him grace for whatever You have told him. If You have asked him to do something that tears the heart, please hold his hand.  Do not leave him alone.

Yahweh, I do not understand this silence, but I know You. I know You cannot destroy us. You are not a God who gives only to take away. You are not a God who breaks what He builds. Everything You touch becomes whole. Everything You ask for returns multiplied. So I lift my heart to You again. I do not ask to understand. I only ask for peace. If this is another test, Yahweh, help us pass it.

Give Abraham the grace to obey You to the very end, and when he obeys, let him see Your mercy. Let him see Your heart.And Father, calm my spirit. Take this fear from me. I surrender it. It keeps rising like smoke in my chest. Please take it. I want to rest, but I cannot rest unless You breathe on me again. You have done wonders before.

You woke up my dead womb when all the women around me laughed at me. You gave me Isaac when I had given up on the idea of laughter. You made our name great when we were just wanderers under the sky. You saved me when Abimelech almost took me away. Yahweh, You were there.So I will not believe that You will leave us now.Yahweh, I trust You.

I do not have many words left, but I trust You. I trust You. I trust You. Even this time again, You will not destroy us. You cannot destroy what belongs to You. You cannot destroy our destiny. You are Yahweh. Everything that is placed in Your hands, You keep. Everything in Your hands ends well. I will hold to that. I will sleep in that. I will rest in that.”

 

The tears poured, hot and steady, soaking the ground beneath me. My lips trembled as I repeated those words again and again. “I trust You, Yahweh. I trust You.”

Slowly, the fear began to ease. It did not vanish, but it bent, like a branch under gentle rain. Peace began to settle.

That night, I finally slept, and in my dream, I saw a mountain…. and a ram caught in the thicket….

A ram, Yahweh?

It was caught by its horns. Its wool gleamed as if light itself had rested upon it. Then I looked up and saw my Abraham standing near, smiling with such deep relief and tears in his eyes. He looked as though a heavy burden had just been lifted off his soul.

I woke up startled. “Yahweh… what kind of dream is this?” I whispered into the night. “Why a ram? Why is Abraham relieved? What does it mean?”

The more I tried to understand it, the less sense it made. And that ram. Why was it glowing with such a palpitating peace even though it was trapped? 

Why was Abraham, weeping yet smiling? My heart trembled. 

“Yahweh,” I prayed again, “You are showing me something, but I cannot see it clearly. Whatever it is, please, let it end in mercy.”

The tent was still.

Only the fire’s last breath flickered against the walls.

But deep inside me, something whispered that Yahweh had spoken and that the mountain I saw was not far from the truth.

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I walked out of the tent that morning, my feet heavy with longing, my eyes aching from sleepless nights. It was the fifth day, and my heart could no longer stay still. I just walked.

I walked beyond the camp, down the dusty road, hoping, no, pleading, that Yahweh would bring my family back to me. 

The days had stretched like years. Every sunrise felt cruel, every night emptier than the last. I missed them. I missed their laughter. I missed Isaac’s voice calling me “Mother.” I missed Abraham’s calm tone, the one that always made my fears smaller.

And then, in the far distance, I saw movement on the road. I blinked, wiped my eyes, and looked again. My heart leapt. I saw them. I saw them coming! 

Abraham’s figure, bent but steady, and beside him, oh Yahweh!, Isaac. My Isaac! My son! I did not think. I ran. I ran like a young girl again. Those around me called out, “Mother Sarah! Please don’t fall!” but I couldn’t stop. My legs were weak, but Yahweh gave me strength.

 

 

When I reached them, I fell into Abraham’s chest and held Isaac tight. Tears poured down our faces. I could not even speak. I could only cry, “You’re home! You’re home!” 

But Isaac… something about him was different. His eyes were far away, his face pale, his silence heavy. He looked like someone who had seen Yahweh Himself.

I asked what had happened, but Abraham only wept. His hands shook as he held me, and Isaac leaned against me as if trying to remember how to rest. 

The road behind them was still, the air thick. I knew then that something had happened on that mountain, something too deep for words, something that changed them both forever.

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When the camp had settled that night, and Isaac finally slept, I sat beside the fire with Abraham. His eyes were lost in the flames. I wanted to ask, but something in me held back. There was a quiet between us that words could not cross.

Then, slowly, Abraham spoke. His voice was soft, almost breaking. “Sarah,” he said, “Yahweh tried me.”

I looked at him, my heart pounding. “Tried you? How?”

He paused, his hand trembling slightly as he rubbed the edge of his robe. “He asked of me what I thought I could never give. He asked for Isaac.”

My heart stopped. My knees weakened beneath me. “You mean our Isaac?” I whispered, barely breathing. “Our laughter? Our promise?”

He nodded, his eyes filling with quiet tears. “Yes, Sarah. Yahweh asked for him.”

For a moment, the room spun. My hands trembled as I held onto the post beside me. I wanted to shout. I wanted to question. I wanted to tell him that he must have misunderstood the voice. That the God who gives cannot take back His promise. 

Tears filled my eyes before I even realized it. My lips trembled, but no words came. I searched his face for a hint that maybe this was a parable, a story, something symbolic. But his eyes, those same eyes that had seen Yahweh walk among men, were heavy and tired. They told me this was no story. This was truth.

I wanted to shout, to scream, to ask him why he did not tell me before he went. Why he would make such a decision alone. But when I saw the tears gather in his own eyes, I melted again. 

“My lord,” I whispered, my voice cracking, “you mean you were really going to…”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, Sarah. I built the altar. I arranged the wood. I bound our son with my own hands. And Isaac… he did not resist me. He looked at me with those same trusting eyes he has always had. My heart was breaking, yet I knew Yahweh must have a purpose….’

“Ehhhh! Jehovah, my Lord!” I screamed in a low tone, covering my mouth. 

“When I lifted the knife, His voice thundered through the mountain. He said, ‘Do not lay your hand on the boy.’ Then I saw it, a ram, caught by its horns in a thicket. Sarah, Yahweh had provided.”

 

 

 

He paused again, looking away as though still hearing the echo of that moment. “I cannot tell you how my legs gave way beneath me. I held our son like a man who had just found life again.”

Tears flooded my face. My chest heaved as I tried to breathe. “Oh Yahweh,” I cried, “how could it come to this?”

Abraham drew closer, his hand trembling as he took mine. “Sarah,” he said softly, “He never meant to take him away. He only meant to see if we still believed that everything we have belongs to Him. He provided. He always provides.”

I sank into his embrace, sobbing from awe. I could feel the truth of his words wrapping around me like a warm cloak. Yahweh had never failed us. Not once.

My voice came out in whispers, “Then… it was not just you He tested, my lord. It was me too. While you climbed that mountain, He was working in my heart. I saw the ram, I saw the mountain, I saw your relieved face. He was working on me also. He was pumping peace into me.”

Abraham nodded, his tears falling freely. “You see? He heard your prayers. He saw your heart. He is not a God who destroys, Sarah. He refines. He strengthens. He teaches us what love truly means.”

I looked through the tent flap toward Isaac’s resting place. The boy was asleep, his chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. I wept again, this time in gratitude.  Blessed be the name of Yahweh.”

The night around us was calm, the stars watching quietly from above. I could almost hear His presence again, the same warmth I felt when He first promised Isaac. It was as if Yahweh Himself was saying, See, daughter, I do not take to wound you. I take to show you that nothing in My hands ever dies.

And there, under that ancient sky, my heart finally rested.

Faith, I learned, is not the absence of questions. It is the choice to keep trusting even when the answers are hidden.

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If any woman should ever read my words, let her know that Yahweh is not cruel. His tests are not to destroy you, but to reveal what He has already planted inside you. Trust Him, even when the path is dark. The same God who asks for your Isaac already has a ram waiting in the thicket.

It dawns on me now that all these years, Yahweh had been building something in us. From the day He called Abraham out of Ur, to the day He gave us Isaac, to this very moment, it had all been one long lesson in trust.

Now I see that faith is not about understanding. Faith is about resting, even when understanding fails.

I thought of all the times I had doubted Him. The laughter that slipped from my lips when He first said I would have a son. The fear that gripped me when famine struck. The lies we told to protect ourselves. And still, Yahweh was patient with me. He never stopped writing His story in my life.

I looked at Abraham’s face in the flicker of the fire, older now, marked with both pain and glory. I saw in him what it means to walk with God. He has become a man who holds nothing back from Yahweh, not even the promise itself. And I have become a woman who has learned that Yahweh’s ways are deep but His heart is always good.

Tonight, I will close my eyes with peace.

My son sleeps.

My husband prays.

And Yahweh, our Creator, still watches over our tent.

 

 

Lessons from Sarah’s Diary

1. The safest place for anyone to be is in the will of God. God’s ways will not always make sense but He can be trusted to never fail. Isaac is the begotten son of Abraham yet, he understood that if God’s will is to sacrifice the begotten, no matter how hard it was, Abraham and Sarah understood that God could be trusted.

 

2. Sarah had come to understand in her marriage to Abraham that God will always come first in Abraham and she also aligned with that. It is important that true disciples of Jesus let Him and His will come first in their lives and every other person becomes secondary. There is no other way to being rooted in God’s perfect will.

 

3. From Abraham’s example, though painful, there should be nothing we cannot give back to God should He demand it from us. Abraham understood that his son had come from God and if God wanted Isaac back, He has to give it. 

 

4. God demands obedience from His children at all times. The act of obedience by Abraham is the proof of his faith in God. Obedience to God proves how much we love Him and it is also the test of our righteousness in Christ. The more obedient we are, the more the righteousness of Christ finds expression in us. 

 

5. When all we see around is only a cloud of confusion and uncertainty, like Sarah, that is the time to pray and pour out sincere words to God. When Sarah did not know exactly what to do or where to go looking for Abraham and Isaac, she turned all her worries over to the God who cared for her. He gave her His assuring peace in return. No clear answer but an assuring peace that He was in control. 

 

6. Sarah grew in learning to trust Abraham as the spiritual head of their home. She let him lead and submitted to him as her lord. Through her submission, she got to know Yahweh herself. She learnt to trust Him through His dealings with Abraham. Similarly, when we submit to our husbands as unto to Lord in marriage, we see God reveal Himself to us more intimately.

 

7. Isaac had a first hand experience of God’s Mighty presence and intervention. As mothers, we must grant our children opportunities to experience God for themselves as they see us experience God ourselves. Isaac’s experience came from Abraham’s experience. It is important that we expose them to atmosphere’s where God can directly meet them Himself as we also put ourselves under similar atmospheres. 

 

 

Rounding Off:

And here, sisters, we close today’s diary. What a fragrance it has left with us!

Do you want to read more diaries? Read other Episodes of Daisies in Diaries Here

Until next time, when another story unfolds, may your own life and mine also become a diary that whispers God’s faithfulness to generations after us.