Abram had learned to wait. God had spoken to him powerfully, when he was a man in the prime of life, living in the great Mesopotamian city of Ur. “"Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you.[1]” And he had gone, following this strange God and his lavish promises. God told him of an abundant land. He promised wealth. And most poignantly, he told of a multitude of descendants. Abram would be the father of a great nation.
God had spoken to him once more, when his protégé, Lot had set off to make his own way in the world. Again, there were the same promises, the assurance that God would be faithful. That was decades ago, though. Abram amassed cattle and slaves, he dabbled in politics, he became an elder statesman among the tribes of the Palestinian desert. He’d just been through a rather fierce battle, which has a way of clarifying your perspective, I’m told. But still there were no children.
And Abram was tired of waiting.
