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Ishmaels and Isaacs

byKylie Kristeen/June 4, 2025

Does everybody have that one friend who primarily exists in your phone? Like, maybe you see each other every so often, but your conversations almost wholly exist in text streams? I have one of those friends. And I love her dearly. 

In today’s voice memo hangout session, she shared that someone (a man…) from her past had resurfaced. She wasn’t sure how to think about it or at what level she should engage with him. This is the kind of conversation I often have with this particular friend – two single women trying to figure out to be content with the Lord, while also longing for change. But while we’re here, we look for ways to encourage one another. 

One important thing to note about my friend is that she is a nurturer. Many women are, but she is that to the extreme. If there is someone in need, her natural instinct is to fill that need or solve that problem, often at her own expense. This incredible characteristic also makes her vulnerable to being taken advantage of or taken for granted. 

While we’re here, we look for ways to encourage one another. 

So, in today’s text convo, when she casually mentioned Mr. Blast-From-The-Past reached out with a potential need she could fill, my spidey senses began to tingle. 

I don’t know this man, but I know my friend. And I know what it’s like to be single later in life than most. Something happens in the psyche of a woman who is single after 35. You can be completely content and at peace and secure in Christ. Truly secure. But if there is any desire whatsoever to be married and have a family, the ticking of your biological clock becomes louder than the voice of reason. 

And when that happens, a new line of thinking courses its way through our logic. Something we have to fight. Something we don’t want to believe, but our circumstances demand that we accept. It sounds like this:

“I just have to take what I can get.”

“This [man] is as good as it gets.”

“All the good ones are taken, and this is what’s left for me to choose from.”

Something we don’t want to believe, but our circumstances demand that we accept.

I really hate that last one because it implies that we are also leftovers. God doesn’t call us that. God doesn’t call men that. God doesn’t say that at all, so we don’t get to either. 

But you get the point. This pattern of thought, if not well-defended, can cause women of a certain age to birth an illegitimate promise. It happened to Sarah; it can happen to us. 

In Genesis 15, God promised Abram (soon-to-be Abraham) that he would have a son. In Genesis 16, Sarai (Sarah) took matters into her own hands. 

1 Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had not been able to bear children for him. But she had an Egyptian servant named Hagar. 2 So Sarai said to Abram, “The Lord has prevented me from having children. Go and sleep with my servant. Perhaps I can have children through her.” And Abram agreed with Sarai’s proposal.

Genesis 16:1-2, NLT

This pattern of thought, if not well-defended, can cause women of a certain age to birth an illegitimate promise. It happened to Sarah; it can happen to us. 

The thing is, I don’t think this is unique to single women over 35. I think we all have the propensity to birth our own Ishmael’s. And the longer we wait for Isaac to arrive, the more likely we are to conceive an illegitimate solution to the problem of our pain. 

I wish I knew the best way to combat this. I don’t. If I did, I’d bottle it, sell it, and go on about my millionaire way. I fear my only offering is not what we should do to avoid this, but rather, what we should not do. 

Don’t run. 

Don’t avoid God. 

And by all means, don’t pretend you have it all together when you very clearly do not. 

Whatever the Isaac you are waiting for, don’t ignore the pain of unmet longing. And don’t try to hide it from God. He already knows. In fact, He told us it would be this way. 

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. 

Proverbs 13:12, NIV

I love this verse because it diagnoses my condition. I dislike this verse because it doesn’t tell me what to do about it. 

By all means, don’t pretend you have it all together when you very clearly do not. 

Why do I feel so broken about this? Because my hope is deferred… actually, it is lately more than deferred; more like depleted. 

But a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. What does a tree offer? Shade (protection from the elements); fruit (sustenance for many); a place to relax (restoration for exhaustion); plus, trees are sturdy, long-lasting, enduring through storms. 

So right after this verse diagnoses my heart-sick condition, it reminds me of all that I’m missing out on. Gee, thanks. 

So what are we to do when the ache for our Isaac breaks us? Maybe it starts with a text message. In my voice memo conversation with my sweet friend today, I was led to remind her of her security in Christ. I was prompted by the Holy Spirit to identify with her pain, and to encourage her that she was promised an Isaac. Next time, she’ll undoubtedly have to do the same for me. 

But what about running from God? My pastor said something this Sunday that hit me in the very core of my faith. He said, “You can tell what you believe about someone by what you are willing to ask of them.” 

You can tell what you believe about someone by what you are willing to ask of them.

I stopped asking. Never stopped wanting. Just stopped asking. 

I stopped believing God wanted to do it for me. That realization broke me. I kept doing all that He has called me to do, but seeing myself as little more than a workhorse for the Kingdom. It’s not about me; it’s about Him. Truly, I feel privileged to be counted among the King’s servants. 

But I’m not only a workhorse. He says I’m more. And while it is all about Him, He still sees me. Hagar, the woman who birthed the first Ishmael, called Him El Roi – the God who sees me. Hagar wasn’t promised Isaac, and she never asked for Ishmael. Her son was thrust upon her by another woman’s heart sick condition. Her pain was different from Sarai’s, but it was no less gut-wrenching. 

And God saw her. He sees you. He sees me. Nothing escapes His eye, and nothing can thwart His purpose or disrupt His plan for us. Which, by the way, is a plan that will give us hope… no longer deferred.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to tend to the conviction brought on by my pastor’s sermon.

Talk soon.

Continue the conversation with the Word:Genesis 15-16, Jeremiah 29, Ephesians 3

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