Looking Beyond Jacob

Esau was born first—hairy. His brother Jacob was born second. Jacob took Esau’s birthright and his blessing, and when Esau threatened his life, Jacob fled.

Eric’s half asleep, but kind enough to mutter words back and forth as I start my day. I tell him that I’m “not that into Jacob," and he surprises me with his agreement, as he begins listing off Jacob’s many offenses. Number one, stealing. I know, right? :)

Jacob fell in love with Rachel, and after working for 7 years with plans to marry her, he ended up married to Leah. He offered 7 more years of service to marry Rachel, and once he finished his work, his family managed to flee from the home of Laban, father of Leah and Rachel. A reunion with Esau awaited Jacob, and he was frightened. He wrestled with God. Then, “Esau ran to meet him, embraced him, hugged his neck, and kissed him. They both wept” (Genesis 33:4). Sigh of relief. 

It’s day 15 of expecting God to speak to me every day this year—of knowing that He wants to, and trusting that He will. But this is an act of faith. The truth is: I worry every day that I will be met with silence, or that the noise of my day will drown out His voice, or that my daily commitment to writing might be too rushed. But as I write these things down, I realize how wrong I must be, and it makes me excited for the year ahead. I realize I’ve been putting a quota on His voice—forgetting that He was the one who asked me to pray without ceasing in the first place, so certainly, He can say more than one thing each month. More than one thing each week. More than one thing each day.

As I was driving home, I asked Him to speak to me differently. Not to prove Himself (I’ve done that before). This was new. Here I am, God. Wanting to be with You. Show me what you see. I thought I heard him say, “daughter.” He lifted my chin to add, “I’m proud of you.” But I couldn’t receive it. I couldn’t imagine that the God of All would put His hand on my chin. I asked Him for His eyes—that He would show me what He sees. And as I looked forward, everything was dark. Because it was night, of course, but this was darker. Gray mist rising from dimmed lights, and slick, dark, foggy skies weighing down the rooftops of empty buildings. Are you sad when you look at us, Father? Are we covered in darkness? I turned the corner, and the oncoming lane stretched out dramatically in front of me; strings of bright, white headlights broke through the darkness, pushing forward in my direction. It became clearer to me that this is how He sees us.

"So that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation. Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky" (Phillipians 2:15).

When I got home, I told Eric about my time with God. About how the darkness disappeared as the headlights caught my eye. About how it must delight the heart of God to see us in that way. Moving towards Him. But I also told Eric that I was worried about the Old Testament. Would God reveal anything new to me? It had been three days, and the only thing worth noting was that, “by the way, I kind of like Jacob now, and I don’t know why.”

I was trying to be playful, but saying it out loud exposed something ugly. Something that God had warned Laban about in a dream: “Be careful that you neither bless nor curse Jacob.”

The realization stunned me. I have been judging dead people. 

God's eyes are on us; our eyes are on each other. 

Earlier in the day I had read, "Fix your eyes on me; the One who never changes." But for so long, I have fixed my eyes on Jacob, on Rebekah, on Lot, and on Cane, and eventually this leads me to judge God as well because I call into question His judgements and decisions to bless or to curse the "deserving" and "undeserving," in my mind. It feels less like judgement when I can say that I'm reading the Bible, trying to understand. But it's so clear now: "I don't like Jacob; I like Jacob," as if my opinion matters. As if Jacob belongs to me. I am trying to imagine what might happen if I read the Bible and paid closer attention to God, and God alone. In the story of Jacob, He guides, He speaks, He delivers, He blesses, and He promises. I need to keep my eye on Him; I need to watch Him, and to follow Him through the story, off of the page, and into the world around me. What would happen if all of us, as we lifted our eyes up from the pages and back down again, paid less attention to one another, and more attention to Him? What might we see?