This is not the post I was going to write. The one I planned on publishing was this:

I knew on June 30th I was going to have to write this post, but I’ve spent weeks searching high and low for a thread of hope . . . for some miracle. Even now, I want some angel to stop my fingers from typing, to make some unexpected provision.

But sometimes we sacrifice what we love, and God fully intends for us to walk away empty handed.

On June 30th, the decision was made for me (as opposed to by me) to walk away from music as I know it. As the days drifted by, it became apparent that the decision was set in stone.

I’m left with five great, fully-produced songs that may never reach anybody’s ears. I’m left with dozens of snippets of unfinished songs. I’m left with shattered dreams.

All I can think is why “Jubilee” . . . did I have it all wrong? Did it mean something other than music? And why this damn tattoo? What happened to the promises, God? What happened to “Call to me and I will answer you. I’ll tell you marvelous and wondrous things that you could never figure out on your own?” . . . Because I’ve been calling and calling and calling, and I get no answers.

But as I wrote that last paragraph, all I could do was weep. Mark came into the office and wrapped his arms around me while an ocean’s worth of teardrops fell to the floor.

I shared my thoughts on social media: Sometimes we lay down our sacrifices only to find there’s no angel of the lord stopping us. There are no other provisions.

Someone commented that the real test would be whether we left it on the altar or took it back.

I walked out of the office and left it all on the altar along with the unfinished post. I’ll be quick to admit how angry I was with God. Even Mark admitted to being frustrated with God, but was asking Him to open doors and bless me.

Before going to bed, I came across a Twitter conversation about doubt and faith. I chimed in that I was like Thomas, needing proof — needing to see and feel. Seth Haines and Nate Pyle sent me a couple of links to messages about doubt and faith that I could listen to, which I did immediately. By the time I fell asleep, I at least had a peace that superseded my understanding.

* * * * *

The story of Abraham and Isaac has been in my face for eleven years. {Eleven years ago — the time when I first learned that God had called me by name, that I was His, that He had songs for me to sing.} A few weeks ago, I jotted down some notes about that portion of Scripture involving Abraham and Isaac I’d never thought about before:

• Isaac was a gift promised by God to Abraham. God was the initiator; Abraham and Sarai didn’t first ask for a child. Abraham and Sarai believed the promise and waited.

• When the promise finally arrived, did Abraham and Sarah really treat Isaac like an idol, as so many of us church goers have been led to believe? Just because they loved him didn’t mean they’d made him an idol.

• A burnt offering under the Law meant complete destruction of an animal to renew the relationship between God and man; however, during Isaac’s time, the Law had not yet been given.

• Burnt offerings symbolized the total dedication of the offering unto God. They were offered by will, not demanded by God.

• Abraham offered Isaac to God (as dedication). It was a test of Abraham’s faith, not of his obedience.

• An angel stopped Abraham’s hand from delivering the death blow, and God provided the sacrifice. After all, He’s not delighted with sacrifices and burnt offerings.

• We’re not laying down our idols in sacrifice. We’re offering up our loves in dedication because the ultimate sacrifice has already been made in Jesus.

Those thoughts have been churning in me for a few weeks, but I couldn’t make sense of them all until now.

* * * * *

When I awoke, I couldn’t finish the post I’d started writing. I decided to let it be.

I’d accepted that I’d left my sacrifice on the altar. My eyes were nearly swollen shut from all the crying, but I would be okay.

Then I received an email that gave me one, last chance. I knew I had to respond to that email in a way that would crush me all over again. I hit “Reply,” typed the response, and pressed “Send.” An error message occurred, telling me that the reply was undeliverable and had been sent to my Outbox. I pressed “Send” again and got the same message. Three times this happened. And I wondered, “Could it be?” But I tried again. Four times now. And still the error message popped up. That’s when it dawned on me that God was stopping my hand from delivering the death blow to the gift He gave me.

And if God stops the death blow, doesn’t He provide? Isn’t He faithful that way?

* * * * *

For a year, I’ve grasped at Christian platitudes, hoping they were true. Phrases like “Your breakthrough is just around the corner” and “God is about to restore everything you’ve lost” have fallen flat time after time. I’ve called bullshit on most of them. And my hope has dwindled to nothing.

But today He has reminded me that He gave me a new song to sing . . . quite a few of them as a matter of fact. He’s shown me that the gift of music is not an idol in my life I need to sacrifice, but a love I need to trust Him with. He’s let me see and feel today. He has reminded me that He is faithful, that He will provide. So I watch and wait (impatiently).