Abraham breathed his last and died in a good old age, an old man and full of years, and was gathered to his people.
And just like that, this brief biography of father Abraham comes to a close. I really wish I could sit at Abraham’s feet for a few hours, the way I used to sit at my grandmother’s feet as a child, and listen to him relay his sixty-plus years of walking with God. 137 years is a long time to spend on this fallen earth, and I can only imagine the sort of wisdom he’d be able to provide. I’d ask how emotionally difficult those forty years of barrenness were. I’d ask if he ever suffered through severe doubt and despair. I’d ask what he considered his greatest success—and his greatest failure. I’d ask whether God’s initial commission filled him with the thrill of adventure or the shrill of terror, or both. And I’d especially ask what word he might leave for young pilgrims today who need courage just to take the next step.
You know something, friend? Abraham never got to learn at the feet of some super saint, but He had God’s Word in his heart and God’s Spirit at the lead. And that’s all he really needed.