She had kept the letter of the law. And not only in the outward sense, but she was righteous before God. For years she’d lived a life that was blameless before the Lord. She was not perfect, of course, but Scripture records not one word of reproach about her life.

Still, she was barren. And like the women before her — Sarah, Hannah — she viewed it as a disgrace. And so would have everyone else.

She was of the line of Aaron. She was married to a priest. Why would God not bless her with a child? What had she done? Why were her prayers not answered? And now she, like Sarah, was old.

Yet Elizabeth was faithful. Her life saturated with a very vital and personal love for God.

Can you imagine the wonder she would have felt when Zechariah returned home — mute no less — from serving the Lord in the temple and wrote on a tablet that an angel had visited him and they would have a son? How I wish her response was recorded for us!

Interestingly, Elizabeth chose to hide herself away for five months after she conceived. This was not cultural. It seems she may have kept the news of her pregnancy secret for a while. Perhaps her joy was so profound she wanted to savor it. She wanted to prepare herself for a new work the Lord was going to have her do as she raised a special son. One thing is certain. She worshiped the Lord:

Thus the Lord has done for me in the days when he looked on me, to take away my reproach among people.”

Perhaps it was during this special time of confinement that Mary came to visit with her with her own special news. Elizabeth acknowledges with faith the Lord’s work in both their lives and the two women rejoice together in the Lord. What talks they must have had!

At last, the long-awaited son is placed in Elizabeth’s arms. Tiny and wrinkled, swaddled in a blanket, Elizabeth holds her miracle. A miracle not just meant for her, but the nation of Israel. God had had it all planned from the beginning.

Eight days after her baby’s birth, Elizabeth’s strong faith is once again revealed. Those around her try to name her son after his father, Zechariah, as was the custom.

“No; he shall be called John,” Elizabeth responded simply and resolutely. That was the name Zechariah had communicated to her that the angel had said to give him.

Those gathered didn’t take her word for it and appealed to her husband for the baby’s name. Zechariah responds by agreeing with Elizabeth. Immediately, his speech returns!

All the visiting neighbors are overcome with a holy fear. Something is going on. The news spreads all through the hill country of Judea. Everyone was talking, and this time it is not to ponder or judge Elizabeth’s barrenness, but to exclaim over the mysterious circumstances of the birth of her son. Something special and strange was happening and everyone took notice.

And what of Elizabeth? I think we can assume she raised her child as faithfully as she’s lived out her barren years. That she taught him to live righteous and blameless before the Lord.

Did she live to see him full-grown, a locus-eating prophet living and teaching in the wilderness? Did she know he baptized his cousin, Jesus? Did she hear of his imprisonment and beheading?

We don’t know. But however long her life, I think she continued on in faith. She’d been faithful through the long barren years, how could she not continue faithfully after all she’d seen and personally experienced?

Barrenness may take many forms in life. We all have barren places that lie, seemingly in waste. We may even view them as judgment or punishment from God and wonder why He would inflict us with such pain. Yet, we see God’s sovereign plan is always at work, and in Elizabeth’s case, He had something special in mind. So the question becomes, will I continue in faithfulness, despite the lack I see? Elisabeth Elliot encourages us in her book, Secure in the Everlasting Arms:

In the barren places of my life I can be assured that God is there as He is when life is fruitful, and that the time is coming (give me patience, Lord, to wait!) when He will fulfill His word: “I will put in the desert the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive. I will set pines in the wasteland, the fir and the cypress together, so that people may see and know, may consider and understand, that the hand of the Lord has done this” (Isaiah 41:19-20).

Barrenness can take many forms. Would you be willing to share a form of “barrenness” in your life?

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One day as she rode her scooter through our neighborhood, Molly overheard a couple inside a house. Their windows were open, she told me later, and as she went by, she heard a woman cry, and a man say in exasperation, “I do love you, honey.”

Molly’s story prompted two thoughts: first, I should close my windows, because who knows what people hear when they ride their scooters by our place! Secondly, I wondered, “What is it in us that makes us doubt love?”

My heart hurt for the neighbor I didn’t know. Whether or not the man truly loves her — and I hope he’s a devoted, faithful husband! — the fact is, her Father loves her, deeply. Completely. Unconditionally. But something in her still isn’t sure she’s loved, so the man still tries to convince her.

And if she’s like me, she isn’t easily convinced. The truth is, I doubt love, too. Every day, Andy gives me dozens of reasons to know he loves me, and so do my family and friends. But too often, I still wonder. “Do you love me?”

Scripture talks about something else overheard. It’s one of my very favorite verses:

The Lord your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing. (Zephaniah 3:17)

A love song, overheard overhead, sung by God Himself! Steven Curtis Chapman talks about it in a song I added to my “run” playlist last week. I added it, not just because its upbeat tempo makes me run faster, but because I need to hear its convincing chorus, over and over again:

There’s a song being sung over you
by the One who breathes life into you:
You are being loved,
right now, at this very moment

Just like the woman in my neighborhood, I doubt love. I take convincing. But what if I didn’t? What if I listened, and finally overheard what’s overhead?

“I do love you, child.”

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The morning air was still fresh and crisp as we plodded forward on our hike to the peak.

We had barely begun our ascent when my five-year-old arched his neck, pointed his chin to the sky, and spotted the goal at hand.

“We’re almost there, Mom,” he concluded.

His first time ever walking this trail, he had no idea what lay ahead. He knew not of the steep incline, the massive boulders, the ladders, the narrow paths, the loose rocks.

He had his eye on the prize, and in his mind, we were almost there.

I admired his optimism.

In fact, it was far better that he didn’t know what was to come. I have often been grateful for my own naivete as I’ve walked the path of life. Had I known what trials loomed in the distance, I may not have had the courage or the willpower to keep walking forward. But isn’t that what trusting God is all about? It’s relying on His grace to help us walk forward in faith, not knowing what is around the next bend, yet believing that it will get us closer to Him in the end. It’s about not depending on our motivation or strength, but resting wholly on Him to carry us each step of the way.

About halfway up, my talkative walking companion craned his neck again and eyed the summit.

“Mom,” he began, “when we get to the top, only heaven will be above us. And when we get to heaven, only God will be above us.”

You gotta love the reasoning of a five-year-old mind.

His train of thought caused my own thinking to veer onto his track, and I began to contemplate heaven and the road to eternity.

I watched the myriad of hikers on the same path upon which my soles trod — the tattooed ones, the pregnant ones, the hippy ones, the prissy ones. The fit ones, the huffing and puffing ones, the ones with fancy cameras, and the ones with miniature schnauzers. As varied as the body of Christ, yet all with the same goal in mind.

So it is in the walk with Christ. For some, the journey may be easier; for others, every step may seem a sweat. But the final destination is the same, so long as we stick to the path marked out for us.

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