We just picked up a used lamp and an extension cord for Di to have light on her side to read in bed J
While Thomas (17months old) watched, I got a kitchen knife (as you do) and cut out a slot in the end of the extension cord so the plug would fit in all the way.
I led Thomas back into the living room and kitchen area as I took the knife back to the kitchen. Walking behind my son with a knife brought a biblical story to mind. You know the one…
I couldn’t fathom killing my son. It would seem like the last thing God would ever ask me to do.
Which is kind of the point of the Abraham/Isaac story, really.
Unlike me, Abraham lived and breathed the air of a culture in which child sacrifice was the norm. Especially the firstborn son.
It’s a bit like me feeling quite squeamish at the thought of grabbing a live chicken by the head and swinging it round until its body separates from its head; known as ‘ringing the neck’ I believe? Then again, it’s very much not like that. We’re talking about a human v a chicken here.
But you get the point. The unthinkable (or unpleasant) is thinkable (or ‘normal’) in another place/time.
So Abraham is up on the mountain, ready to kill his son. Just like everyone does. This is what the gods require.
‘Stop!’ says the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. “I’m not that kind of God.”