Although he wasn’t perfect—as no one is—Abraham was a great parent. (And I believe that even without the call of covenant, the patriarch was a man intentional about legacy, vision, and obedience—perhaps some of the very reasons God chose him to be the forefather of faith.) As Abraham grows older, his dimming eyes turn toward the future of his family, which will one day be as numerous as the stars in the sky. Isaac, Abraham’s promised son, needs a wife to continue the covenant lineage. And not just any wife will do—Isaac must marry someone from Abraham’s own people. (He knows all too well that intermarriages destroy destiny.)

So, Abraham sends his most trusted servant to Mesopotamia, where his extended family is settled in Haran. After sealing the sacred assignment with a swearing by the groin—an ancient cultural gesture that was binding and, somehow, made more sense back then—the servant departs steadfastly, with ten camels loaded with all kinds of good things (Genesis 24:10).

Soon, the unnamed servant arrives at a well in the town of Nahor and, after praying to the Lord for success, sees Rebekah—the daughter of Bethuel, who was the son of Abraham’s brother Nahor. Rebekah quickly reveals herself to be a woman radiant in both form and faith, marked by radical generosity, inner strength, and an instinct to serve.

Upon arriving at Rebekah’s household, the servant recaps all that has happened and shares the divine proposal. Her family is astounded, recognising that this is the work of the Lord. But as one day rolls into the next, something shifts. The same family that was once open begins to hesitate, and a new proposal is put forward.

As it hangs in the air, Rebekah stands in the tension between the familiar and the future—between what makes sense and what God has sovereignly orchestrated. What unfolds next in Rebekah’s story is deeply relatable, especially to me in this season—speaking to the hidden tests of timing, trust, and the tension we often feel between obedience and attachment.

In moments of destiny, we must be careful that comfort, convenience—or even compassion—don’t become cloaked excuses for delay. (And in the process, prevent us from stepping into what God has called us to.) On the surface, Laban and Rebekah’s mother weren’t asking for much. They didn’t demand she stay in Haran forever—just ten more days.

Within ancient Near Eastern culture, marriage often meant a woman permanently leaving her family—especially in intertribal or long-distance situations like this. Rebekah wasn’t just leaving home; she was leaving her homeland, likely with no promise of ever returning. I’m no mother, but it’s not hard to imagine what was running through the parent’s heart and head: what little of an ask is 10 more days in light of never seeing my daughter again?

Additionally, the 10 days can account for the social protocol of parting from one’s daughter or sister. According to scholarly accounts, it was customary to allow time for farewell preparation and rituals, alongside emotional closure. (As my own two cents: who knows if big brother Laban was looking to up the bride price on his little sister with the delay as well. Once Jacob—Rebekah and Isaac’s someday son—is in the picture, we see Laban as a man of little substance and a lot of idol worship.)

A lot of things can be considered cultural, logical, or even practical—but that doesn’t make them God. Delaying when it comes to the divine isn’t something we want to do—it could derail a moment that’s meant to awaken destiny. And that’s not to say every delay is disobedience but that every delay must be discerned. A “Not Yet” on our behalf can be just as dangerous and destructive as “No” when God is saying “Now”.

“Yes” and “Not Yet” come into tension the next morning, just after the sun rises. What seemed like an agreement between Rebekah, her family and the servant appears as subtle resistance—and the pressure on Rebekah to answer God’s call increases.

Once morning comes, Laban and his mother try to make moves for Rebekah. We don’t see in Scripture any indication that they approached her with their proposal or their motives. And don’t get me wrong, Rebekah’s mother wasn’t evil—she, at least, was simply emotional. (I won’t speak for Laban, given my earlier statement.) Which in itself is a great truth: emotions can unintentionally resist obedience even when it’s a clear call.

Rebekah had just experienced divine alignment—supernatural timing, gifts from Abraham’s servant, and a desire within her. Yet even with all that clarity, her family’s pull nearly shifted her obedience. Sometimes people want to hold you in what—a season, space, situation—God is asking you to leave.

I’ve been sitting with Rebekah’s story in this season—learning from her about marriage, mission, motherhood, and most of all, what it means to be ready when God calls suddenly. And like her, I’ve had to look at those closest to me and make a conscious, honourable separation—to draw a line between what is shared and what is sacred. Our family will not always agree or believe, but it’s on me—as it is, on you—to build up my own faith and assurance, not theirs. Your family and close friends love you—but they can still limit you and your calling.

The tension between family’s affection and the Kingdom’s direction is very real—and equally revealing on all sides. After hearing the servant’s story, Laban and Rebekah’s mother are amazed at the encounter and exclaim that this is from the Lord (Genesis 24:50). And so, in theory, they agree to let Rebekah go. God’s divine alignment is clear, the signs are undeniable—and yet Rebekah’s readiness revealed her family’s reluctance. Sometimes your conviction will expose someone else’s contradiction.

As Rebekah prepared to leave, her family’s earlier statement began to ring hollow. They said they believed it was God, but their actions tried to postpone it. Often, it’s not until you move in boldness that the true beliefs, fears, and attachments of others are revealed. And in the process, people may acknowledge the call on your life but still try to adjust the timing. We can’t allow the pull of family can’t outweigh the push of God.

See, faith isn’t just about recognising God’s will—it’s about aligning with His timing. We often say we trust God until it requires a cost we’re not ready to pay—like permanent separation.

Amid the objections, Abraham’s servant pleads for no delay. And so finally, Rebekah’s family ask: “Will you go?”

You never really know what you’re saying “No” or “Yes” to when it’s God calling. Rebekah didn’t know she was stepping into covenant—not just companionship—when she said yes to the servant. She was told that Abraham was wealthy and blessed, and that his unnamed son was born miraculously. What Rebekah didn’t know, however, was that Isaac was the chosen heir of God’s covenant (Genesis 17:19)—a covenant that meant, through Abraham’s line, their descendants would become a nation—and ultimately bring forth the Messiah.

So, unknown to her and her family, this wasn’t just about meeting a husband—this marked Rebekah being moved into God’s redemptive plan for all of mankind. Isaac would carry the covenant of Abraham; Rebekah was being grafted into destiny. And while we’re not going to marry Isaac, covenant will come calling for us too. And as it does, everything else must submit—even what feels familiar, fine, and culturally appropriate.

Obedience is deeply personal. While it’s not meant to be lived out in isolation—we’re rarely called to move completely detached from community—it still comes down to you. No one can say yes to God for you. And no one can surrender on your behalf. It’s between you and the Lord—your will, yielded to His.

God’s greatest invitations often arrive as quiet, soul-piercing questions: Will you go? Not when it makes sense. Not when everyone agrees. Not when everything aligns. But when He calls—will you go?