By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going.— Hebrews 11:8
He grew up in a household that sold what it worshipped. His father Terah was, according to ancient rabbinic tradition, an idol maker: someone who shaped gods out of wood and clay and sold them to neighbors who needed something to hold on to. Abraham inherited that shop. He knew what it was to give people a god they could see, weigh, carry home.
And then the real God spoke. And told him to leave.
We tend to read Hebrews 11:8 and think: what faith. What courage. But there’s a question worth sitting with underneath it: was Abraham’s faith blind?
There was a woman named Kim Wickes who lost her sight as a child during the Korean War. She went on to sing as a soloist at Billy Graham Crusades, and she once described what it was like to be guided through an unfamiliar place. Her guide never announced what was coming a hundred yards away. They just said: there’s a puddle, step over it. There’s a staircase, put your foot here. If she trusted the person guiding her, she took that step. Then the next. And eventually, she arrived.
She said: that is how God leads us.
I’ve read a lot of theological explanations of Abraham’s faith. But that one — from a woman who lived it, literally — cut through the rest.
Abraham didn’t have a map. He didn’t have a destination address. What he had was a voice he had learned to trust, and a willingness to take the next step. Not all the steps. Just the next one.
That’s not blind faith. Blind faith is movement without a relationship, obedience without a history. What Abraham had was something closer to the trust a child places in a parent who says, follow me, I know the way. The child can’t see where they’re going. But they know who is holding their hand.
We need to feel the full weight of what Abraham was being asked to do. In the ancient Near East, your identity was not something you carried inside you. It was something you were born into. Your land, your clan, your father’s household: these were not just where you lived. They were who you were. To leave them was not an adventure. It was a kind of death. At seventy-five years old (Genesis 12:4), Abraham had spent a lifetime building exactly what God now asked him to walk away from. He left behind not just a name and a history, but livestock, servants, silver. Everything that in the ancient world said: this man matters. His roots ran deep. And God said: uproot.
Seventy-five years old. And he went.
And yet, God didn’t just say go. Before He gave the command, He gave a promise. I will show you the land. I will make you a great nation. I will bless you (Genesis 12:1–2). Three times: I will. The promise came before the first step, not after. That matters more than we sometimes realize.
Abraham’s faith wasn’t a leap into nothing. It was a step taken inside a word that God had already spoken. The darkness ahead was real. But so was the voice behind him. Every morning he woke up in an unfamiliar place, he was not moving toward uncertainty. He was moving toward a promise.
There’s a detail the text gives us that we sometimes rush past: he went, even though he did not know where he was going. He didn’t know the destination. But he knew the One who did. That is not blindness. That is the deepest kind of sight.
We don’t know what went through his mind the night before he packed. The text doesn’t tell us — which is almost more honest than if it did. It doesn’t sanitize Abraham into someone who had no fear. It just tells us what he did: he went.
Many of us are waiting for our faith to feel certain before we move. Waiting to feel ready. Waiting until the path is clear enough to see.
But the text won’t let us stay there. It says:
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. — Hebrews 11:1
That assurance, that conviction — neither one is a feeling. Both are a posture: choosing, again and again, to lean into the One who is leading.
We are all, in some sense, walking in the dark. We don’t know what tomorrow holds. We carry our questions and our uncertainties, and sometimes we confuse the darkness of the path with the absence of the Guide.
Remember Kim Wickes. She couldn't see the road. But she never lost the voice that led her. Her guide showed her just the next step. She walked in the dark. One step at a time. And she arrived.
There is a difference between walking in the dark and walking blind. We can walk in the darkness. What we cannot afford to lose is the Guide. He is the one who leads us to the light.
That is how God leads us too. Not with a map laid out in advance, not with every detail disclosed before we move, but with a word: the exact word we need, for this moment, from the One who knows us better than we know ourselves.
Abraham didn’t know where he was going. But he knew who was speaking. He never lost the voice that led him. He had a promise. He had a God who knew the whole road and chose to walk it with him, one step at a time, toward glory.
That was enough.
It has always been enough.
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