The Lonely Road of Promise

“But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart” Luke 2:19.

Some promises are so unique, so unprecedented, that no one around you can truly understand what you’re carrying. Mary couldn’t share her burden broadly. Who would comprehend that the baby kicking inside her was the Creator of the universe? Who could relate to being chosen to bear God incarnate? She knew what God had spoken, but she couldn’t make others understand. She felt the life of the promise stirring within her, but it was invisible to everyone else. Like Mary, some things are too holy, too intimate, too fragile to expose to the scrutiny of those who haven’t heard what you’ve heard.

These are the challenges that come with carrying God’s promise: when others judge what they don’t understand. They look down on your obedience like foolishness. When the cost seems too high and no one sees what God is doing. When you must keep walking even though you walk alone. Mary walked that lonely road. Through the suspicious stares. Through the journey to Bethlehem when she was nine months pregnant. Through giving birth in a stable meant for animals. Through fleeing to Egypt to escape a murderous king. The promise was forming, but the process was painful. And most of it, she bore in silence.

Yet generations now recognise what God has done in and through an ordinary, willing life. In Luke 1:48, Mary says, “For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.” Notice what she doesn’t say. She doesn’t present herself as exceptional, spiritual, or powerful. She presents herself as seen. God looks, God chooses, God acts. The blessing flows out of that divine initiative, not human ambition. Mary was blessed not because she was extraordinary, but because she made herself available to an extraordinary God.

This matters because blessing in the scripture is rarely about applause. It’s about alignment. Mary is blessed because she agrees with God’s word, even when it disrupts her future, her reputation, and her comfort. The generations call her blessed not because her life was easy, but because her yes carried eternal weight. Think about it. Mary’s blessing included public shame, a gruelling journey while pregnant, giving birth in poverty, becoming a refugee, and watching her son be crucified. Yet she’s called blessed. Why? Because her obedience created space for God to work through her in ways that changed all of human history.

The challenge for us is simple and uncomfortable. We often want blessing without surrender, honour without obscurity, recognition without cost. We want to be called blessed by all generations, but we’re unwilling to be misunderstood by this generation. Mary shows us another way. Blessing comes when a life is yielded to God’s purpose, even when the outcome is misunderstood by the world. The blessing she received wasn’t immediately obvious. For years, she lived with the tension between heaven’s promise and earth’s perception. The recognition came later, much later. But the obedience that earned that recognition was happening in the hidden, difficult, lonely moments when no one was watching.

So the question is not whether the world will call us blessed. The question is: will our obedience create space for God to work through us in ways that outlive us? That kind of blessing may be quiet now, but it echoes for generations. Most of us will never have our names remembered by future generations, but that’s not the point. The point is that our obedience today creates ripples in eternity that we’ll never fully see on this side of heaven. The promise we carry faithfully, even in obscurity, might be the foundation for something God builds through the next generation.

If you’re carrying something unprecedented that no one else understands, if you’re walking a lonely road because you said yes to God, if your obedience looks like foolishness to those watching, if the cost seems too high and no one sees what God is doing, remember Mary. She pondered these things in her heart. She bore most of it in silence. She walked through suspicion, poverty, danger, and ultimately stood at the cross watching her son die. But generations call her blessed. Not because her life was easy, but because she aligned herself with God’s purpose and carried what He gave her all the way to fulfilment, regardless of the cost.

And she is not alone. Think of Abraham, the father of a nation. He walked decades believing in a promise of descendants, yet he saw none for many years. He obeyed, even when the wait seemed endless, even when it seemed impossible. Or Joseph, sold into slavery, falsely accused, imprisoned. Yet in every trial, God’s purpose was working. One day, the same people who wronged him bowed to his wisdom. The lonely road led to fulfilment beyond his imagination.

Will you do the same? Will you carry what God has given you, even through misunderstanding? Will you walk the lonely road of obedience? Will you surrender your need for recognition to create space for God’s work? That kind of blessing may be quiet now, but it echoes for generations. “And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word” Luke 1:38. Let it be to us according to His word. Even when it’s lonely. Even when it’s misunderstood. Even when it costs us everything. The promise is worth the pain, and the blessing is worth the obscurity, because what God does through a yielded life outlives us all.

Kay Alli