Love In A Broken Vessel (40 page)

Ezri cleared his throat. “It sounds as if the fighting is moving away from my courtyard gate, uphill toward the palace. If you’re going to signal your messenger, now’s the time, Prophet.” He stood abruptly and walked to the balcony, leaving Gomer to her new master.

Her heart nearly beat out of her chest. Was it from Hosea’s kiss? Or was it because they must escape through Samaria’s battle zone?

• H
OSEA
2:19–20 •

Israel, I will make you my wife forever. I will be honest and faithful to you. I will show you my love and compassion. I will be true to you, my wife. Then you will know Yahweh.

G
omer listened to Yuval’s slow, rhythmic breathing. The poor woman was exhausted after fleeing Ezri’s home this afternoon. Micah’s agile build and quick thinking had made their escape possible. He’d arrived with Ezri’s payment when the fighting moved into the palace, and then practically carried Yuval when her weary body could run no farther. Once outside Samaria’s gates, Micah led them to where he’d hidden the remaining wool and cloth that hadn’t sold in the market. After trading the goods for traveling provisions, they joined the swarm of people fleeing toward Judah on the trade routes. North of Shechem, they took to the hill country, avoiding Israelite and Judean scouts on heightened alert.

Gomer gazed up at the half moon, trying to recount the number of times she’d slept in the open wilderness. Yuval snorted, stirred, and turned over. Grinning, Gomer tucked a gray strand of hair behind her friend’s ear.

“Yuval?” she whispered. The woman didn’t stir.
Thank the go—
She cut short her thought, remembering Hosea’s instructions not to mention the gods of her youth. Did that mean she couldn’t
think
their names either? She’d been hoping to talk with Hosea during their journey, but he’d seemed too deep in thought to be interrupted with her questions.

She rose quietly and took a large stick from their fire. The makeshift torch would protect her from stalking beasts—though it ruined the element of surprise she’d hoped for when approaching Hosea. She emerged from the rocks and scrub that sheltered her and Yuval, finding Hosea seated by a second fire, Micah snoring on his blanket nearby.

Hosea looked up. The firelight danced in his eyes, casting shadows across his handsome face. She thought of Ezri, his feeble declarations of love. Hananiah’s deception. Eitan’s cruelty.

Hosea’s eyes consumed her, almost drowning her with desire—but not physical desire alone. More. So much more. No other man had ever looked at her that way, and a terrible thought pierced her.
What if he has truly loved me all this time—and I’ve wasted it?
Her knees felt like water skins, but she commanded her legs to carry her. She stopped a few paces from the fire, inclining her head toward another outcropping of rocks a few cubits east of them.

Hosea lifted both eyebrows and grinned, questioning. He looked like the ten-year-old boy she’d coaxed into trouble.

Her heart twisted. He wasn’t ten. She wasn’t that girl anymore.

His smile died, as did her playfulness, and he met her where she stood. His hand covered hers on the torch, and he leaned down to whisper, “Is Yuval all right?” His other arm enfolded her. She could barely breathe, feeling his hand sliding to the small of her back. He looked into her eyes, searching, waiting for her answer.

Still breathless, Gomer could only nod and point the torch
in the direction she intended him to follow. She gave herself a mental shake.
You’re being ridiculous. It’s Hosea. Talk to him.
The personal coaxing faded like the moon behind a cloud when they sat on a large boulder and he scooted close for warmth.

He nestled her in the bend of his arm, and they relaxed against the perfect stone backrest. “So, what’s on your mind?” he said, peering at the stars, seemingly oblivious to her desires.

“I have a few questions about our . . . relationship.”

He nodded but didn’t speak.

“Could you explain what you meant when you said I must wait for you?” Her cheeks flushed like a virgin bride, and she rushed on, trying to sound as though he were simply another master and she his slave. “My other masters expected me to perform the customary household duties, but I also visited their beds regularly. I was just wondering . . .”

“Gomer.” He uncoiled his arm and sat up, then bowed over his knees. He hesitated.

It was excruciating.

“Well, I don’t want to force you into anything so horrible.” She pushed herself off the rock, trying to run, but he seized her hand—and then grabbed her waist. He pulled her onto his lap, holding her like a child. “You’re not running away this time.”

He leaned over her, and she leaned up to kiss him, needing the assurance of his desire.

He turned his face and laid his cheek against hers. “I don’t want you to call me ‘Master.’” She felt the dampness of his tears between their faces. “I want you to call me ‘Husband’ and worship my God with your whole heart. When you can do those things willingly, then I will enjoy you as my wife as never before.” He dried his eyes on his shoulder and spoke as if taking a vow. “I will not treat you as a harlot or a bed slave. I love you too much for that.”

“But you said I was an incurable harlot, dead to you.”

He searched the windows of her soul. “Were it not for
God’s mercy, we would all be incurable. And haven’t you felt dead inside for quite some time?”

She felt her familiar stony defenses rise. “I have been walking death for as long as I can remember. It’s how I survive.” She scooted off his lap onto the rock, sitting beside him.

He leaned over and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “The living God longs to give you life, Gomer. He loves you.”

His words were like a swig of vinegar to a thirsty soul. Gomer had almost been fooled again, lulled into Hosea’s false hope. She straightened her stooped shoulders and sniffed back tears. “Yahweh hates me—or haven’t you listened to your own prophecies? He plans to destroy Israel because of their
harlotry
. I’m a harlot. Surely you see the connection.”

He grabbed her face between his hands and shook her. “Stop it!” he shouted in a whisper. “Stop saying that. You’re not a harlot—or at least you don’t have to be if you choose differently. I paid your bride-price years ago. Why do you refuse to see yourself as a bride?” He waited, staring into her eyes, but she couldn’t speak past her strangling shame. She turned away, but he pressed her still. “What makes you believe Yahweh hates you? Give me proof, and I’ll declare His love.”

Gomer, emotions still reeling at the thought of being a bride, struggled to express the reasons she’d accused Yahweh all these years. “What about my childhood? Abba sold me to Asherah’s grove, and then I was abandoned to a brothel. How could a loving god—”

“What about my childhood?” Hosea countered. “My ima died in childbirth—like yours—and Abba died two years after we arrived in Tekoa.”

“But you had Jonah and Amos and Yuval. My abba
sold
me. Priests betrayed me. Men used me. Women reviled me.”

“And Yahweh sent me to Samaria to love you.” His single argument stopped her cold. After a span of a few heartbeats, he added, “Then you betrayed me, Gomer, as Israel betrayed Yahweh. And I was called to publicly expose my broken heart.” A tear slid down his cheek and hid in his curly beard.

Gomer had no answer. Her fear was confirmed. Hosea loved her—and she’d wasted it. Tears erupted from some deep, dark place within her. Old, stagnant tears, held captive through years of denial and abuse. She escaped into a hazy cloud of grief, unaware of her surroundings. Moments of lucidness revealed her lying in Hosea’s arms, weeping long into the night. His embrace was . . . well, indescribable. Never had a man caressed her so little and yet touched her so deeply. This love was so strange, so different than any she’d known.

And then another realization. She’d felt this love from Aya and Yuval. Could it really be Yahweh’s love?

Sometime before dawn, he returned her to where Yuval slept. She felt exhausted and still confused—but better. Hosea was a good man, a good friend. Would he look at her with disgust after sunrise? He’d seen the inner workings of her brokenness. No one could love her after that.

She cringed at the thought of her repeated betrayals and felt the old stones pile up around her heart.
He says he loves me now, but when we get back to camp, he’ll be embarrassed when the old gossips start talking. He’ll leave me again. He’ll abandon me. Who could blame him?

She watched Yuval sleep, and a new peace broke through the wall around her heart. “If I can believe Yahweh doesn’t hate me, maybe I can learn to love as you love, my friend.” Tears choked off more words.
And perhaps in giving love, I’ll learn to receive love.

Since they’d left Jerusalem at midday, Hosea had spent every step wondering what his wife was thinking. He’d taken her to appear before King Jotham to defend her against Commander Hananiah’s accusations of murdering the pregnant girl. She was quickly acquitted, since Hananiah had been relieved of his duties for a similar scandal. Jotham had been aloof, and Hosea noticed the temple remained in disrepair.
Yahweh, have mercy on the man and on Your people Judah.

Micah had led them most of the way home. Gomer supported Yuval over the rugged terrain, and Hosea provided rear guard to protect from stalking beasts or bandits. With every step toward Tekoa, his wife had grown more distant. Now, on this deserted road south of Bethlehem, Hosea wished he could take Gomer in his arms and reassure her. Her wilderness tears the first night had created a foundation for renewed friendship, but each day of their three-day hike seemed to push Gomer further into a pensive shell. She was at ease with Yuval, but as long as his wife confided in someone else, she would never fully rely on him.

A black streak shot across the path in front of him. “Viper!” he shouted.

The women shrieked, and Micah came charging back, stick poised to attack it.

“Wait.” Hosea stayed the youth’s hand, watching the snake’s unnatural behavior. “It didn’t try to bite me, and it’s not darting away.” The desert cobra writhed beside the path but didn’t coil to strike. Its actions seemed impeded, slowed. And then it stopped moving altogether, lying limp in the desert sun.

Micah nudged it with his stick, and Gomer shouted, “Don’t wake it up!”

Hosea chuckled. “I don’t think desert cobras take a nap on a path with four humans watching.” He received a glare but dulled it with a wink.

A chill wind blew, and he tilted his face to the sun, ready to receive Yahweh’s message:
You must win her back. Lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. I will make the valley of disaster a door of hope. Then she will respond as she did when she was young. On that day she will call Me her
ish
—her husband. On that day I will make an arrangement with the wild animals, the birds, and the animals that crawl on the ground so people can live safely.

The wind lifted to the skies and left the desert still.

Hosea opened his eyes and found three faces waiting
expectantly. Micah and Yuval smiling. Gomer—a surprisingly blank parchment. “What did He say about me this time?” she asked, the usual venom gone.

At least she hadn’t assumed Yahweh wanted to kill her, like the other times she’d felt His presence. “It seems Yahweh believes I should court you, win your heart.”

Yuval did a little hop and unsuccessfully stifled a squeal. Micah laughed aloud.

A wry smile creased his wife’s lips. “It’s a trick. It’s never as simple as it seems with you or your God.”

He nodded, conceding her instincts. “I am to take you into the desert—and leave you there. I will return every day with food and provisions.”

Gomer’s face lost all color, and Yuval’s celebrating ceased.

“Yahweh will never leave you,” Hosea said, pointing to the viper. “He showed us the viper as part of His promise. He said, ‘I will make an arrangement with the wild animals, the birds, and the animals that crawl on the ground.’ He will protect you.
I
will protect you.”

“No! This is insane!” Gomer turned to Yuval and then to Micah—even his features were frozen in shock. “What if you don’t come back for me? What if Yahweh calls you away to prophesy while I’m in the desert, and you forget about me? What then? You always leave, Hosea.” Tears began to fall. “You always leave me.”

He rushed at her, grabbing her wrist. She flinched and balled her fist, trying to pull away. But he held firm. “Relax your hand,” he said. When she glared her defiance, he shook her wrist. “Relax it, I said!”

Her stubbornness faded to confusion, but she finally obeyed.

He turned her palm up, stroking it once—and then strummed her fingers like a harp. “Sometimes I have to leave, Gomer, but I always come back. I will always come back for you. Do you hear me?”

She pulled her hand away to cover a sob, but she didn’t
recoil from him. Hosea saw wonder in his wife’s eyes, a spark of something new.

“You must trust me, Gomer—enough to remain in the wilderness alone. There I will make you my wife forever. I will be honest and faithful to you. I will show you my love and compassion. I will be true to you, my wife. Then you will know Yahweh.”

“I will go with you into the wilderness, Hosea.” She took a step toward him, sealing her vow. “But I will die if you break my heart again.”

He brushed her cheek but remained silent.
If you only knew how many times I’ve thought that same thing.