Love In A Broken Vessel (43 page)

Gomer stared at the sputtering flame of the last glowing lamp, her heart pounding. Hosea had forgotten to bring more oil today. He was home by now, enjoying a relaxing evening with the children. Or perhaps they were visiting Yuval and Amos. Maybe they’d shared their meal with Amoz, Isaiah, and Aya.

The flame flickered—and died. Utter darkness. Thick. Heavy. Stealing her breath.

“Yahweh, help me!” she screamed, the echo bouncing off the walls all around her.
Help me, help me, help me.
She listened to the silence, felt Sampson cuddled next to her, counted his steady heartbeat. One, two, three, four . . . He began to purr. Her breathing slowed.

I am here.

It wasn’t a voice. It was an understanding. A mere thought, perhaps.

You are Mine.

It was more than a thought—Gomer knew it was Yahweh’s Spirit speaking to her inner being. How did she know? She gasped, breaking the silence. She had no idea how she knew. But she was certain of it.

She closed her eyes, saw the same darkness. So she opened them again and spoke aloud. “Why didn’t You save me from the pain?”

Silence.

“Why did You call Hosea to abandon me after Jezzy was born?”

Abandon you?

Her heart twisted within her, and she remembered Yuval’s rebuke for Gomer’s frivolous use of the word. “I always come back,” Hosea had told her repeatedly. And he was right. He always found her.

“But why did You let Hosea forget the oil for my lamps?” It was a silly complaint, but while she was asking, she might as well know. Peace settled over her, the darkness suddenly like a glorious pillow stuffed with the softest of wool.

And that was her answer. Only in utter darkness could she hear His quietest voice.

“I still don’t like the darkness,” she said, moving her hand across the cold, stone floor. She found her blanket and lamb’s-wool pillow, lay down, and stroked Sampson’s soft fur. “But I
do
like hearing Your voice.” She closed her eyes, and in what seemed like a moment, she woke to birdsong and the glimmer of dawn’s new day. “Thank You, Yahweh, for the darkness—and the light.”

• H
OSEA
14:5, 8 •

I will be like dew to the people of Israel. . . . The people of Ephraim will have nothing more to do with idols. I will answer them and take care of them.

H
osea woke to his son’s face in the moonlight. “Jezzy?”

“Abba, I want to see Ima.” He nestled into bed beside Hosea. “She needs us—now.” The other children were asleep on their mattresses in the adjoining room he’d added.

Hosea gathered him into his arms, thoughts racing. Gomer had seemed more peaceful since the broken pitcher incident but refused to share whatever changes were occurring in her heart. He couldn’t let her back into the children’s lives until her heart was open to Yahweh.

“What makes you think Ima needs us now?”

“I had a dream. She was in a cave, praying Yahweh would bring her family back.” He began to tremble. “We need to wake up Rahmy and Ammi and go find her. Is she lost, Abba? Is she out there with the lions and desert cobras?”

Hosea hugged his son to his chest. Awed. Overwhelmed. His heart raced.
Yahweh, is Gomer really in danger, or did You make this dream vivid to speak indelibly to my son?

No wind. No voice. But an overwhelming sense of peace and a reminder of Yahweh’s promise.
I will make an arrangement with the wild animals . . .

“I believe Ima is safe, Jezzy, but I believe Yahweh spoke to you in your dream.”

He was still trembling. “I’d rather have the wind like you get.”

Hosea kissed the top of his head. “Yes, I like the wind too, but we don’t get to choose the way Yahweh speaks.” He felt his son nod in understanding. “Ima has been living in a cave for two Sabbaths, but Yahweh has kept her safe, protecting her from all the beasts and birds and snakes.”

Jezzy bolted upright on the mattress. “All alone—in a cave?” Hosea watched his tenderhearted boy wilt. “Is she afraid, Abba? We must go to her now!” His concern turned to weeping, and Hosea gathered him into his arms once more.

“Jezreel, listen to me,” he said sternly. “If Yahweh can speak to you in a dream, can He not also place a hedge of protection around your ima in a cave?”

Jezzy quieted some.

“I’ve been taking her provisions every day, and Sampson the cat has been with her too.”

“I wondered where he’d gone.”

Hosea grinned in the darkness. Oh, the blessed innocence of a child.

“Jezzy, I’m going to tell you a story about your name and the names of your brother and sister. Since Yahweh has spoken to you, I believe it’s time you became aware of His plan for our family.”

He sat up, wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Okay, Abba. I’m ready.”

His wide, brown eyes captured the moonlight, and Hosea wished he could capture the moment to share with Gomer. She’d be so proud of their son. “Jezreel, your name means—”

“I know. My name means ‘God sows.’” The boy clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Abba. Aya says I interrupt too much.”

Hosea chuckled. “It’s good to listen to Aya. Yes, Son, your name means ‘God sows,’ and we know now that Yahweh has called you to be a farmer. But your name also has special meaning for our family because we’ve been chosen to tell the story of Yahweh’s love for the descendants of Jacob—the house of Israel. Like us, Israel and Judah have been separated, and like with Ima and me, the love relationship between Yahweh and His beloved nation has been difficult. But on the night of Ammi’s birth, Yahweh promised that the people of Judah and Israel would be gathered together and would grow in the land—because the day of Jezreel would be a great day.”

Jezzy gasped. “The day of
Jezreel
. That’s me!” Then his brow furrowed. “Was Yahweh
really
talking about me?”

Hosea wrestled him until the blanket was in a knot, and then they both lay side by side, spent. “You’ll have to ask Yuval what Yahweh meant about Israel and Judah being gathered together,” Hosea said, chuckling. “She seems to have a better grasp on some of those things than Saba Amos and me, but I can tell you this.” He turned on his side, facing Jezreel, and brushed the stray curls off his forehead, noticing a fleck of gold in his moonlit eyes. “As soon as your brother and sister wake up, we’re going to bring your ima home—because this day of Jezreel is great!”

Gomer lined up the six burnished pots in a row. Hosea had brought one every day since she’d thrown her tantrum—and the clay pitcher. She picked up a flint and made another mark on the wall, counting the days in this cave. Fifteen. Yesterday was the Sabbath, and she had been alone all day—alone with Yahweh. It had been wonderful.

Memories of the day refreshed her, and she lifted Sampson into her arms, dancing to the heavenly melody in her heart. Unbidden, Jezreel’s face appeared in her mind, halting her feet, stopping her heart song. Then Rahmy’s likeness. Then Ammi’s. Regret pierced her, seeking to rob her joy. The
children lingered in her heart a lot these days.
Yahweh, teach me to live beyond my failure—to establish Your strong tower on the rubble of my past.

She set down the cat and picked up a vase and smooth stone. It was already burnished to a gleaming shine, but she began buffing it again, the activity helping to distract her. Stubborn tears clogged her throat and blurred her vision. How was she supposed to work if she couldn’t see? The urge to throw the vase swept over her, but she remembered the shards from the broken pitcher that Hosea had taken back to Amoz. She’d destroyed hours of painstaking labor in a moment of temper. How childish she’d been.

What did Jezzy look like now? Hosea said his head would reach her chin. And Rahmy? She’d had red hair when Gomer last saw her. Had it darkened or remained like hers? And baby Ammi. A sob escaped. He was no longer a baby, but he probably didn’t remember her. The old bitterness tried to strangle her, but she considered the caring people who had raised her children, taught them, loved them while she traipsed off to Israel. She thought of Yuval—her selfless sacrifices. And Isaiah and Aya—they’d loved her children as if they were their own.

And the thought of Hosea’s unconditional love for Rahmy and Ammi crumbled her last walls of defense. How could a man, knowing those children were conceived in adultery, love them as if they were born of tender passion shared with a faithful wife? If Hosea ever allowed her out of this cave, she must be very cautious with those children not to destroy the masterpiece of love others had so painstakingly crafted over time.

“Gomer?” Hosea appeared, his form silhouetted in the cave opening. “What’s wrong? You’re crying. Are you hurt?” Panic washed over his handsome features. He rushed to her and braced her head, wiping her tears with his thumbs as he searched her face.

“No, no. I’m fine. The children . . .” She wanted to tell
him everything but couldn’t find the words. How could she express the unfathomable restoration of her broken heart—the unspeakable mercy of a God who seeks to rebuild, not destroy? Would Hosea believe her? Or would he think she was trying to manipulate her way out of this cave?

He kissed her gently and gazed into her soul. “Our children will be blessed of the Lord, as Israel will be someday. Yahweh promises, ‘I will be like dew to the people of Israel. They will blossom like flowers. They will be firmly rooted like cedars from Lebanon.’” His eyes filled with tears. “All those times you felt as if I’d abandoned you . . .”

She silenced him with a kiss, and his eyes remained closed as she spoke. “I abandoned you long before you abandoned me.” She swallowed hard, realizing it for the first time. “I never gave you a chance to love me because I couldn’t risk that you’d choose not to.”

He opened his eyes then, studying her expression. “Come with me.” He led her to a large rock not far from her cave’s entrance and helped her to the top, then took his seat beside her. They fell silent, looking across a large chasm.

He focused ahead, his whisper bordering on reverence. “I’ve seen changes in you—peace where there was anger, hope where despair had always dwelt.” He reached for her hand but still stared at the cavern-dotted mountain. “Would you be willing to share the changes in your heart?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and felt the warming rays of the sun. Yahweh had prepared her for this moment. Overwhelmed by the extravagance of Yahweh’s care, she felt His presence as surely as the rock upon which they sat. “After I broke Amoz’s beautiful pitcher, I realized how very broken I was. During the days that followed, Yahweh began to warm my heart with little signs of His presence—until one night, He consumed me in the darkness.”

Hosea’s brow furrowed, concern etched on his features. “Yahweh doesn’t consume with darkness, Gomer.”

She met his concern with a slight chuckle. “I hope you
listen to Yahweh better than you listened to me!” Her hand rested on his cheek. “I didn’t say Yahweh consumed
with
darkness. I said He consumed me
in
the darkness. And there’s a difference, Husband.” She let her thumb brush his lips. “He searched and found me in the darkness—and there consumed me—because I was too frightened to walk into His light.”

Hosea lifted her hand and kissed her palm, letting his tears flow into sobs. “Yes. Yes, my love. That sounds like Yahweh.”

She pulled his beard toward her, kissing him soundly, longingly—sweetly. He left his eyes closed when she finished the kiss. “I know now what Yahweh sounds like,” she said, “even when He’s silent.”

A slow, satisfied smile creased the lips of the man she’d loved all her life. “Would you like to hear what Yahweh said to me this morning?” he asked. She nodded, and his face took on an ethereal glow. “‘The people of Ephraim will have nothing more to do with idols. I will answer them and take care of them. I am like a growing pine tree. Their fruit comes from me.’”

She feigned a pout. “So Yahweh had already told you that He’d changed my heart. Will I ever be able to surprise you?”

“You surprise me every time I look at you. I marvel that the Lord returned you to me.” He cupped her face, brushing her cheek, tears spilling over his own dark lashes. “And now I will surprise you.”

She tilted her head, wondering, but before she could question, she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ima?”

She gasped. She cried. She trembled. All in a single moment. Her babies stood in a line—each one having grown so much in her absence. Rahmy clutched her big brother’s right arm. Ammi, a precocious spark in his eyes, flanked his brother’s left. And Jezzy stood like a temple pillar, holding the refurbished pitcher she’d ruined days ago.

Jezzy stepped forward, spokesman for the group. “Saba Amoz said I had to bring this pitcher and said not to drop
it.” He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “It looks like someone already dropped it and tried to fix it, but it wasn’t me.”

She laughed through her tears and watched Hosea approach their children. He lifted the pitcher from Jezzy’s arms and then whispered something, causing all three to look at Gomer shyly.

Jezzy took another step forward. “We’ve come to take you home, Ima—if you want to.”

Gomer covered her mouth, unable to speak without sobbing. She nodded, barely able to say, “I want to come home very much.”

She opened her arms, and Jezzy ran to her, encircling her waist, squeezing as if he’d never let her go. “Oh, Jezzy.” She kissed the top of his head, which indeed reached her chin as Hosea had predicted. “You’re so tall! What has Aya been feeding you?” She heard his muffled giggle rise from his unrelenting hug.

Hosea came closer, holding Ammi’s hand, while Rahmy gazed up with wonder at her ima. “Your hair’s just like mine.”

Gomer cuddled the other two children in her arms with Jezzy, enjoying the nearness of the family Yahweh had restored.

Hosea leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Jezzy woke me in the night after a dream. The Lord showed him an image of you on your knees in the cave, praying.”

Gomer’s heart nearly burst. Indeed, she’d been awakened in the night by something lurking outside the cave. She’d heard Sampson hiss when something tried to enter the cave. Whatever Sampson sensed had turned and left, but Gomer was shaken. “Thank you, Jezreel, for listening to Yahweh,” she whispered into his curly, dark hair—so much like his abba’s. “Does Yahweh often speak to you in dreams?”

A quiet sniff, and then a long swipe of his nose along his forearm. Gomer grinned. “No. It was the first time, but Abba says Yahweh told him on the night of Ammi’s birth that I
was going to reunite our family, so I guess it was about time for Yahweh to do
something
.”

Hosea and Gomer chuckled, exchanging a proud moment, witnessing their son’s growing faith. “Would you like to tell Ima about her other surprise?”

“I have another surprise?” Gomer gasped, thrilled with the excuse to hold her older children at arm’s length—get a better look at them. “I don’t think anything could top this one.”

“Saba Amoz has a whole bunch of broken pots at his workshop, waiting for you to fix them.” Jezreel shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know why he and Abba are so excited about it. I always get in trouble when I break one of Aya’s pots.”

Gomer hugged her adorable son again. “Well, I think they’re excited about
fixing
those broken pots, lovey. Hopefully, Saba Amoz will teach me how to fix them and make them useful again.” She looked up then, holding her husband’s gaze. “If Yahweh can take a life as broken as mine and restore it, perhaps there’s a way to redeem other broken vessels. I’d like to spend the rest of my life trying.”