Love In A Broken Vessel (31 page)

Aya offered him a cup of watered wine, and he thanked her with a nod. She squeezed his shoulder, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll take Jezzy and Rahmy for a walk. Ammi’s finally asleep.” Hosea had hired a wet nurse in Jerusalem at the recommendation of the high priest, but the baby had gone hungry for the remainder of the half-day journey and then required a Tekoan wet nurse and Aya’s comfort to rest.

Isaiah grabbed his wife’s hand and kissed it before she walked away. “Don’t wear yourself out.” She smiled at his concern.

Hosea’s heart shattered into smaller pieces.
Why, Yahweh? Why couldn’t Gomer receive and give that kind of love?

“I don’t know if you’ve interpreted Yahweh’s message correctly,” Isaiah said, touching his shoulder, drawing him back. “But I know you’ve been faithful, my friend, and that’s what Yahweh asks of us. He doesn’t ask us to understand.”

“But I want to understand!” The frustration emerged with a sob.

Isaiah’s eyes closed tight. “And I want to be a prophet.” A sigh, and then he opened his eyes, focusing again on his friend. “But we don’t always know the Lord’s plan.”

“I’m sorry,” Hosea said, dragging his hands through his hair, “but how can it be the Lord’s plan for an ima to turn her back on her children—on a nursing child? You saw her love them, Isaiah. Can she really forget them? Forget us?”

“I don’t know the answers, Hosea, but I know Yahweh never turns His back on us, never forgets us. I’ve watched Abba Amoz open his heart when Aya speaks of Yahweh’s love. He wouldn’t hear it from Uzziah—or from me—but Yahweh keeps placing people in Abba’s life to speak the truth.” His eyes welled with tears. “Yahweh will not forget Gomer, even if Gomer forgets her friends, her husband—and her children.”

• H
OSEA
2:5 •

Their mother acted like a prostitute . . . [and] did shameful things. She said, “I’ll chase after my lovers.”

G
omer covered her head with the drab, brown sackcloth she’d borrowed from Miriam and approached the guard at Hananiah’s mansion gate. Dusk cast long shadows across Jerusalem’s northern streets, and she prayed none of the guards would recognize her from today’s palace visit.

“You there, what do you want?” A large soldier with full armor stood on the opposite side of iron bars, holding his spear at the ready.

“I’ve come with Lord Hananiah’s gift for his wife. I’m sorry I’m late, but the perfumer mixed this blend for the commander’s lady.” She sensed his hesitation but then heard the click of an iron latch and the door creak open.

He thrust out his grimy hand. “I’ll take it to the commander. He and his wife are eating their evening meal and do not wish to be disturbed.”

She lifted her eyes, offering her most beguiling smile. “The perfumer asked that I deliver the gift myself. I won’t linger, but I believe the commander would be pleased to have this
aroma grace his lady’s wrist.” She lifted the sleeve of her robe, exposing her wrist for the soldier to sniff. “Perhaps I can find a way to show my gratitude after I complete my task. Can you tell me where the commander and his wife are enjoying their evening meal?”

He gazed, starry-eyed and speechless, proving her ploy’s success, then pointed toward a two-story home at the top of a winding, uphill path.

Gomer’s heart thudded like a herd of horses while her feet kept a slow, silent pace. She rounded the corner and ascended the structure’s outer stairs to the roof. Hearing raised voices, she realized Hananiah and his wife weren’t “enjoying” their private meal after all. She crouched on the top step, hidden by an enormous clay planter, and listened to the lovers’ quarrel.

“How dare you lie to me!” The woman’s hysterical sob was followed by the crashing sound of broken pottery. “Amalya saw you in the market today and followed you to a brothel. You said you’d never visit a brothel again, Hananiah. You promised!”

“Shoshana, I wasn’t visiting the brothel. I rescued a harlot from an abusive customer today, and my guards and I escorted her home. Did Amalya include
that
in her busybody report?”

“Don’t you dare blame Amalya. She’s a good friend, trying to protect me from your lies. As surely as the Lord lives, Hananiah, if you hurt me again, my abba will go to King Jotham and have you stripped of your duties. You are Judah’s commander because Uncle Zechariah—blessed be his soul by the Judge of the earth—was King Uzziah’s best friend, and Abba bought your position.”

“I’m Judah’s commander because I’ve earned it, Shoshana!”

“Excuse me.” Gomer rose from her hiding place and faced the couple in awkward silence. “I tried to interrupt earlier but wasn’t heard.”

Hananiah ground out his words between clenched teeth. “What are you doing in my home?”

“I’ve come to thank you and bring your wife this perfume.”

She stepped toward Shoshana, but Hananiah stepped between them. “Get out.”

“Hananiah, don’t be rude.” His wife nudged him out of the way and accepted the alabaster flask. “Thank you. Would you like to sit down?”

“No, she doesn’t want to sit down. Shoshana, do you know who this is?”

Before his wife could guess, Gomer accepted the lady’s invitation, resting on a cushioned couch beside her. “I’m the harlot your husband rescued today. A man took advantage of me, thinking that because I’m a harlot, I have no feelings. Some think they can take what they want without asking.” She turned to Hananiah, her smile so warm it could’ve melted the snow on Mount Hermon. “But your husband took me home to my brothel madam—her name is Miriam. When Miriam saw that I was safe under Commander Hananiah’s protection, we both agreed there’s no need to ever leave Jerusalem.”

“Oh, were you thinking of leaving?”

Gomer mustered a few tears and turned away. She mustn’t overact, but Shoshana seemed to be convinced so far. “My family abandoned me some time ago, and I wasn’t certain what to do or where to go.” She glanced at Shoshana, smiling through tears. “It’s nice to see Commander Hananiah has your love and your abba’s support. A family can make or break a man.”

Feeling vindicated, Gomer rose from the cushioned bench and dried her eyes. “I don’t want to intrude any further on your evening.”

“Well, thank you for the perfume, um . . . ,” Shoshana stuttered, lifting a questioning brow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

Hananiah stood between them, creating a visual barrier between his two worlds. “Her name isn’t important, my love. It’s not as if you two will ever meet at a social gathering.” He turned Gomer toward the stairs and placed a firm hand at the small of her back, encouraging a quick exit. “I’m going
to walk the harlot to our gate to be sure a guard escorts her home. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Good-bye, Shoshana,” Gomer called over her shoulder. “Enjoy your perfume.”

When they reached the last step, the commander spun her around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m surviving, Hananiah. It’s what I do. You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood, or Shoshana’s abba would be visiting King Jotham as we speak.”

His fingers dug into her arm. “Don’t cross swords with me, woman. You will die.”

“I’ll stay on my side of Jerusalem. You stay on yours.” She twisted out of his grasp and walked toward the anxious guard at the gate.

He was watching for her return and stepped into her path. “Have you considered how you’ll thank me for helping you?”

She stepped around him and smiled at his disappointment, relishing the singular power she held over men. “Wait one moon cycle, and then find me at Miriam’s brothel.” She waved without looking back. “Bring your friends. And bring your silver.”

Gomer inhaled the cool night air, her mind spinning with the preparations necessary by the next moon cycle if she hoped to accept customers. Binding her breasts would dry up her milk, and she’d eat once a day to get rid of the extra bulges. The brothel owner would be relieved at her meager portions.

The reality of Gomer’s poverty overwhelmed her. With nothing but the clothes on her back, how could she compete with the youthful harlots half her age? Perhaps Gomer’s little visit to the commander would win enough favor with Miriam to garner an advance on wages. Gomer would need some tools for her trade—cosmetics, perfume, jewelry, a new robe. But all that was window dressing.

She cradled her breasts to relieve the pressure of Ammi’s absence and allowed her emotions a controlled escape. Just
into her twenty-second year now, she’d born two children before she left Samaria and three more in Tekoa. Her body wasn’t the lithe, firm treasure it had once been. Though she knew her beauty remained, she was equally certain the younger harlots held greater appeal.
I will find other ways to distinguish myself.

Jezzy’s dark curls and Rahmy’s sweet smile flashed in her mind. “No!” she sobbed, quickening her pace. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—dwell on the past. Her life had changed today, for better or worse, and she couldn’t change what she’d done. From this moment on, she was Gomer, harlot of Jerusalem.

Hosea sat on his goatskin rug, leaning against the wall beside the oven, trying to chase away winter’s dampness—and the chilling memories that assaulted him. It had been over a year, and Gomer still stared back at him from every corner of their home. He’d asked Aya to dispose of his wife’s robes, combs, and personal items—many of which must have been gifts from her lovers—as soon as he returned from Jerusalem.

But what about the daily reminders of their lives?

How could he replace the window that had cast dawn’s glow on her copper curls? Should he break every bowl she’d touched, every plate on which she’d served their meals? And what about the most painful reminders of all—the three precious jewels that lay beside him each night and greeted him with smiles each morning?

“Good morning, Abba,” Jezzy would say so properly. He had Hosea’s dark curls, Gomer’s hazel eyes.

They were now his children. Isaiah and Aya had offered to take them permanently, adding to their own growing family. But somehow loving Gomer’s children justified hating her. At least that was how it began. Bitterness had nearly consumed him in those early days. He could never have survived without these three innocent beings full of love and forgiveness. He and the children were happier and healthier
without Gomer. He could say that now without bitterness. It was the truth.

Hosea wiped his face, drying his seemingly endless fountain of tears. Yuval would be arriving with his little ones any moment. She’d been a rock of support, even when Amos fell ill in the sheep pasture a few Sabbaths past. Since then, Hosea had been the lone instructor training the camp’s would-be prophets. Their eyes sparked with zeal each time they discovered a new mystery of Yahweh.

What about my zeal, Lord? Will I ever hear Your voice again?
The questions he’d asked Isaiah still echoed in his empty heart.
Did I misunderstand You, Yahweh? Did I hear what I wanted to hear?
He’d been so certain of what he’d heard. Yahweh had been so present, so palpable. He’d thought they’d be a family. He thought Jezzy would unite them somehow. Instead, Jezzy, Rahmy, and Ammi would forever live with the crushing reality—they’d been abandoned by their ima.

Abandoned. Gomer’s favorite accusation.

Yahweh, have You abandoned me?

He hadn’t felt God’s presence or heard His voice since Gomer left. Micah was receiving regular messages from Yahweh now, powerful prophecies that were written on clay tablets and transferred to scrolls. He was anxious to speak to Israel’s and Judah’s kings, but Hosea advised against it, warning of the tenuous political environment.

Or do I hesitate to send him because You’ve chosen him instead of me?

Hosea’s cheeks burned at the silent admission of petty jealousy. But it was more than envy, it was a practical question. How could Hosea teach prophets when he wasn’t sure he could discern God’s voice for himself?

He rolled onto his stomach, planting his face into the curly goatskin rug. “Please, Elohim! Hear my prayer! Speak. Your servant is listening!” Racking sobs shook him, but heaven remained silent. His sorrow swirled into despair, and despair
turned rancid in his gut. “If You will not speak, then at least direct me toward a purpose, a mission—a task!”

Hosea’s heart began to pound violently. An indescribable heaviness overtook his limbs and chest, pressing him to the floor. Was it a heightened sensation of angst? Perhaps. But this was somehow different. “Yahweh, is this You?” He squeaked out the words and finished in prayer.
I much prefer the warmth of Your presence or the cool breeze when You’re about to speak.

Nothing. No reply. Simply more of this crushing heaviness, growing more unbearable by the moment.

He buried his face in the rug. “Yahweh, help me. What’s happening?” Hosea stilled, closed his eyes, waited.

No words, but an overwhelming sense of a hand covering his whole body. Shielding. Protecting. Pressing him into the floor.

Change.

There had been no voice, but somehow Hosea knew. His life changed the day Gomer left, and he must change too. Whether he traveled to Israel or stayed in Tekoa for the rest of his days, Yahweh’s presence must be enough. Whether Hosea felt it or not. Whether Yahweh
spoke
or not. Could he serve Yahweh without words, without a task—only submission?

“Shalom, dear.” Yuval’s cheerful voice accompanied the creak of the door. “Oh my! Are you all right?”

“Did you fall down, Abba?” Jezzy hurried over, his hand patting Hosea’s cheek gently.

“Abba was praying to Yahweh,” he said, scooping his son into his arms and rolling him over for a playful hug.

“Is it Gomer?” Yuval’s voice was panicked. “Did you receive word from Jerusalem?”

Hosea looked up, finding fear on Yuval’s features. The familiar feeling of betrayal stirred, but he tamped it down, remembering Yuval’s tender care when he’d returned from Jerusalem with Ammi in his arms. She’d told him about the conversation she and Gomer had on that last day before
leaving for Jerusalem. Guilt nearly consumed her. Hosea wished she’d warned him of Gomer’s unrest, but he ended up consoling instead of chastising.

“No, I’ve had no word from Jerusalem.” He grinned at this dear woman, her heart too big for a single chest. “But I received word from a little higher up.”

She squeezed Ammi closer to her heart and danced in a circle, holding little Rahmy’s hand. “Your abba’s been talking with Yahweh, Yahweh, Yahweh. Your abba’s been talking with Yahweh today, today, today.” Her impromptu song and dance inspired Hosea and Jezzy to join the loop, celebrating outwardly what Hosea felt inwardly.

He broke the joyful chain, swinging Jezzy into his arms. “Have the children eaten, or should I slice up some bread and cheese?”

Yuval began unpacking all the items she’d stashed with Ammi in the sling around her shoulder and waist—bread, figs, cucumbers, cheese. “I’ve packed all you need right here.” She looked up, eyes glistening. “I’ll tell Amos you’ve heard from the Lord. Will you be returning to Israel with a message?”