Pearl in the Sand (33 page)

The seven worst days of his life were almost at an end. The woman he loved had morphed into a clam, shut up tight, and withdrawn. Following several disastrous tries he had stopped touching her altogether. She became a block of ice in his arms. He could not understand it. The first time he had kissed her mouth, she had melted into him like she wanted nothing better than to become a part of him. Afterward, she had gazed at him with a wonder that had shaken him to his core. She had looked like she had never been kissed before. Like he was the only man on earth.

Now when he kissed her she turned to stone. He had wondered at first, with a nauseous uncertainty, if perhaps he wasn’t as competent as the Canaanite men she had known. Was he somehow deficient? He knew from his years with Anna that this was an unlikely conclusion, but had felt pressed to ask her anyway. Her shocked look, full of horrified dismay had at least put to rest that crippling self-doubt.

So he had pressed her to speak to him, to explain what was happening. She had then turned mute. Her answers became monosyllabic and unenlightening. His witty, intelligent Rahab had turned into a wisp of herself. This silence grated worse than her physical unresponsiveness. It stank of mistrust. She was keeping him at bay
in her heart. He felt his frustration mount into anger; his anger festered into resentment, and the resentment spilled over. One out of every two words he said to her was tinged with sarcasm. He felt ashamed of himself for treating her this way. The shame just made him more resentful. He was the one wronged, wasn’t he? Why should he feel bad about it?

He prayed and was aware that she did also. But they prayed separately, never sharing the experience with each other. His prayers brought him no relief. He knew that his marriage was not a mistake, even though it was a disaster. Every time he prayed, he felt a reassurance that marrying her had been God’s will. He was glad that God at least was happy about it. It was not a happiness Salmone could share.

His wife walked into the living area of the tent where he was lounging. In the past few days, she had contrived to avoid him as much as possible, leaving any place he entered with a predictability that would have been comical if it weren’t so disillusioning.

She had left her hair loose down her back, a mass of curls twinkling red in the firelight. How often he had imagined sinking his fingers into that hair. Why shouldn’t he? he thought suddenly. She was his wife. He didn’t comprehend what nonsense kept her away from him, but he wasn’t going to bow to it anymore.

He stalked over to her. She became rigid at his nearness. He saw the flicker of panic on her face and something in his heart softened. Capturing her chin in his hand he lifted her face to him. “You love me. Why are you running from me?”

She shook her head. He pulled her close. “You love me. Say it.”

“I love you,” she said obediently, her body shaking.

“Not like that. Say it like it means something to you. Say it like this,” he said and covered her lips with his, kissing her with the force of a passion too long pent up. The kiss lengthened, became wild and deep, and to his delight, he felt her grow gradually pliant in his embrace.

“Rahab,” he whispered, digging his hands into her perfumed hair. “Rahab, my bride.”

It took him a few moments to realize that she had gone cold and unresponsive again. He groaned with frustration and pulled away. “Tell me! Tell me what ails you. Stop fighting me!”

She shook her head again, her face white. He flung her away from him and strode off in disgust. He had married a woman in a wall. Wooing her was like running at full speed into brick and mortar. After seven days he had enough bruises to last him a lifetime.

S
almone’s face hid his inner turmoil. Now that the marriage week was over, at least he could immerse himself in the activities of daily work. For the past ten days, he had left his tent before dawn and come home long after dusk. Rahab seemed to grow worse every day, more distant, more of a shell. In her own way she also tried to find solace in work. She cooked meticulous, elaborate meals that he rarely bothered to taste. She washed his clothes and mended them. She wove wool. She even took care of the livestock, a job that his servant and the shepherd boy he hired were perfectly capable of performing. But unlike him, she wasn’t merely trying to get lost in activity. He realized with a bitterness he couldn’t conceal that she was trying to appease him. As if working hard made up for what she withheld from him. Did she think she could perform her way into his approval?

He had managed to evade Joshua during this time, half-worried that he might notice something was amiss. But his good fortune ran out as he made his way back to his tent one evening. Joshua, seeming to appear out of nowhere, attached himself to Salmone’s side.

“And how is my young bridegroom?”

“Well, thank you,” Salmone lied, keeping his voice pleasant.

“Then why is it I am told you hardly visit your tent? Out and about before sunup and home after nightfall? Is this any way for a newly married man to conduct himself?”

Salmone frowned darkly. “When I come and when I go is my business if you please.”

“I don’t please, as it happens.” Joshua wrapped a brown hand, unstained by age spots, around Salmone’s rigid arm. “Do you know, I’ve found a convenient little oasis not far from our camp. I feel the need for some refreshing. Would you accompany me, my friend?”

Salmone wasn’t fooled by Joshua’s pleasant words or warm manner. He was in his iron-will mood and would not be nay said. Without a word, he followed Joshua’s leading. As if by mutual consent, at first they avoided the sensitive topic of Salmone’s marriage. They spoke of the twelve tribes, issues of settlement, farming, possibilities of upcoming wars, until they arrived at Joshua’s oasis. Ironically, it was the very spot where Salmone had proposed to Rahab. He swallowed his bitterness and sat against the trunk where he had prayed about his future.

Joshua crossed his legs comfortably in front of him. “I wished you would speak to me. I can see you are suffering.”

“There are some things a man can’t share. Not even with you, Joshua.”

“Doubtless you are right. But are you sure this is one of them? Or is it your pride that keeps you from speaking to me?”

Salmone laid his head back against the peeling palm. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Joshua reached out a hand and placed it on Salmone’s shoulder. “Son, talk to me.”

Unbidden, Salmone’s eyes filled with tears—tears of frustration and anger, tears of disillusionment, tears of hurt. He couldn’t resist the proffered comfort and wisdom. He had scant hope that even Joshua would be able to change things. Yet the thought of
unburdening himself to someone he trusted proved too tempting, and he began, in halting and sometimes embarrassed sentences, to tell Joshua of his married life.

When he was finished, Joshua scratched his beard. “Let me see if I comprehend this. On your wedding day, you told Rahab that she was never to speak of the past. Never allude to it. That you never wanted to be reminded of it, yes?”

“Yes. You can bear witness yourself that I’ve done everything I can to woo this woman. Make her feel cherished.”

Joshua covered his mouth with his hand.

“What?” Salmone barked, annoyed. “Don’t you lay the blame of this on me.”

“It’s not a question of blame. It’s a question of understanding. Your wife needs to know that you accept her past, not that you’re pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t see any difference.”

“There’s a world of difference. Son, a woman needs to feel safe in love. She needs to know her husband accepts everything about her and still loves her. To be known through and through, including the failures of her past, the shortcomings of her character, and still be loved, that’s the Promised Land of a woman’s heart. That’s where she finds rest.”

“So?”

“When you say to your wife that you want to avoid every mention of her past, aren’t you in fact telling her that this one thing about her you cannot bear? That there is a piece of her that is unacceptable to you? You cannot tolerate this part of her? You cannot contend with it? You cannot look into the depth of her mistakes and still desire her? Aren’t you saying that the only way you can want her is to pretend that part of her life never existed?

“It seems to me that what you’re offering her is a conditional love at best. What she needs from you is to take her as she is and love her as she is. I’m not saying approve of her wrongdoing; but she already knows full well what she did wrong and needs no reminding. What
I mean is to cover
her
with affection and acceptance, not her actions. She needs to receive this message from you, receive it over and over until her heart believes it. Instead, you have given Rahab the message that she is not safe in your love. It’s plain that she already doesn’t feel good enough for you. Add to that the judgments of your heart, and is it a wonder the woman has turned into stone?

“Another thing, more practical. When you say to a woman that you never want to be reminded of her past, it places her in a wretched dilemma. I dare say she freezes in your arms because she is afraid if she does something that reminds you she had lovers before you, you will discard her. You will stop loving her. You have put limits on your love, and she is trying to stay within those limits.”

Something rebellious and hard rose to the surface of Salmone’s thoughts. With bitter resentment, he wanted to refute Joshua’s charges against him. He wanted to defend himself. He kept his mouth shut by sheer force of discipline. Several times, he swallowed the bile that rose up in his fierce desire to vindicate himself. Joshua was too wise to interrupt and waited out as Salmone calmed down enough to think through Joshua’s words. Was there justice in them? This question became more paramount to his senses than his initial need to vindicate himself. Could Joshua be right?

The more Salmone thought, the more he felt like someone had punched his gut and pulled the air from his lungs. He began to feel indicted by Joshua’s incriminations. He had never let go of his wife’s past. Not honestly.

He croaked, “I fooled myself into believing that I had accepted Rahab’s life in Jericho. Now I realize that I buried it, but I never accepted it. Joshua, what am I to do? How am I to change my heart? How am I to offer her the kind of security you say she needs when I don’t have it in me? If it is the limits of my love she fears, she has a right. They are there. I hate what she did. It cools my ardor to remember it. And I cannot fathom how to change myself.”

“That’s because it cannot be done. Not by you, in any case. But with God all things are possible. Now that you have seen into your
true heart and accepted the responsibility of your own failures, He can have His way. He can transform you.”

“I’ve been so angry and full of resentment toward her, and it’s been me. I am the culprit. I haven’t cherished Rahab the way she deserves because my devotion has so many conditions and limitations.”

Joshua held up a hand. “Wait now. This is not all you. Rahab comes with her own burdens. You can’t tell me that a girl sold into adultery at fifteen by her own father doesn’t have a few gashes in her soul. I have told you one, which is that she feels beneath you. Not good enough for you. For a marriage to work well, husband and wife need to know their own value before God. But that old hurt in Rahab can be healed. Though it may appear improbable now, God can use you, Salmone, as a healing influence in her life if you are willing.”

The thought of being used for restoration in his wife’s life made Salmone’s heart beat faster. This he wanted more than anything. An image of her changing his bandages, cleansing the oozing pus with patient fingers, washing away the putrefaction of his broken body flashed across his mind. Could he do this for her soul? Could he help bring healing into the wreck of her heart? God would have to deal with his own hard heart first, teach him real love, set him free of his own bondage before he could be of use to Rahab.

“I fear I may fail her,” he choked out.

“You may. Don’t expect perfection from yourself or her, Salmone. You shall both make mistakes on this journey. You won’t have a good marriage because you won’t fail your wife, or she you. It is what you do in response to those failures that will determine the course of your marriage. Now shall we pray and ask for God’s help?”

After praying for Salmone, Joshua left him to think. It was pitch-black now, and Salmone could barely make out the shape of the bent palms and skinny terebinth about him. A weakness permeated his limbs so that he could not rise up. In truth, he wasn’t prepared to face Rahab yet. By force of instinct he understood that God alone could help him win this battle. He knew that without frequent prayer he would fall to discouragement and wrong thinking. As he
started to pray, a picture of Jericho rose up in his mind. The walls of Jericho—enormous, daunting, ancient—filled his mind with unusual clarity.
This is Rahab
, he thought.
She is bound up in so many walls—walls of fear, of rejection, of loneliness, of unworthiness
.