Love In A Broken Vessel (14 page)

Uzziah’s mouth dropped open, and Hosea felt a measure of satisfaction that they would see Israel’s perversity through Yahweh’s eyes. Perhaps then they’d better understand Hosea’s role as God’s prophet.

He turned to Hananiah, trying to impress on him the importance of righteous military leadership—and God’s judgment when it was abused. “My wife, Gomer, endured a brutal beating from one of Jeroboam’s top soldiers. She nearly died, but by God’s grace she regained the use of her limbs. Our only other contact with Israel’s military occurred the night we fled Samaria. Gomer was falsely accused and nearly executed.” Hosea eyed each official and finally focused on Judah’s regent. “That, King Uzziah, is our complete knowledge of Jeroboam’s weapons and war strategies.”

The king sat silently, his expression unreadable through
the sores that covered his forehead, cheeks, and chin. His advisors, however, returned to the stone-cold stares they’d displayed when the prophets arrived.

Uzziah inhaled deeply, seeming to have pondered the deep mysteries of the earth. “You’re telling me that you spent two moon cycles in Israel, but you don’t know how many chariots Jeroboam keeps ready for battle in Samaria?”

Hosea turned to Jonah, bewildered, and watched Isaiah’s head drop to his chest. Unfathomable. How could anyone hear stories of child sacrifice and abuse of women yet still be concerned with chariots?

Hosea squeezed the bridge of his nose. “My lord, we know nothing of King Jeroboam’s military plans or provisions. I don’t know how to say it more plainly.”

“How can you know nothing?” Uzziah pushed himself to his feet and winced in pain. “Are you unaware or simply unwilling to help Judah guard against attack? I realize you’re both Israelite by birth, but we’ve welcomed you into our nation with open arms.”

“Cousin!” Isaiah jumped to his feet, but before he could say more, Jonah grabbed his arm and struggled to his feet.

“We saw no evidence of any imminent Israelite campaign against Judah or any other nation,” Jonah shouted. By this time Hosea had risen and was supporting the old prophet’s waist. “Hosea’s sole mission was to deliver God’s message of judgment, and we—”

Judah’s commander stepped forward, hand on his sword hilt, and Hosea laughed in spite of the tension. What was a frail old prophet going to do to a leprous king?

“His so-called mission was to marry a prostitute!” Uzziah’s angry words echoed in the trees. And silence hung like filthy rags.

A cool breeze stirred the leaves, sending a chill down Hosea’s spine. The guards and advisors tensed, stepping away from the three men on the audience rugs. The priests fell to their knees and covered their faces. Everyone knew—only
Yahweh’s presence stirred a chill wind on a sunny desert afternoon.

Speak to the king of Judah
, the Lord said to Hosea’s spirit.

Hosea glanced at Jonah and Isaiah, who stood beside him, and then turned to King Uzziah, recognizing fear on his features.

“I’m sorry, Hosea,” the king said, panic quaking his voice. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“The Lord says, ‘Israel’s arrogance testifies against them. Israel and Ephraim stumble because of their sins. And Judah stumbles with them. They go with their sheep and cattle to search for the Lord, but they can’t find Him. He has left them.’”

Hosea fell silent, Yahweh’s message complete.

“No, please.” Uzziah appeared stunned, overwhelmed. “It can’t be.” He turned to the priests, shouting, “Tell him how many bulls I’ve sacrificed, how faithful I’ve been to bring my offerings to the temple every day. Tell him! I have given Yahweh
everything
! I have been more faithful than Solomon. I’ve built fortresses, invented war machines, conquered the Philistines.”

The priests remained in their penitent posture, silent before the display of God’s presence.

“My lord,” Hosea said, “Yahweh did not question your faithfulness. He condemned your arrogance. And because you refuse to acknowledge your sinful pride, the Lord has left you.”

Uzziah swallowed hard and fell silent. He stared at his leprous hands and then looked back at the prophets. “How long? How long will Yahweh punish me?”

Hosea felt ill. “The Lord has
left
you, King Uzziah, just as He left Israel. Do you know what that means?” He waited, but the king seemed entranced, studying his hands. Hosea shook his head, uncertain if he was even being heard. “My counsel to you is to humble yourself before Yahweh. Seek Him with all your heart. Perhaps someday He will heal your body after you seek healing for your soul.”

Commander Hananiah stepped toward them, glancing first at his king and then at the prophets. He kept his voice low, addressing Hosea with a new level of respect. “King Uzziah is a man of action, my lord. Please be patient with him.” Tenderness glistened in his eyes. “He is a good man—and a good friend. He’s worked hard to build the nation of Judah.”

“That’s where you and your king are wrong, Hananiah,” Hosea answered gently. “Yahweh will share His glory with no man. It is not Uzziah who has built Judah into a prosperous nation.”

“Tell my cousin I’ll return this evening to share a few of David’s songs.” Isaiah patted the commander’s shoulder as the three men turned toward camp.

The sound of a sudden crash startled them all. Their eyes were drawn to Judah’s king—slid down the door frame into a heap on the floor. No one dared touch him and become unclean. He lay alone, weeping on the threshold of his exile.

• H
OSEA
6:4 •

What should I do with you, Ephraim? What should I do with you, Judah? Your love is like fog in the morning. It disappears as quickly as the morning dew.

G
omer waved good-bye to Yuval, feeling a pang of sadness, watching their shadows stretch long in the dusky glow of sunset. “You’re coming back tomorrow, aren’t you?” she called out as the woman entered her courtyard gate next door.

“Of course. You and Hosea would starve without me.” The twinkle in her eyes was as comforting as the stars on a cloudless night.

Gomer stepped back into her own little courtyard and decided to explore the stable. Sampson had become a fast friend and constantly rubbed against her ankles, his soft, lithe body wrapping around one leg and then the other. “You would make a fine dancer.” She leaned over and hoisted the cat into her arms, tucking him under her chin, cuddling him close to her heart.

The stable was a three-sided enclosure, two beams supporting the canopy, open toward the north. “Hello there,” she
said, reaching over the wooden fence to scratch the donkey behind its large, pointed ears. “Who takes care of you?” Two curious black heads nudged the donkey aside, their long horns curled behind their ears. Bleating loudly, the goats refused to be ignored.

She giggled and offered them some attention while her eyes adjusted to the darkness behind them. The stable was neat and clean. She saw a large, hollowed-out stone container on her right and lifted the lid, finding it full of grain for the animals. She remembered Yuval’s recounting of Hosea’s extravagant preparations for his harlot wife and wondered if his animals benefited because a woman had arrived.

“You’d better make sure that lid is tight on the grain, or we’ll have rodents, and rodents mean snakes.”

Gomer jumped as if her toes were on fire. Hosea leaned against one of the beams at the entry.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He walked into the shadow of the canopy, looking weary, almost vulnerable. She wondered what had happened with King Uzziah but didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to care.

She replaced the lid tightly and kept her head bowed. She felt him watching her. “So will I be expected to feed and tend the animals, or do you have servants for that? I hadn’t realized you were the wealthiest prophet this side of Egypt.”

He didn’t answer, and her curiosity forced her to look at him.

“What makes you think I’m wealthy?” he asked, an infuriating grin replacing his weary expression.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yuval said you purchased all sorts of supplies in preparation for your new harlot, and a poor man can’t afford two goats and a donkey.” Sampson wriggled in her arms, and she realized she must have been squeezing him. She eased her grip and tried to hurry past her husband. “Yuval prepared lentil stew for your evening meal.”

Hosea grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop, drawing
her close enough to whisper against her blue linen veil. “Who’s this?” he asked, reaching over to scratch behind Sampson’s ear. His fingers brushed her neck. He kissed her cheek and lingered, waiting for her answer.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. “Sampson.”

“Why don’t you and Sampson wait for me inside, and I’ll come in after I take care of the stable animals.” He stepped back and tilted her chin up.

She could only nod. No man had ever held this power over her. She hurried away, crossed the small courtyard to the house, and closed the door behind her. Everywhere he’d touched her still tingled.

She hurriedly unwrapped the Asherah she’d hidden under the mattress, stroking her cool, smooth form. “Hear my prayer, Mother of Abundance, giver of life and health. Make me a fruitful vine to bear children for my old age. May I be pleasing to my husband long enough to bring forth an heir.” She felt calmed by her prayer—until the iron latch of the front door made her heart race again. She rewrapped the goddess, shoved it back under the mattress, and reached for a clove to suck on. Hosea seemed to like the scent of cloves.

“Gomer?”

Seated on the bed, she waited for him to appear in the doorway. The small window aimed a narrow shaft of light across her body. Dust particles danced in its rays. She heard his footsteps approaching and inhaled a calming breath.

“There you are,” he said. His face was shadowed, but she heard pleasure in his voice.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, lying across the bed, patting the space next to her. “Or could you spend a few moments with your wife before you enjoy Yuval’s lentil stew?”

She saw him hesitate, standing firm in the doorway. “When I left my wife at midday, she wasn’t speaking to me. When I greeted her at the stables, she was cool at best. To what might I attribute this sudden warm welcome?”

Gomer leapt from the bed and stood by the mattress, her cheeks flaming. “Can we never simply enjoy one another’s company? Must we always discuss every issue before we reap the benefits of this so-called marriage?”

In slow, measured steps, Hosea closed the distance between them. His face reflected the pain her words had inflicted. “This
so-called
marriage is my life, Gomer. I want to honor both Yahweh and my wife in the way I live it.” He placed his hands on her hips and pressed her gently to sit on the edge of the bed. He stood over her, holding her chin. “I don’t want to just
enjoy
your company. I want to love you deeply, thoroughly.” He leaned over and kissed her. Tenderly at first—then with passion.

She encircled his neck, losing herself in the moment, and tried to lie back on the mattress. But he pulled her arms away and laid them in her lap. “Talk to me, Gomer. Tell me how your heart has been healed from this morning’s wounds. I want to know your spirit as well as your body. I never intended to hurt you, and I know Aya didn’t either. But friends and family will inadvertently wound each other, and when we do, we must know how to help mend the hurt.” His eyes were pleading, sincere.

His well-spoken words almost convinced her she could heal—almost. Never again would she trust anyone with her heart, but she would tell him what he wanted to hear. She’d earned a living making men believe her in Samaria.

“Yuval helped me realize that the whole camp celebrated Yahweh’s message to you, and that included our marriage. When she explained that she was once an outcast, it helped me believe that someday I could be accepted as she is now.” Gomer almost choked on the lie but trained her eyes to speak for her—changing from sincere to seductive. She licked her lips and saw Hosea’s defenses crumble. “Would you like your lentil stew now?” She leaned close, warming his cheek with her cloved breath.

With a slight groan, he swept her into his arms and kissed
her passionately. No more talking. No more promises. No more lies.

Asherah, do your work.

Hosea awoke with a start.
Yahweh, please, no!
But his dream had been clear. He must return to Israel, and he must leave today. Dread coiled around his heart. How would he tell Gomer? Would she feel abandoned? With a deep sigh, he turned over, ready to wake her with the difficult news.

But she was gone.

“Gomer?” He scanned their small bedchamber. The ivory comb he’d given her was still on the bedside table, and her extra robe and tunic were folded in the corner. A wave of relief washed over him. “Gomer?” he said a little louder.

“I’m in here,” she called from their main room.

He rolled out of bed and donned his robe and tunic. The hard-packed floors were cool on his feet, so he slipped on his sandals and peeked around the corner.

She knelt by the oven, fire lit and fresh bread baking in neat circles on its surface.

“Mmm, smells good.” He grabbed a goatskin rug and laid it next to her, sat down, and pulled her close. He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent—better than the warm bread.

“Are you impressed?” she asked, reaching over with her wooden fork to turn three barley loaves, each one a golden brown.

“I am impressed. Yuval must have gotten up early to fix our bread.” His barb and chuckle earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“No,” she huffed, but then confessed, “she left the dough to rise last night before she left.” She started giggling before she could finish. “But I’m baking it!”

He tackled her and buried his beard in her neck, and she dissolved into squeals. Their playful banter was balm to his soul, but the reality of his calling sobered him. She must
have sensed a pause and caressed his cheek, then knelt again beside the oven to check the barley bread.

He pulled her back against his chest and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Do you know how much I love you, Gomer?”

She stilled instantly, turning to stone. She rose to her knees, poking at the loaves with the wooden fork. “I don’t want to burn the bread.”

Startled, he rehearsed his words again, trying to recall what hint he might have given of impending bad news.
How could she know?

“I thought I’d go to the pottery workshop as soon as you sample Yuval’s barley loaves,” she said, her shoulders rigid. “I’m not sure when I’ll be home. What are your plans?” He heard her voice break.

He reached for her arm, but she pushed him away, keeping her attention on the oven. Had Yahweh somehow told her he was leaving? “I’m going to talk with Jonah after we break our fast. Gomer—”

“Tell the old fish prophet I said, ‘Shalom.’ He’s probably happy to be rid of me.”

“He lives next door. I’m guessing you’ll see him when you walk to the pottery shop.”

She turned on him with the force of a whirlwind, throwing the wooden fork at a vase on the mantle—and missing. “Don’t mock me, Hosea! I’m a harlot, not an idiot. You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

Shock. Wonder. Pain. Hosea wasn’t sure which to feel first or worst. “I need to go away for a while, Gomer. That’s all. I’ll be back.” He searched her stony expression. “How did you know I was going?”

The tears she’d held captive slid down her cheeks, but she revealed no other sign of weakness. Chin held high, she regained her calm. “Men always leave.”

“No, Gomer. This is different.”

One side of her lips raised in a defiant grin.

“No! Listen to me,” he said. “Yahweh came to me in a
dream and told me to return to Israel. He didn’t tell me the specific message I’m to deliver, just that I’m to leave today.” He reached over and placed a hand on her thigh. “Gomer . . .”

She stared at his hand. Silent. Indignant. He removed it, and she lifted a single brow. “Perhaps He’s sending you to marry another prostitute.”

“No!” he said, resenting her smug expression. “You’re being ridiculous! I’m a prophet. It’s who I am, who the Lord called me to be. I will occasionally be called away from home. Just like Amos must travel to the markets and festivals to sell goods, I must go wherever God leads me—”

“To sell goods.” Her eyes flashed. “And you’re very good at it, by the way. You almost had me convinced that I could count on you, that you wouldn’t leave me like everyone else in my life—” Her voice broke, and she leapt to her feet. She grabbed her blue veil, wrapped it around her head and shoulders, and swung open the door.

“Gomer, wait! We need to talk.”

“Actually, we’ve talked too long already. Your bread is on fire.”

Hosea turned and found his barley loaves smoking and then heard the door slam. “Gomer!” he shouted, hurrying to retrieve the fork and dislodge the charred loaves. He stared at the closed door, waving the smoke away.
Yahweh, what should I do with her?
He reached for a crispy barley loaf and burned his fingers, and then was startled by the undeniable voice of his Elohim.

What should I do with you, Ephraim? What should I do with you, Judah? Your love is like fog in the morning. It disappears as quickly as the morning dew.

Hosea allowed his head to fall back, closed his eyes, and wept. How could the God of all creation describe Gomer’s love so precisely?
Because Gomer’s love mirrors fickle Israel and Judah, and You understand my frustration, don’t You, Yahweh?

Hosea was overwhelmed by God’s presence, humbled anew by the awesome privilege of his calling.
Please, take care of my Gomer.

Go to Israel.
The voice was as clear as Yuval’s rooster announcing the new day.