Love In A Broken Vessel (25 page)

Horror stretched across the king’s face. “Gomer, no! Yahweh does not play games. He loves His people, and . . .” His protests died into silence.

Her cynical chuckle rumbled low. “You see? Even the righteous Uzziah must admit—”

“I admit nothing.” He seemed indignant at her accusation. “I fell silent because I have only now realized the depth of Yahweh’s love.”

Her jaw dropped open. How could he see love in death and capture and judgment?

“I started to tell you how Yahweh loves Israel and has warned them repeatedly. And then it occurred to me—He loves Judah and has warned me and my nation as often.” He grasped his head covering with oozing hands, seemingly stunned at his slowness of mind. “My arrogance not only caused my suffering but has almost led Judah to destruction.”

“No!” she shouted, startling the king, his guards, and her
sleeping baby. Rahmy began to cry, but Gomer spoke over the noise. “I will not let you take the blame that Hosea and his god try to place on you. You are a good and righteous man. You don’t deserve this illness, and your god made a mistake when He cursed you.”

Uzziah gave no thunderous reply. Instead, a slight grin creased his lips. “Yahweh is not like the false gods of Canaan you were told about as a child. He isn’t the benign one, El, who watches powerlessly as Baal and Anat squabble with Mot over who gets to send rain. He isn’t seduced into submission by his conniving wife, Asherah.”

“What?” Gomer had never heard anyone from Judah recite the stories of her gods. “How do you know—”

“How do I know of the Canaanite gods? I choose to worship Yahweh because He is the one true God, Gomer—not because I am ignorant of other choices.” He paused a moment, then shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t call you here to give you a lesson on Yahweh. I know how Amoz hates it when I repeat things he’s heard a thousand times. I simply wanted to tell you about your husband.”

As he began to relate more details about her husband’s mission, Gomer was a little disappointed he didn’t continue his explanation of Yahweh. She was curious to hear the testimony of a man who had been cursed by a god but remained faithful in spite of it.

“As I was saying, it seems Hosea and Micah were hidden near Zechariah’s encampment and discovered by the royal guard in the middle of the night. Micah escaped, but Hosea was bound and taken into custody to await a morning trial. Evidently, before the king and judges awoke to convene court, Shallum, one of King Jeroboam’s dearest friends, slipped into Zechariah’s tent and murdered him.”

Gomer saw the agony on Uzziah’s face. “Did you know King Zechariah?”

“No. I didn’t know the young man, but my heart aches at the thought that a dear friend of his abba’s could so
heartlessly turn against Zechariah. It makes me fear for my own son. I trust all the men on my council, but I’m sure Jeroboam trusted Shallum too.”

Gomer stole a glance at Uzziah’s commander.

“I’ve told King Uzziah I am willing to maintain my position as commander or step down. Whichever he feels is most beneficial to young Jotham’s reign.” He slammed his fist against his leather chest armor. “I am loyal to the king of Judah—unto death.”

Gomer nodded and laid her hand on Uzziah’s shoulder. He winced. “I’m sorry,” she said, starting to pull away, but he steadied her hand there.

“No, please. Don’t move it. It’s painful, but I need to feel someone’s touch once in a while just to remember I’m human.” Tears spilled onto his cheeks, traveling over the uneven tracks of the pockmarks. “I trust Hananiah with my life—and with my son’s life.” He nodded at his commander and received a bow in return. “I pray Judah never faces a conspiracy like the one your husband witnessed. It seems Micah was watching the camp from a distance and rescued Hosea when it fell into chaos. My spies have hidden Hosea and Micah at the old prophets’ house in Shiloh—where the ark of the covenant was once housed. If Yahweh can protect His presence there, He can guard Hosea and Micah until it’s safe for them to travel again.”

Gomer felt a flutter in her chest, hope stirred—and she hated herself for it. “So will they be coming home? Since the prophecy was fulfilled?” She tried to hide her excitement, but it slipped out between her quickened breaths.

Uzziah and Hananiah exchanged an awkward glance. The king studied the rocky ground as if searching for lost words—they were as absent as Gomer’s husband.

Her hope died another inglorious death. She removed her hand from his shoulder, straightening her posture and raising her chin. “He’s not coming home.” It was a statement, no longer a question.

Uzziah shook his head.

She looked down at Rahmy, sound asleep.
Lo-Ruhamah—Not Loved.
She and her daughter would always share that bond. Gomer stroked her downy-soft hair, her mind reeling. Anger. Bitterness. Yes, but more than that.

Survival.

What was she doing? Waiting on Hosea to come back and then leave her again? No. She leaned down to kiss Rahmy’s head, making her decision—hardening her heart. She would find a wet nurse and bind her breasts right away. Gomer was an old maid by many standards, nearly twenty-one years old. Time was running short to find wealthy men willing to care for her. The sooner she faced the inevitable, the quicker she’d be able to leave. Yuval and Aya would take good care of her children. They loved Jezzy and Rahmy—almost as much as she did.

Standing, she bowed to Uzziah. “Thank you, my lord, for informing me of my husband’s condition.” She leaned over and kissed his pocked cheek. “And thank you for your kindness—to an unclean harlot.”

She had walked a few steps when she heard an imposing voice.

“Gomer, wait.”

She stopped, closing her eyes, hoping she need not turn to face the commander’s kindness again.
Abuse me. Cheat me. Even hate me, but my heart cannot bear a man’s tenderness now.

He stood behind her. She kept her back turned, trying to master her emotions. “What is it, Commander?”

A moment’s hesitation, and then he said, “If the prophet has left you in need of anything, I can help.”

Gomer squeezed her eyes shut, releasing a river of tears. “Thank you, Commander,” she said, walking away. She must make herself marketable again—and soon. Perhaps the commander would be her first wealthy customer.

• 2 K
INGS
15:14, 16 •

Then Menahem . . . came from Tirzah to Samaria, attacked Shallum . . . killed him, and succeeded him as king. . . . Then Menahem attacked Tiphsah. . . . Because the city didn’t open its gates for him, he attacked it and ripped open all its pregnant women.

C
rossing the narrow plain north of the hideaway in Shiloh, Hosea quickened his step. He must reach Tiphsah before Menahem broke through its walls. Judean spies had reported Menahem’s rampage after Zechariah’s death. The general had been King Jeroboam’s most loyal friend and demanded revenge on those responsible for the young king’s death. His first mission—to Samaria, to kill the conspirator, King Shallum—was complete within a month of Zechariah’s death.

Menahem’s second decision revealed the military genius of a well-experienced general and won him the undying loyalty of his men. He returned to his home in Tirzah and allowed his soldiers to do the same, encouraging them to work their fields and complete the summer harvest. When the olive presses started turning, Menahem’s troops reported back to their
commanders, barns and bellies full. Now they were thirsty for vengeance on any who opposed their gracious king.

Poor Tiphsah was the first city to lock its gates against King Menahem.

Hosea crested a hill and looked north. Smoke rose in four great columns from the next hilltop. Tiphsah was burning.
Yahweh Elohim! What would You have me do?
He stood frozen, realizing he was too late to save the souls within the city’s gates.

His feet moved of their own accord, and a slight breeze lifted the hair from his shoulders. Yahweh whispered to his spirit:
How horrible it will be for these people. They have run away from Me rather than to Me. They must be destroyed because they have rebelled against Me. I want to reclaim them, but they don’t pray to Me sincerely. They cry out and make cuts on their bodies while praying for grain and new wine. They have turned against Me though I trained them and made them strong. Yet they don’t return to the Most High.

With every step toward the burning city, Hosea felt Yahweh’s sorrow—and His growing wrath. This carnage was prophesied, a declaration of Yahweh, but in response to the acts of men. Menahem’s choice to slaughter. Tiphsah’s choice to rebel. Israel’s choice to worship idols. Everyone had a choice to hear or silence the whisper of Yahweh. These men silenced Him and acted on the evil in their hearts.

Menahem’s encampment created a giant yoke around Tiphsah. Crude soldiers’ tents dotted the countryside, nothing more than sackcloth lifted by center sticks. No royal goat’s-hair dwelling for the king and his advisors. Menahem slept among his men—now a king, forever a soldier.

Hosea walked through the rows of tents, waiting for a guard to stop him, ready to be shackled as he neared the city. But the camp was deserted.
All of them must be looting.

Hosea approached the city, hearing screams and smelling the unmistakable stench of death—blood, urine, smoke. He paused near one of the war machines that had pummeled
the gates. Abandoned. Scarred. Used up. It had served its purpose. Charred gates hung on broken iron hinges. The screaming continued—screams of terror.
Odd, no grieving wails.
Hosea stood frozen, listening, staring at the broken bodies strewn near the charred gates.

Yahweh commanded,
Press on.

A few screams remained.

Then only one.

Then silence.

Hosea stepped inside the city, expecting bedlam, finding instead shocked horror. Consuming silence descended like a shroud. Soldiers stood over their savagery, dazed. Swords dripping. Seemingly stunned at the sight before them. Many dropped their swords and fell to their knees. The silence was broken—as broken as the warriors who had committed unspeakable barbarism. No one dared wail. None were worthy to grieve. Only shameful sobs escaped covered faces.

Hosea stepped away from the city wall where he’d been hidden by afternoon shadows and walked resolutely toward the central city well. He was cautiously tiptoeing over death and misery when a war cry erupted behind him.

“In the name of King Jeroboam and King Zechariah, you will die!”

Footsteps ran at him from behind, and Hosea turned an extended hand toward his attacker. “In the name of Yahweh, you will be silent before me!”

Menahem held his sword in striking position and skidded to a halt a mere camel’s length from Hosea’s hand.

“King Menahem, return to Yahweh or face destruction,” Hosea panted, heart racing. “Israel has chosen kings Yahweh did not approve and princes He did not know. But you are now Israel’s king, and you must lead God’s people. King Menahem, will you acknowledge Yahweh as Israel’s Elohim?”

Menahem’s arms trembled from his striking pose. A moment of decision crossed his face, and he lowered his sword. “I remember you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You were the
prophet that threatened Jeroboam at the temple sacrifice in Samaria.” His expression almost held a measure of amusement. “And you married that harlot.”

“That harlot and I have a son named Jezreel—named by Yahweh to foretell Zechariah’s assassination in the valley of Jezreel.”

“You knew of the conspiracy and didn’t send a warning?” All amusement fled, and Menahem adjusted his grip on his sword.

“Yahweh speaks truth to me, but He seldom reveals timing.” Hosea stepped forward, now a cubit from the new king’s imposing form. He swallowed hard, reminding himself that obedience to the Lord must outweigh fear of man. “Sound the ram’s horn, Menahem. Assyria will swoop down on you like an eagle. The people of Israel have rejected Yahweh’s promises and rebelled against His teachings.”

“We have
not
rejected El!” He closed the gap between them and shrieked in Hosea’s face, his fury sudden and unchecked. “You prophets and priests spout your legends while warriors bathe in blood. Look around you, Prophet. A king deals with real life—traitors and rebellions.”

“Real life
is
Yahweh, King Menahem.” Hosea spoke with a calmness he didn’t yet feel. “If you will acknowledge Him, He will give you the wisdom and power to rule. But you must seek Him sincerely.”

Menahem’s rage grew like a living thing, crimson climbing up his neck and consuming his face. He looked to the heavens, shaking his fist. “I acknowledge You, Elohim! What more do You want from me?” His sword clattered to the ground, and he drew his dagger. “Blood? Do You want more blood?”

Hosea gasped, closing his eyes and bracing himself, certain he would feel the searing slice of the king’s blade.

Instead, Menahem’s tortured cries continued. “Let mighty Baal arise, the rider of the clouds. Speak on your servant’s behalf to the benign one, our El. Protect us from Assyria’s eagle god, Nisroch, and bless our grain and new wine.”

Hosea opened his eyes to see Israel’s king cutting his own arms and legs. “No!” he shouted as others unsheathed their daggers. “No, stop!” He watched in horror, soldiers all around them following their king’s example, and Hosea remembered Yahweh’s words:
They don’t pray to Me sincerely. They cry out and make cuts on their bodies.

Numbly, Hosea walked away from the frenzied worshipers, his heart twisting in his chest. The whisper of Yahweh’s Spirit drew him out of the city.
They have rejected what is good. Now the enemy will persecute them.

As he was almost to the city gate, a giant shadow fell across Hosea’s path. “Keep your distance, Prophet. King Menahem has given me freedom to assess and attack any threat to his throne.”

Hosea looked up to meet the menacing grin of Eitan, the soldier he remembered from Samaria—the man who had beaten Gomer nearly to death. “I am no threat, Eitan.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Should I be honored you remembered my name, or should I have you arrested as a spy?”

“Neither. I remember the name of the man who almost killed my wife.”

A smirk replaced the curiosity. “Forgive me if I do not remember your wife—or her name.” Then pointing to a crumpled mound a camel’s length away, he said, “Women are of little concern to me.” He shoved Hosea as he walked past him into the bedlam of pagan worship.

When Hosea regained his footing, he focused on the bloody mound Eitan had pointed to with his sword. A pregnant woman whose child had been torn from her womb.
Yahweh, Lord in heaven! How could anyone . . .

He turned away.
Gomer.
His wife’s face, her swollen belly flashed in his mind. The woman on the ground was someone’s wife, the child someone’s babe. He fell to his hands and knees and retched.

He began to tremble with unanswered questions. Why was he here? What good had his prophecies done?
Yahweh,
must I continue to speak to people who refuse to hear?
A sob escaped, and he remained on his knees. Waiting. Was it a coincidence he’d encountered Eitan? Seen the savagery of the maimed woman?

He wiped his face and stood, lifting his voice to heaven. “I haven’t heard Your direct command, but I feel You leading me back to Tekoa, Lord.” Again he waited. Silence. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head. “I’ll move toward home until I hear You tell me differently.”

And then he ran.

Gomer rinsed the last clay bowl, dried it with an old cloth, and stacked it with the other dishes on the shelf above the worktable. Her eyelids felt heavy, bones weary. Jezzy and Rahmy had been especially rambunctious tonight, difficult to settle onto their sleeping mat in the bedchamber. Aya didn’t run and play with them as much since she was expecting her first little one, but she still loved Gomer’s children as if they were her own. And Aya did most of the cooking since Gomer had returned to work at the shop. Amoz had forgiven Gomer’s coercive tactics and seemed eager to help her develop her pottery skills.

Life had settled into a comfortable routine again.

It was time to think about leaving.

She emptied her silver out of the small pitcher and counted it again, hoping it had miraculously multiplied. It hadn’t.

Unable to imagine life without her children, she’d hoped Amoz might help her start a new life in another city. Her skill at the kick wheel had improved, and she’d thrown her first amphora today. His pride in her work was tempered by her interest in Lachish.

“Have you forgotten what it’s like to be a woman alone on the streets?” he’d whispered, glancing left and right to be sure no one overheard. “Don’t be a fool, Gomer. You wouldn’t make it to the next town without being sold into slavery—you
and
your children. Don’t decide something when you’re warm and dry that could make you cold and destitute.”

When she asked if he’d share sales profits on her pieces, he’d unequivocally refused, saying he didn’t want to encourage her nonsense.

She scooped her meager silver pieces back into the pitcher and picked up Sampson. She snuggled into the soft fur, bracing herself against the hard truth. If she was ever going to escape Tekoa, she’d have to resume her harlotry. Yuval’s dear face came to mind, and her heart ached. Her friend had been gone a lot recently, traveling with Amos to help with trading, she’d said. But Yuval was hiding something.

Gomer chuckled quietly. “Yuval is hiding something.” The irony didn’t escape her. She was planning to leave her friend without a word, and yet she was concerned that Yuval was spending time away with her husband.
Ridiculous, Gomer.

Perhaps after she and the children left Tekoa and were settled somewhere, she could get word to Yuval.
No. Too dangerous.
Hosea would undoubtedly search for Jezzy. She might need to go to Egypt or Aram in order to escape beyond her husband’s reach.
That means more silver.
She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped her weary face, determining to cultivate a wealthier clientele. She didn’t have time to see more men.

A knock on the door interrupted her planning. “Who could that be?” she asked the cat. Sampson answered with his normal purr and wiggled out of her arms.

She opened the door and found Hananiah filling the space. “Commander?” Her heart leapt to her throat. “Is it Hosea?”

“I’m here to deliver a message from your husband.” He bowed slightly, a hint of a smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late. I hope I didn’t wake you or the children.” His focus was behind her, inspecting her house.

“The children are sleeping. Would you like to come in?”

He stepped over the threshold before her invitation was complete, his shoulders wider than the door, bowing his head to enter. “Hosea sent a message, and I thought you might be
anxious to hear from him.” His eyes roamed her face as if measuring her reaction. Whatever game he was playing, she was too tired to care.

“Actually, I’m not anxious to hear from him at all, Commander.” She went to the worktable and reached for the grinding wheel.
I might as well grind barley for tomorrow’s bread if he’s going to talk.
She ladled a cup of grain into the furrow, smoothed it with her fingers. “What’s the message? Does he want me out of the house before he returns?” She was partly jesting. As long as Hosea let her keep her children, she’d gladly leave. She turned to lay the grinder on the worktable and was startled to see the commander standing so near.