Love In A Broken Vessel (28 page)

“Hosea, did you hear me?”

He realized Gomer had spoken to him but didn’t know what she’d said.

“You can put me down—oh, not yet, not yet . . .” Another contraction seized her, and she held her breath against the pain. When it lasted longer than her breath could sustain, she gasped for more air. Finally released from the pain, she lost all color. “I’m dizzy, Hosea. Don’t put me down. I think I’m going to faint.”

“Well, you’ve got to breathe, Gomer!” His frustrated observation came out with more venom than he intended.

“And what makes you the expert on childbirth?” she shot back. “In your vast experience, have all the women you’ve helped breathed their way to healthy—aaahhhh!”

“Breathe!” he shouted at her, startling her into obedience. “That’s it. Breathe, Gomer.” Yahweh’s cool breeze blew on them again, and this time she inhaled deeply of His refreshing. The contraction ebbed, and she melted into Hosea’s arms, exhausted. He kissed her forehead and whispered, “Are you ready to sit by the wall?”

She nodded, and he placed her feet on the floor, back against the wall. Hosea assessed the awkward position and dared amend the solution, lifting her slightly and perching behind her. He settled her between his legs, laying her back against his chest.

“Rest your arms on my thighs,” he said. “It will keep you elevated without requiring as much strength from your legs.” He leaned around to kiss her cheek. “All right. I’m here. Yahweh is here. You will have a healthy baby boy tonight.”

She lolled her head against his shoulder. “A boy?”

“Mm-hmm.” He brushed the copper curls from her sweaty forehead.

The cool breeze flowed with the next contraction, helping
her breathe through the pain. On and on it went through the night.

You are so beautiful, my Gomer, so strong and full of life.
“Beautiful, you’re beautiful . . . you’re doing a beautiful job. Keep breathing.”

After one especially long contraction, her head lolled against his chest. Had she fainted? Fear nipped at the edges of his heart. He strummed the fingers on her limp hand as he’d done when they were children. At first he thought she hadn’t noticed, but then he heard a quiet sniff and saw tears mixed with sweat running down her cheeks.

Her face scrunched, and he thought another contraction would overtake her.

No. A sob instead. “Thank you for not hating me, Hosea.” The tender moment passed when she groaned, “Ohhhhh, I’ve got to push!”

In less time than a hike from Jerusalem to Tekoa, Hosea witnessed the most beautiful sight on earth: Gomer giving birth in Yahweh’s presence.

With her final push, the baby slipped onto the goatskin and Hosea hugged the woman he’d loved all his life. “He’s beautiful, Gomer.”

“How can you stand to look at him? Or me.” Her voice was weak, but the emptiness was more than fatigue.

He left his place behind her, hurrying to find a blanket to wrap Lo-Ammi. For the moment, he must ignore his wife’s comment and rub the child with salt—he knew at least that much about newborns.

As he lifted the babe into a blanket, he was startled to see Gomer have another contraction. “Are you having twins?” He was near panic. Yahweh had only told him of one child!

She shook her head, the contraction making it impossible to explain. He watched the miracle of afterbirth being delivered, amazed by Gomer’s unruffled knowledge of these womanly things. She gave him direction on how to rub the boy with salt—he’d done it wrong—how to dispose of the
afterbirth, what herbs to pack into her womb. Never had he imagined such a world existed, this culture of women. He was astounded, astonished, awed.

When finally their tasks were complete and Gomer was settled with the babe at her breast, he sat on the mattress beside her. “Do you remember Yahweh’s presence during the birth?” She didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. “You asked how I could look at you, how I could look at your baby. Yahweh has commanded that we name your son Lo-Ammi—Not My People.” He watched pain and rebellion replace her indifference. “But it was the second part of His message that gives me hope that we’ll be a family again, Gomer. All of us.”

Her head shot up, eyes full of fire. “You name my son ‘Not My People’ and then expect to claim us as your family? I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s how you’ve always treated me. You promise friendship, marriage, family—and then you leave, Hosea. You always leave.” She turned her face away, closing her eyes—and evidently her heart.

If he were sitting in her place, wouldn’t he think the same thing?
Yahweh, how can I tell her of Your promises when they seem so far away, so impossible? I can trust You because I’ve seen You prove faithful, but Gomer has been hurt and abandoned again and again—sometimes because of my obedience to You.
He sat beside her in silence, unsure if he should tell her the rest of Yahweh’s message. What if sharing the truth pushed her farther from the true God?

In the stillness, Yahweh again spoke to Hosea’s spirit:
When Israel was a child, I loved him, and I called my son out of Egypt. The more I called them, the farther they went away. They sacrificed to other gods—the Baals—and they burned incense to idols. I was the one who took them by the hand and taught them to walk. But they didn’t realize that I led them with cords of human kindness, with ropes of love. I removed the yokes from their necks. I bent down and fed them.

Hosea realized that in this too, Gomer was like Israel. Yahweh had been leading her, revealing Himself, since she
was a child, but she refused to see Him. She’d interpreted His restraints of kindness as a yoke of rules.

“Gomer,” he said haltingly, “I know it seems to you as though I’ve done nothing but abandon you, and you may believe Yahweh is some vindictive judge.”

“Leave me alone, Hosea,” she said, turning toward the wall and swaddling the baby beside her.

“I may leave you alone for a day, a Sabbath, even many cycles of the moon, but you are my wife forever. And you are Yahweh’s child for eternity. He will never leave you alone, Gomer. He is with you even when I am not.” His declaration was met with silence, and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep after her all-night delivery.

Determined to be obedient, he whispered Yahweh’s words to the baby beside his ima. “Your name is Lo-Ammi—Not My People—but a day is coming when the people of Israel and Judah will be reunited and become numerous. The living God will sow His people—Jezreel—and great will be that day when Jezzy unites this family. And though your sister was named Lo-Ruhamah—Not Loved—we will call her Ruhamah, and though you are named Lo-Ammi, little one, we will call you Ammi.”

Gomer pretended to be asleep, held her breath until she felt Hosea kiss her forehead and leave their bedchamber. Quiet sobs racked her exhausted body at the words he’d spoken over her new son. How could he show her such kindness? How could he seem to love children of unfaithfulness—Rahmy, who was certainly born of another man’s seed, and now Ammi, who by the chiseled, rugged features of his little face, was clearly Hananiah’s child?

One thought terrified her more than any other.
Yahweh is real.
She couldn’t deny it any longer. She’d felt the cool breeze of His presence on a stifling summer night—
inside
her house. Yes, Hosea’s god was real, and He seemed intent
on making her life miserable. Perhaps when she was strong again, she could escape to Asherah’s grove and ask a priestess for wisdom. How does one evade a god?

Turning her face into the lamb’s-wool pillow, she released her confused sobs. Sleep. She needed sleep. She must think with a clear mind to find a way of escape from Hosea and his god.

• E
CCLESIASTES
12:6 •

Remember your Creator before the silver cord is snapped, the golden bowl is broken, the pitcher is smashed near the spring.

H
osea peeked around the corner of their bedchamber doorway, watching his wife’s shoulders shake while she sobbed into her lamb’s-wool headrest. Surely he had married the most stubborn woman alive, just as Yahweh had chosen Israel—the most stiff-necked people on earth. He longed to curl up beside her and comfort her, but she’d made her feelings clear. She didn’t trust him to keep his promises, and no amount of words would change her mind. Only time could heal their wounds.

Exhaustion threatened to consume him, but he needed to see Jonah and check on Jezzy and Rahmy. He grabbed his walking stick, stepped into dawn’s first glow, and passed the well-fed animals in his stable.
Thank you for Isaiah, Yahweh, who tends my stables and oversees the camp.
Uzziah had sent word that Amos’s farm and the prophets’ camp were thriving under Isaiah’s watchful eye. Though the young man hadn’t yet heard Yahweh’s personal call,
he’d filled the void of leadership when Amos was called away and Jonah fell ill.

Hosea pushed open his courtyard gate and noticed a cluster of people outside Jonah’s house. “Unclean! Unclean!” he shouted, gaining everyone’s attention. “I helped Gomer deliver the baby last night, so I’ll be cautious not to touch anyone.” He ambled toward the crowd, arriving at the door as Amos emerged.

“What are you doing home?” Hosea’s question died when he saw the grief on Amos’s face. “No.” Tears choked him. “Get out of the way. I want to see Jonah.”

Amos placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “He’s gone, Hosea. I was coming to tell you. I arrived just a few moments ago myself. Micah awoke this morning and found him . . . peaceful.”

Wails from the gathered crowd split the dawn’s peaceful silence. Clothing ripped. Dust flew from the hands of men who mourned the great prophet, falling on their heads and peppering their beards.

Micah emerged from the house, his face twisting when he saw Hosea. He ran into his arms, weeping. “Master Hosea, our great teacher is gone—Jonah is gone.”

They held each other until Hosea felt a hand on his shoulder. Isaiah. They welcomed him into their circle of grief.
Yahweh, how will we learn to prophesy without our teacher?

Hosea heard Amos shouting instructions over the mourners. “I need volunteers to anoint the body. We must do it quickly because of the heat.”

Hosea interrupted Amos’s recruiting. “I’ll wash him. I’m already unclean. I helped Gomer deliver her child last night.”

Micah stepped forward. “And I’m unclean because I already touched my master’s dead body to check for breathing or a heartbeat this morning.”

“And I’ve touched them,” Isaiah said, shrugging his shoulders. “We’ll wash and anoint the body together.” He laid his
arms over Hosea’s and Micah’s shoulders, uniting them in their grim honor.

Amos nodded his approval and turned to dismiss the other volunteers. Hosea heard garbled rumbles from the dispersing crowd while Amos herded them onto the main path and then joined the three younger men inside. “I’ve sent one of the shepherds to get spices and ointment from Yuval.” Hosea was glad to hear it because, like the birth, he’d sounded more confident than he felt to complete this women’s task.

Amos was quite capable, however, and they were soon working together like a well-tuned harp, each string strummed in perfect rhythm. In the silent reverence of their last act of love for Jonah, Hosea spoke the question that weighed heaviest on his heart. “Who will teach the prophets if the Lord calls me back to Israel?”

Amos dipped a long piece of cloth in myrrh, continuing his quiet ministrations. “Isaiah speaks with great wisdom, though he has not yet received his prophetic call. And I teach occasionally, when I’m not traveling—though you know I’ve never been eloquent like the great prophets of old.” He paused, seemingly deep in thought, and Hosea pondered Amos’s self-doubt—or was it simply a fact? The burly shepherd hadn’t set out to become a prophet, nor was he the son of a prophet. He had been faithful when Yahweh gave him a message for King Jeroboam fifteen years ago but hadn’t spoken for the Lord since.

Amos set aside the burial cloths and waited for Hosea to meet his gaze. “When you are called to Israel, my son, the Lord will provide for our students here. But make no mistake. The mantle of teaching has been passed to you. You are Yahweh’s prophet for this time.”

The words felt like an avalanche on Hosea’s shoulders. “But who will teach me?” His voice sounded small, like Jezzy’s, and tears blurred his vision. His soul was assaulted with regrets from his past, doubts of the present, and fear for the future.
Too much, Yahweh. I can’t withstand it.
Sobs
overtook him, and he leaned over the body of his mentor, crying out, “I’ve been faithful to Yahweh. When will Yahweh be faithful to me?”

The words came from someplace deep within him, shocking him into silence. He’d never expressed—even to himself—the magnitude of his loss and frustration. He kept his head buried. What more was there to say?

“Look at me, Hosea.”

Ashamed, he couldn’t meet Amos’s gaze. But this man was an honored teacher and friend like Jonah. Hosea must obey. He must listen—and learn.

Hosea stood and faced him, seeing no judgment, only love, on Amos’s features.

“You have made great sacrifices to serve Yahweh, it is true. But never forget the Lord’s plan reaches beyond this moment. We fight for Yahweh’s victory, which is far greater than our temporary struggles.” He cradled Hosea’s cheek with his giant, calloused hand. “Men—and women—will fail you, but Yahweh will be your teacher.” Amos patted Hosea’s cheek, cleared his throat, and began coating bandages with balm and spices again. Hosea noticed him swipe a pesky tear and considered for the first time how difficult Jonah’s death must be for Amos.

A weary sigh escaped as he let Amos’s words sink into his soul. Three prophets stood with him. Young and old—fighting different battles for the one true God. They must all let Yahweh teach them.

“Jezreel, stop chasing the cat!” Gomer couldn’t hear anything Yuval was saying over the ruckus of her three children. “Jezreel, if Sampson bites off your hand, don’t come crying to me. Rahmy, don’t touch Ima’s vase—”

Crash!

The burnished Egyptian amphora shattered on the packed dirt floor, and Gomer stood frozen, staring at the pieces.
Ammi must have sensed her tension, hugged close in his sling, and he began his newborn wail—which instigated Rahmy’s fearful cry. She knew she’d get a swat for breaking Ima’s favorite vase. Jezzy sat beside Sampson, gathered his four-legged friend into his arms, and began sobbing—because of his tender heart.

Gomer braced her hands on the worktable and expelled a long sigh, letting a few tears of her own escape. “I can’t do this, Yuval.”

A gnarled, wrinkled hand stroked her arm. “You are doing it, Daughter. You’re a wonderful ima.”

How could she tell her beloved friend she didn’t
want
to do this? She didn’t want to spend her days locked up in this house, smelling like soiled loincloths and baby vomit. Tomorrow she and Hosea would travel to Jerusalem for her purification at the temple. Finally, she’d be allowed to leave the house. She thought it ridiculous to make such a fuss over the third child when she hadn’t been purified according to the Law with either of the others, but Hosea had been adamant. Since he was home, they would follow the Law. Which meant she’d been cooped up inside since Ammi’s birth. It had been a long thirty-two days—made longer by Hananiah’s absence. He hadn’t even tried to see her.

Yuval gathered Jezzy and Rahmy in her arms while Gomer picked up the broken pottery. Jezzy pulled at the gray tufts of hair peeking from Yuval’s veil and asked, “Why do you and Saba Amos go ’way? Why does Abba go ’way too?”

Yuval rubbed their noses together, making the answer to Jezzy’s question seem almost happy. “Sometimes big people must go away to do important things for Yahweh and help keep us safe. Saba and Savta do important work for Yahweh, and your abba is a prophet. Do you know what that means, Jezzy?”

“It means,” Gomer interrupted, “we never know when your abba will be home and when he will leave us.”

Yuval’s eyes snapped in her direction, and the hurt Gomer
saw pierced her own heart. “It’s true that a prophet never knows when or where Yahweh will call him,” she said softly to Jezzy, “but we know Yahweh’s ways are right, so those who follow Him can walk in peace—if they choose to.”

Gomer threw the broken pieces of clay into the basket set aside for trash, lifted Jezzy from Yuval’s arms, and planted him firmly on the floor. “Jezzy, take your sister into Ima’s bedchamber. It’s time for your midday nap.” She held Yuval’s gaze. It was time for a private talk with her old friend.

“But Ima, I not sleepy.”

“Jezreel!” Heat rose on Gomer’s neck. She tried to calm herself, not wanting Yuval to see the kind of ima she’d become. Her patience with Jezzy and Rahmy had dwindled to bare tolerance—and she hated herself for it. She placed a guiding hand on Jezzy’s curly head and set Rahmy on the floor beside him. “Take your sister.”

“C’mon, Rahmy.” He grasped her hand and slogged into the other room.

Gomer returned her attention to Yuval and found the woman glaring at her. She walked over, sat on a rug beside her, and waited for the reprimand. She didn’t wait long.

“You cannot teach them your disdain for Yahweh. Not only will Hosea forbid it, I forbid it.” She lifted her chin and seemed to be awaiting a heated reply. There would be none.

“I have a question for you, Yuval.” The surprise and relief on her friend’s face gave Gomer permission to continue. “What did you mean when you told Jezzy that you and Amos do important work for Yahweh? When I asked you before why you started traveling with Amos, you told me you were lonely and wanted the adventure. I think you’ve been deceiving me, Yuval.”

Her friend glanced at Ammi, swaddled in the sling. “I’ve been deceiving you?”

Gomer’s heart skipped a beat. Did Yuval know about Hananiah? They’d been so careful. Gomer knew she suspected her harlotry, but had she somehow discovered Hananiah was the boy’s abba? Did she dare confide in her friend?

“It seems our missions for King Uzziah are finished.” Yuval stared at her hands. “I suppose I can finally tell you.”

“Missions?” Gomer decided Hananiah could wait until later. “What are you talking about,
missions
?”

“Amos began carrying messages for Judean spies in Israel soon after Hosea brought you to live in Tekoa. When he was recognized on a mission, I began traveling with him to provide a more plausible ruse.” She lifted misty eyes, offering a weak smile. “An old merchant and his wife draw less attention—especially when traveling to the northern nations to propose Uzziah’s coalition against Assyria.”

“Coalition? Assyria? Yuval, you’re a fig picker, the wife of a shepherd-merchant from Tekoa. Why would King Uzziah send you and Amos on
missions
?” She rubbed her weary face. This was too much information for a sleep-deprived woman. “Please. I don’t care about kings and messages and coalitions. Are you going to leave me like everyone else?”

Yuval reached for Gomer’s hand, squeezing her love into it. “I learned something very important while traveling with Amos, Daughter, something you need to hear. The messages of a prophet—the words of your husband and mine—affect the decisions of kings. The decisions of kings determine not just the course of nations but also the life and death of individuals in those countries. If we become so enamored with our own little world that we disregard the nations, we are no better than those who focus on nations and ruthlessly disregard human life.”

Yuval’s eyes were deep wells of sadness, different from the innocence Gomer had seen her first night in Tekoa. What depths of horror had changed her so deeply? “Yuval, you’re frightening me. Why are you telling me this?”

“You speak of being abandoned, Gomer, and I know you’ve experienced crushing losses in your life. But Hosea didn’t leave you. He’s teaching his students a few buildings away. I traveled a few times, but I’m holding your hands here and now. But everyone leaves us, Gomer, because we’re all dust. Only Yahweh will never abandon you.”

“No!” She ripped her hand from Yuval’s grasp. “I won’t listen to any more nonsense about Yahweh. I wish He
would
abandon me. I wish He’d leave me alone! I just want to live in peace with a man who loves me like Hana—” Her tantrum was cut short by the blunder.

Yuval’s tenderness never wavered. “King Uzziah ordered Hananiah back to Jerusalem the day after Ammi was born—to counsel young King Jotham in decisions regarding the coalition. Though King Uzziah built Judah’s towers, reinforced the gates, and prepared an army, it must be his son who leads Judah into war if Assyria’s King Pul invades.”

Gomer contemplated what Yuval said, but everything past the news of Hananiah resounded like a second shout after an echo.
Hananiah didn’t abandon me! He was ordered back to Jerusalem!
Her heart leapt with joy, but she should at least acknowledge poor King Jotham’s predicament. He was so young to face such a daunting task.