Miriam (21 page)

Pharaoh said, “I will let you go to offer sacrifices to the
L
ORD
your God in the wilderness, but you must not go very far. Now pray for me.”

Moses answered, “As soon as I leave you, I will pray to the
L
ORD
, and tomorrow the flies will leave Pharaoh and his officials and his people.”…

But this time also Pharaoh hardened his heart and would not let the people go.

—
E
XODUS 8:28–29, 32

M
iriam sat beneath her palm tree, Sattar by her side, listening to the shrieks and moans of suffering Egyptians. The flies had been relentless, coming in waves and swarms all day long. Yet not a single bloodsucker had landed in Goshen. Her people were safe. They were witnessing the mighty hand of Yahweh judging their oppressors and shielding His beloved Israel.

So why was Miriam crying?
I'm a ridiculous old fool.
It was the only explanation. She ached for life as it was before. Abba and Ima in the next room, sharing their daily wisdom. El Shaddai's intimate whisper throughout her day and in her dreams—yes,
El Shaddai,
not Yahweh. It didn't matter anymore whether she was important among the tribes. She simply yearned for the constant presence of those who knew her intimately. This loneliness was too much to bear.
Please, Shaddai, I don't want to live another moment without feeling You near.

Sobbing into her hands, she knew she must confess to Him the greatest foolishness of all. She couldn't whisper it. She could barely even think it.
Forgive me for falling in love with Hur.
Mortified, Miriam shook her head in shame. She was too old to fall in love, and she'd never needed anyone but El Shaddai. Why now was she suddenly acting like a besotted maiden? Throwing tantrums. Worrying about her appearance. Guarding her words.
I want You, El Shaddai, only You.
She felt as if she had betrayed her first love, her true Husband.

Only silence answered.

Who has betrayed whom?
The bitter accusation rose up in her before she could stop it. Her God, now called Yahweh, seemed busy elsewhere, but she couldn't give in to resentment. If she believed her God loved her—and she did—why would He choose to harm her?

Sattar stirred beside her. Miriam glanced over and saw his tail thumping the ground wildly. She needn't look behind her. Only Moses roused that kind of welcome.

“May I sit with you?” But it wasn't Moses. It was Hur.

Miriam's heart jumped to her throat. “Of course.” She wiped her face with her mantle.

He sat on the other side of Sattar and dug his fingers into the thick black-and-white fur. Sattar laid his head on Hur's leg, and Miriam rolled her eyes.
Traitor.

“It appears you've made a friend,” she said coolly.

“It appears I've lost one.”

Tears stung her eyes again, and she struggled for control. “That's how I feel about El Shaddai—an old Friend who changed His name and chose other people to spend time with.”

“Why do you suppose He did that?” Hur asked the question as if pondering how much garlic to add to a stew.

Annoyed, she swiped at tears and glared at him. “If I knew I wouldn't be sitting here crying.”

He nodded slowly and turned his focus toward the Nile. “Why are you angry with me, Miriam?”

There it was. The question she'd dreaded. She shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line, refusing to release the words that burned within.

“You've never been shy about speaking your mind.” He grinned and turned to her then, searching her eyes. “Do you feel you're betraying Yahweh if you love me?”

Stunned at his audacity, she opened her mouth, but no words came.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek and then went about the lengthy process of standing up. “That's the wonderful thing about Yahweh, Miriam. We don't have to choose between Him and those we love. His love flows through us.” He reached down and brushed her cheek. “Consider yourself kissed by Yahweh today.”

He walked away as she covered a sob.
Kissed by Yahweh.
Her heart ached at the tenderness she felt in that moment. Months since she'd had a dream, weeks since her last vision—who could have guessed she'd feel Yahweh's presence through the persistent kindness of a longtime friend.

She pulled up her legs, rested her forehead on her knees, and wept. Cleansing, grieving, refreshing tears. The sun had begun its western descent when she raised her head and untangled her creaky body. She was too old for these depths of emotion.
Yahweh, keep me bobbing in the shallows.
She chuckled, feeling as if her God grinned with her. Yes, right there with her.

The cries of suffering from the city had dissipated. Miriam wondered if the biting flies had gone, if they'd had their fill of human blood, or if people had resigned themselves to the pain. She should get back to the long house and see if they needed her. She paused at the thought. No, they didn't need her, but they would certainly miss her if she was gone.

Then the
L
ORD
said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh and say to him,…‘Let my people go….If you refuse to let them go…, the hand of the
L
ORD
will bring a terrible plague on your livestock in the field….But the
L
ORD
will make a distinction between the livestock of Israel and that of Egypt, so that no animal belonging to the Israelites will die.' ”

—
E
XODUS 9:1–4

I
t had been three weeks since the flies began, but they'd known within moments of the swarm's departure that Pharaoh would not let Israel leave Egypt. Slave drivers were dispatched in droves to Goshen, most of them still welted and bleeding from fly bites. The season of
Peret
—the months Egypt sowed barley, flax, wheat, and spelt—was a few weeks away, so the field-working Hebrews were reassigned to brick making. Slower and less skilled, the displaced brick makers drew the brunt of the pained Egyptians' wrath, and Miriam's herb supply dwindled again.

In spite of the increased workload and beatings, Yahweh's distinction during the fourth plague caused more Hebrews to return to the faith of their forefathers. While Hur helped Miriam tend the wounded, others gathered at the door hoping for a peek at Israel's deliverer. Notoriety had become both a blessing and curse for Moses. As a result, he began spending long hours away from the long house. He'd lost any shred of anonymity, and gifts continued piling up: grain, livestock, robes, even jewelry. They traded most at the market for food supplies to give back to Goshen neighbors who barely had enough to survive. Not so long ago, it had been those in Miriam's household whose bellies had rumbled through the night.

Taliah had taken leftover rounds of bread from today's midday meal to her students gathered outside the long house. Hur and Miriam listened to the children's questions and Taliah's knowledgeable replies.

“She's so good with them.” Hur's observation broke their companionable silence.

Miriam crushed more dried thyme, letting it fall into the bowl. “Mm-hmm.”

“Where are your thoughts right now?” Hur touched her cheek, startling Miriam from her task.

Miriam's face flushed as she ducked her chin. Since that day beneath the palm tree, Hur seemed to understand she wasn't ready to voice her feelings, but she'd at least stopped fighting them. “I was thinking how blessed we are,” she said. “In spite of Pharaoh's second refusal to let us leave Egypt, I feel like Yahweh is in control and will deliver us at the proper time.”

“It helps that we've seen Him confound orders from pharaohs in the past, doesn't it?” The impish grin on Hur's face reminded her of younger days.

“Do you remember pompous King Tut?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He was such a little boy, yet he thought himself a god who could order your wife and Puah to throw our male infants into the Nile. Our midwives were very brave to defy him.”

Hur gazed at a spot far beyond their small window. “I remember the day the Medjay guards arrested Shiphrah and dragged her and Puah before the king. It was a miracle Tut didn't order their executions.”

Miriam nodded. Their afternoons of memories nourished her soul. “Moses's whole life is a miracle. Do you remember how Ima Jochebed hid him for three months? Then one night, he cried all night—”

“I remember!” Hur's eyes were full of excitement. “And Jochebed and Amram coated a basket with pitch and—”

“And put Moses in it, then floated him on the Nile. I followed him into the bulrushes where Pharaoh's daughter was bathing. I couldn't believe it when Anippe rescued him.”

Hur patted her hand, looking deeply into her eyes. “Yahweh never looked away from your little brother. He provided Moses with an education and military training that would someday lead our people out of Egypt.”

As Hur recounted God's handiwork, envy constricted Miriam's chest—and she hated herself for it.
Yahweh, forgive me for being so petty.

Hur squeezed Miriam's hand. “Plagues and destruction aren't Yahweh's only miracles, are they? Sometimes we're slow to notice the miracles right in front of us.”

His gaze held her and made her heart flutter. Her mouth went dry, her mind utterly blank. What does one say when she's too old for passion yet too smitten to turn back?

Aaron chose that moment to enter the curtained doorway. “Where's Moses?” No greeting. No formalities. Typical.

Miriam jerked her hand from Hur's grasp, hoping Aaron hadn't seen their intimate touch. “He took Sattar and said they were going to pester Pharaoh's flocks.”

Aaron lowered himself to the mat beside Miriam. “Well, I'm tired of being ignored.”

“Am I ignoring you, Aaron?” She hoped he would say yes so she could gut him like a fish for the years he'd ignored Abba and Ima.

“Of course not, Sister. It's Moses who ignores me.”

Miriam felt a little guilty for her thoughts, but was more interested in Aaron's sudden readiness to confide in her. “I thought you were busy with metal shop projects that Nadab and Abihu brought home for you. Why do you care if Moses ignores—”

“Moses was supposed to let me speak to Pharaoh and the elders. When I met him in the wilderness, he told me he didn't speak well in front of others, so Yahweh chose me to be the spokesman. God was supposed to speak to Moses, and then Moses should tell me what to say. But Moses has been progressively doing more of the talking.”

Miriam thought Aaron sounded like the spoiled little brother she remembered growing up. What did he have to complain about? At least he was chosen by Yahweh. “Have you talked to Moses about your concerns?” She tried not to sound cranky.

“I was planning to wait until we prepared for the next plague, but Moses informed me earlier that he approached Pharaoh this morning in the royal stables and proclaimed the fifth plague would kill the livestock of Egypt.” Aaron's eyes bulged. “He did it alone! Without me!”

Miriam felt the news like a spear to her belly. Why had Moses not mentioned it to her? He had been in and out of the long house several times today. Annoyance began to boil. “What else did he say about the plague?”

Aaron raised one brow and leaned close. “He told me all livestock belonging to Egyptians will die, but God will again make a distinction and spare all Hebrew livestock. He refused to tell me how the animals will die, but Yahweh has set tomorrow again as the day of reckoning.”

Miriam's mind whirred with concern for the Egyptian peasants of Goshen. Many households of Taliah's students depended on livestock for their livelihood. “All Egyptian livestock or just the king's? Every animal or just certain types?”

“Moses said the plague would kill…” Aaron lifted his hand to count off the species, “Horses, donkeys, camels, cattle, sheep, and goats.”

Miriam thought of the camel and goats and geese they'd received, some of which came from Egyptian neighbors. Should they help their neighbors prepare for the plague? If they slaughtered the animals and began drying the meat now, they'd at least have something to eat later. But no one would believe her. Why hadn't Moses announced the plague to everyone so they could prepare? Her seething turned rancid. “I know how you feel, Aaron. When my services were no longer needed, I was given no fond farewell. I'm no more than a discarded midwife these days.”

She turned to Hur for support, but his expression was passive, unreadable.

“And he's arrogant.” Aaron jabbed the air with an accusing finger. “Moses lets the elders bow to him as if he were king. Some of the Egyptians even bow when he passes by.”

Miriam hadn't seen the bowing, but she was weary of the constant intrusion of visitors with gifts. “My patients must shove their way inside to get treatment. And did you see the goats in our pen outside? Moses won't let me sell them. Why do we need so many goats?”

Hur finally joined in. Leaning toward Aaron, he asked, “Why do you suppose Moses went to Pharaoh without you?”

“He's hungry for power, I suppose.” Aaron looked first at Miriam and then at Hur. “He wants all the glory now that Yahweh's plagues no longer harm the Israelites.”

Hur grasped Miriam's shoulder, gentle but firm. “Do you believe that?”

She swallowed hard. Did she really believe Moses was seizing glory for himself through Yahweh's miracles? No, even as an Egyptian prince, he hadn't sought fame and recognition. But he'd definitely hurt her by disregarding her position among the Israelites. “I think Moses should realize he's not the only one to whom Yahweh has spoken.” Miriam raised her chin, straightened her spine, and silently dared him to ask another question.

The sparkle in Hur's light-brown eyes faded, and he released a weary sigh. “I'm sure if you asked Moses why he went to Pharaoh alone, he would explain his decision. My guess is he was following Yahweh's orders, as I've watched him do since I arrived from Pithom.” He shook his head. “I'm sorry you two see Yahweh as a bauble to be traded and hoarded. I believe God is infinite, and we experience Him more fully when we share Him with others.”

He got to his knees, the silence magnifying every creak and pop of his joints. When he pushed to his feet, he looked down at Miriam. “I once knew a girl who heard El Shaddai whisper in her dreams. She delighted in God and her delight was contagious. But your delight is gone, Miriam.” Miriam drew a breath to defend herself, but Hur leaned down and kissed the top of her head, silencing her. “Yahweh's presence is constant. He never abandons us, but I think He grows tired of our flailing.” He disappeared through the curtained doorway before she could spew her protest.

Miriam sat fuming, and Aaron shuffled quickly to his feet. “I must get back to Elisheba. She'll wonder where I've been.”

“Can't you stand up to her once, Aaron? Can't you tell Elisheba that your sister needed you? You didn't get to say good-bye to Abba and Ima, and your two youngest sons won't step foot in your home. Haven't you sacrificed enough for your overbearing wife?” The words rushed out, heavy with years of bitterness.

Aaron stood, head bowed, silent under their weight. Miriam thought she'd feel relief at releasing the emotions she'd restrained for so many years. Instead she felt like Elisheba, battering Aaron with a stronger will.

“Go.” It was all Miriam could muster. And he obeyed.

Miriam sat alone in the home she'd known all her life, but she felt like a stranger in it. The baskets of grain sat in the same place, the jars of balm were arranged exactly right, and bundles of herbs hung from the proper rafters. Village children sat outside her window in the afternoon sun with a skilled teacher.
Your delight is gone,
Hur had said. Yes, her delight left when El Shaddai stopped whispering in her dreams—or had it gone before that? Hur said Yahweh's presence was constant, that she was fighting Him. Was it true?

A warm breeze wafted through the window, lifting a few stray hairs off her forehead.
Yahweh, is that You?
It was how she used to sense His presence.

But she neither heard nor sensed His reply. Instead, she remembered the conversation with Abba and Ima when she'd determined to experience Yahweh anew. Had she ever really tried?

Perhaps she hadn't tried, but Yahweh had revealed Himself anew in spite of Miriam's lack. He'd replaced the nighttime dreams and detailed, candid visions of her youth with shorter glimpses of an event that required discernment and were immediately fulfilled. Like when Aaron and Moses had been in danger and the warning Yahweh had given her of the frog plague. Hur's kiss was definitely a new experience of Yahweh's tenderness. Even Sattar's constant presence and protection felt like a provision of Yahweh's care.

She dropped her head into her hands, voice trembling. “Thank You, Yahweh, for Your sweet wooing. Forgive me for being so blind to Your presence.”

But something else nibbled at her heart, ate at her spirit. Why not speak the words to the One who already knew her thoughts? With a deep sigh, she spoke into the stillness. “Why are the delightful moments with You so fleeting? Why am I so easily drawn into bitterness and pettiness?”

Because you're angry with Me.

The words came as a knowing within her, not audibly, but as real as if Yahweh stood before her and spoke as a man. She hadn't dared admit the truth, but she was indeed angry with her Shaddai. Yahweh, who turned the Nile to blood; Yahweh, who sent frogs to Pharaoh's bed; Yahweh, who set boundaries on swarming flies. How dare she, a flawed human, a simple Hebrew slave, have the audacity to be angry with Him? But she was.

Still, He had the patience to woo her as she made these discoveries at her own pace. Her heart broke at the reality.