Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  The main room was simple yet elegant. This must be a guest house for visiting royalty. Perhaps Uzziah stayed here when he visited Amoz and Isaiah. She fell onto a stack of curly goatskin rugs and snuggled into the softness.

  But Asherah poked at her hip and pricked her conscience.

  She adjusted the alabaster goddess and then scanned the room, wondering where she might hide her treasure when Hosea took her to their home. Here she could find plenty of hiding spots. Beautiful vases, jugs, and bowls were stacked on shelves over a worktable and washbasin. This home even boasted a private oven, not shared with the farm or other houses around a courtyard. In fact, she noted on passing through Amos’s gates that most of the houses stood alone and were built into the surrounding mountains and hills. She’d felt a significant temperature change when she entered this large room and realized the natural-rock walls must help maintain a cool temperature in Tekoa’s desert climate.

  She closed her eyes and curled onto her side. Her body needed rest, but her spirit felt alive. Perhaps it was change that brought hope, but she felt more alive than she had since . . . well, since she and Hosea were children. The boy she’d thought abandoned her had reappeared and seemed to sincerely care. A slight flutter tightened her chest. Was this love? A wry smile creased her lips. What was love anyway? But she did care for Hosea. She’d be sad if anything happened to him.

  Then the familiar fear strangled her. What would she do if Hosea abandoned her again? Everyone abandoned her at some point.

  She reached for the alabaster goddess in her pocket, stroking the smooth, cool stone. Great Goddess Asherah, abundant mother of life, open my womb that I might have children one day to provide for me in my old age. She’d never before imagined such a prayer, but the thought comforted her. As a harlot, she’d dreaded children, done everything in her power to keep her body from producing them. Squeezing her familiar goddess, she felt a strange warmth move up her arm. Yes, she was ready to give herself to her husband. If not for love, then for her future.

  A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She sat up too quickly, and her head swam. I must eat something. She steadied herself and moved toward the door, wishing she hadn’t returned Hosea’s dagger and left herself unprotected. “Yes? Who is it?” she said through the thick wooden panels.

  “Shalom, dear. My name is Yuval. I’m Amos’s wife, and I’ve brought a small meal for nourishment.”

  Gomer glanced around the room, not sure what she was looking for, but equally unsure why the owner’s wife would bring her food in the middle of the night. “Hosea isn’t here. He’s helping King Uzziah.”

  A slight pause. “I know, dear. Amos is with them. I thought you might be hungry and we could share a meal. Would you be willing to let me in?”

  Now Gomer felt utterly foolish. “Of course. I’m so sorry . . . ,” she said, opening the door. But the face that waited outside shocked her into silence. “Merav?” Gomer began to tremble and covered her mouth to stifle a cry.

  “What? What’s wrong, dear?” The old woman rushed past her and set the tray of food aside. “Sit down. You look pale.”

  The face, the voice, even the hands—this old woman was Gomer’s midwife friend from the brothel. “Merav, I watched the guard kill you,” she whispered. She couldn’t take her eyes off the haunting face.

  “Tell me who you think I am, Gomer.” The ghostly matron led her to a rug beside the tray of food. “Your name is Gomer, right? You’re Hosea’s new bride?” She stroked Gomer’s hand as she talked, soothing, reasoning.

  “Yes, I’m Hosea’s wife.” Gomer shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. This must be a dream. But when she opened her eyes, Merav’s ghost was still there. “Oh, has Mot sent you back to punish me?” She began to cry, fear seizing her.

  “Shh, little one. Don’t cry. We’ll figure this out.” The old woman wrapped her in a ferocious hug. “You see? I’m real. Mot has no dominion among Yahweh’s people. I am Yuval, and no false gods will torment you here.” She rocked Gomer back and forth until her tears subsided.

  Finally feeling a measure of peace, Gomer released the soft, warm woman who had held her so tightly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a fool of myself, but you look exactly like the midwife and nursemaid at the broth—” She stopped, horrified that she’d almost told Yuval she’d been a harlot! It was bad enough she undoubtedly thought Gomer a madwoman. “My childhood nursemaid and the midwife who trained me—her name was Merav. I watched King Jeroboam’s guards stab her to death when she tried to save an infant from a temple sacrifice. You look remarkably like her.”

  Tears welled in Yuval’s eyes. “Oh, Gomer. I’m sorry you witnessed such a tragedy. Merav sounds like a brave and caring woman. I hope my life reflects her character as strongly as my face reflects her features.” She patted Gomer’s hand and leaned close. “Now, may I join you in the meal? And when we’re finished, I can help you unpack if you like.” She waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. “Who knows how long before our husbands come home.”

  “Unpack?” Gomer watched the dear old woman arrange warm bread and steaming stew on the leather table mat. “Are you taking me to Hosea’s house after we eat?”

  Yuval’s hand stopped midair, full of dates. “This is Hosea’s house, dear. Didn’t he tell you? This is your home now.”

  Hosea left the small stone house Amos had provided for King Uzziah and swirled his walking stick on the path in front of him. The vibration would warn off snakes, and the noise would alert any large predator of human presence. Once inside the camp’s gated compound, he no longer stayed vigilant for wilderness beasts. Now his mind could settle into the matters that weighed heavy on his soul. He trudged up the rocky path toward home, wondering if the world would ever make sense again. Judah’s righteous king—afflicted by Yahweh. He shook his head and sighed, his heart as heavy as his leaden feet.

  The priests had inspected every affected area on Uzziah’s body as the Law prescribed. Though the skin was white like leprosy, the hair in the affected area had not turned white, nor did the sores look more than skin deep. The decision—confinement for seven days—had wrought a piteous expression from the king. The Law required Yahweh’s priests to examine him every seven days to determine if the skin lesions were a simple rash or infectious. If at any point the lesions were determined infectious, he would be deemed unclean and must live outside any community indefinitely. The priests’ decision would determine Uzziah’s long-term living arrangements.

  Hosea read terror on the king’s features—a man who had thrived on activity, people, and accomplishment now sequestered in the stone-walled house no larger than his palace dressing room. With each requirement the priests listed, Uzziah’s shoulders sagged lower.

  “Your outer garment must be torn at all times as if mourning. Your beard must be covered with a mantle. And if anyone approaches the house, you must warn them to keep their distance by shouting, ‘Unclean, unclean!’ And we must shave your head, my lord.”

  At the final pronouncement, the king’s eyes grew round. “Surely you can set aside the bald head for your king. It is unheard of for Judah’s ruler to shave his head for any occasion.”

  It was Hosea’s first glimpse of the arrogance that had landed Uzziah in a rented house on Amos’s farm. Still, how did a king who offered all the right sacrifices, won all the right battles, built all the right towers . . . still fall under Yahweh’s most severe judgment?

  It was Uzziah’s arrogance that separated him from Me. Outward adherence is not inward devotion. I have shown through leprosy the outward sign of his inner corruption . . .

  Hosea.

  A cold chill crept up his spine. Hosea heard God’s words as if they were spoken aloud, but he’d never heard Yahweh call him by name. It was both tender and terrifying. Hosea fell to his knees on Tekoa’s rocky soil, laying his forehead on the ground, palms up to receive whatever Yahweh would give.

  Love your wife, Hosea. Love her as I love My people Israel. Love her as I
love Uzziah.

  A cool desert breeze swept over him, and the moment was over. Hosea lifted his head, heart racing. As You love Uzziah? What do You mean, Yahweh? But his spirit was silent. Would Yahweh send Jonah to help him understand? He glanced all around but saw no one stirring on Amos’s compound. Even the animals were bedded down for the night. He looked to the cloudless sky. The moon was bright, stars shining.

  There would be no explanation tonight.

  He stood and dusted off his robe. With a deep sigh, he let the exhaustion of the day settle into his bones. “I do love her, Yahweh.” He felt some of the sadness lift as he said the words aloud. His steps quickened. “I do love her.” With each step, he let thoughts of his wife draw him toward the stone house he’d once shared with his abba. Gomer had come so far in the three days since they’d left Samaria. She’d shared her fears, cried in his arms. She even seemed willing to submit to the fellowship meal at the temple—until she saw King Uzziah. Perhaps Yahweh had meant Hosea must teach her faithfully, love her consistently, and, if she rebelled, somehow discipline her.

  He wiped his tired face with a long swipe of his hands and looked up, judging the moon at past its midpoint. Gomer would be sound asleep. Tonight hadn’t been all that he’d hoped for together in their new home, but perhaps there would be space for him on the mattress beside her. He smiled at the thought.

  Anticipation pressed him onward, and he swung open the waist-high wooden gate of his small courtyard. He checked the stable, noting the new livestock he’d purchased for his household. The donkey and now two goats had fresh hay. He listened for the soft, contented clucking of hens on their nests. I must remember to thank Micah.

  Micah had become Hosea’s shadow since news of his prophetic message had filtered through the camp. He was a good boy, brought by his abba to study at the prophets’ camp three years ago, and Jonah took over his guardianship. Though Hosea didn’t feel the same kinship with him as with Isaiah, Micah was another little brother with whom he felt a special bond.

  Isaiah. A wave of melancholy swept over Hosea. Will You call him to ministry, Yahweh? Will he be called to sacrifice like me?

  He shook his head, scoffing inwardly. What sacrifice had he really made? He’d been married two full moon cycles and had never bedded his wife. Granted, considering Gomer’s beauty, that was a sacrifice. A wry smile creased his face. But waiting for her love was worth it. He stood for a moment outside his front door, rubbed his face again, and lifted the iron latch.

  A fire glowed in the oven, and lamplight flickered from the bedchamber.

  “Hosea?”

  His heart slammed against his chest, his mouth instantly dry. Nervous. Why was he nervous? “Yes, it’s me,” he said, standing rooted to the floor.

  A sound from the bedchamber, and then she was there. Gomer stood silhouetted in the doorway, lamplight illuminating perfect curves through her tunic. All breath left him.

  “Is the king all right?” she asked.

  Silence.

  “Hosea? Is he . . . is he . . . Oh!” She gasped, looking horrified.

  He realized she must think Uzziah dead.

  “No, the king is fine.” He rushed to her and wrapped her in his arms. Her hazel eyes searched his face. “The priests have confined Uzziah for seven days, and then they’ll inspect his wounds again . . .” He let his fingers slide up the back of her head, entangle in her copper curls. “I don’t want to talk about the king.” He kissed her, tasting the cloves he’d come to love. Tentative at first, he waited for her to stop him, to pull away—but she didn’t resist. She was intoxicating, filling every part of him with a joy and pleasure he’d never known.

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the wool-stuffed mattress he’d purchased before going to Israel. He’d been so uncertain then, questioning God’s plan, doubting Yahweh’s calling. He had no idea he’d find the little girl he’d cared for in Bethel. Now the little girl was the woman God had chosen as his wife.

  “Gomer, I will love you all my life,” he said, laying her gently on the bed.

  Her eyes blazed with a fire from within. “And I will make you happy you chose me.” She pulled him into an impassioned kiss, and Hosea was lost in a rapture he thought impossible this side of paradise.

  14

  • PROVERBS 12:4 •

  A wife with strength of character is the crown of her husband, but the wife who disgraces him is like bone cancer.

  Gomer lay beside Hosea in the first rays of dawn, studying every detail of her husband. No man had ever treated her with such gentleness, nor had she felt such tenderness toward any man. He’d been gentle yet strong. She’d lain with soldiers whose arms weren’t as defined as those she saw in the morning light. How she longed to trace her fingers over his heavy brows, narrow nose, and round eyes. His lips were deep red and soft—no doubt from the small vial of sheep fat he used while traveling through the wilderness. She smiled, remembering how he slipped it out of his pocket, coated his lips, and returned it to its hiding place.

  Oh my! The memory of the sheep fat in his pocket reminded her of the nonexistent gift she’d promised Hosea in Jerusalem. She’d successfully hidden her Asherah when they arrived in Tekoa, but how would she ever find a pocket-sized gift for her husband to make her lie seem true? Perhaps she could barter for something from Yuval without Hosea’s knowledge. Yuval could send Amos to purchase something from a nearby market. It seemed a harmless request.

  Hosea’s long, black eyelashes fluttered, and she laid her head on her arm, pretending to be asleep. When he didn’t stir again, she opened one eye and found him still sleeping. Leaning on her elbow, she watched his eyelids continue their dance. Merav said that when a baby’s eyelids fluttered, the gods were tickling them in their dreams. Oh, Merav.

  The thought of her old friend reminded her of the miraculous connection with Yuval. Amos’s wife had been as comfortable as an old pair of sandals, and Gomer wondered if her demeanor would change if she knew of Gomer’s past. What tricks were the gods playing to have sent her a new friend that so closely resembled her old nursemaid? After learning that Yuval was an orphan from the land of Israel, they pondered the exciting possibility that Merav could have been an unknown relative. Gomer knew nothing of Merav’s family, so they would likely never know. How extraordinary that I would travel so far and find someone like Merav in such a place.

  “You’re up early,” a husky voice said while strong arms rolled her to her back.

  She was consumed by Hosea’s presence. More than his physical form that loomed above her, it was the fullness of his presence that left her breathless.

  “I think I love you,” she said haltingly.

  He searched her expression but remained silent, and she cursed her foolishness. His elbows rested beside her head, and he combed his fingers through her hair. “Tell me what love means to you,” he said gently.

  She felt fire rise in her cheeks and turned away.

  He kissed her lips, then her neck, and whispered, “I love you and have promised to always love you. Now, please, my wife . . .” Another kiss. “Tell me why you think you love me.”

  She kissed him thoroughly, no desire to talk. But he eased away, grinned, and raised one eyebrow.

  “Uhh! I should never have said anything!”

  Her frustrated quip dowsed the fire in Hosea’s eyes. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

  Gomer squeezed her eyes shut. Why must they talk like old women at the well? Why couldn’t he be satisfied with her passion as other men had been? He’s not other men. He’s Hosea. She felt the gentle strumming on her fingers and couldn’t suppress a smile. He always knew how to calm her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said finally, still lying beside him looking at the ceiling. “It’s hard for me to tell how I feel because it’s like giving you a part of me that you can destroy.” Her throat tightened with emotion, and she considered stopping there. Surely that was enough to satisfy him. But then she remembered last night.
Perhaps she could trust him—just a little. “I think I love you because I don’t want any other man to touch me.” There. She’d said it. It wasn’t eloquent. It didn’t smell of roses. But it was the truth.

  Neither of them moved. She wondered what he was thinking but was afraid to ask.

  “Thank you for trusting me and for telling me you love me.” He leaned on his elbow then, hovering over her, and traced the line of her nose, her mouth, her neck. “I went to Israel because Yahweh told me to marry a prostitute and love her as He loves Israel. I thought that kind of love would be . . . I don’t know . . . practiced, strictly an arrangement. I never dreamed I would love this woman with every fiber of my soul.” Tears gathered on his long lashes. “I’m awed that God could love His people this way, and I’m beyond thankful that He gave you back to me after all this time.”

  “Oh! I just remembered!” Gomer’s sudden jolt startled her husband, and they both giggled.

  He pecked her nose with a kiss. “What could you possibly remember at such a moment?”

  She felt her cheeks burn again, but this time adoration, not shame, lit the spark. “When you said your god gave me back to you after all this time, it reminded me of Yuval. She brought a small meal last night, and I thought Mot had sent the ghost of my old friend Merav.” Hosea frowned, and Gomer wondered if he was confused or unhappy at her mention of Mot. “Do you remember the old woman who tried to stop the sacrifice in Jeroboam’s temple?”

  Hosea nodded slowly, recognition dawning. “I didn’t see her clearly, but I do seem to recall she resembled Yuval. But Gomer, you are among Yahweh’s people here. You need not fear the pagan gods while—”

  “I know,” she interrupted, hoping to skip the Yahweh lesson. “But while Yuval and I were talking, she told me that Amos’s abba bought her as an orphaned slave from Israel. She has little memory of her life before coming to Judah, and when Amos fell in love with her and claimed her as his wife, she was accepted into his family and has thought little of her Israelite roots.” Gomer realized she was sitting up, gesturing wildly, and Hosea was watching with an amused grin.