Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  “Yuval, would you like me to help with the figs tomorrow?” Hosea offered softly. “Perhaps after I’ve had a chance to rest tonight and take care of my wife?”

  A short silence required all of Gomer’s resolve to keep her eyes averted.

  “Ohh, yes, yes. I need to get home and check on Amos.” Yuval hurried over to Gomer and squeezed her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, child. You and your husband have much to discuss.” A wink and a smile, and her friend hurried away.

  The door clicked shut, and silence fell like a cold, wet blanket.

  Gomer began to tremble. So much time had passed without a word from him, and now he was going to take care of her?

  Footsteps drew near.

  She began shaking violently, unable to stop the tears. How could she ever trust him? Would he leave every time she needed him? She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking, keening like the mourners when her ima had died.

  He knelt behind her. She felt his presence but still didn’t dare turn to look. Would he disappear again if she saw him? Would he vanish if she dared hope one more time? The ache in her heart deepened, and she felt his legs scoot around her, his arms enfold her. Like the rafters of the Bethel temple when we were children. She closed her eyes and remembered the safety of his arms, and her wailing turned to quiet sobs.

  Her head lolled against his chest, and he laid her back into the crook of his elbow. She closed her eyes, still terrified to see the handsome face hovering above her. She felt his breath, warm on her cheek.

  “I have missed you, my precious wife. I’m sorry I had to leave you, but I’m home now, and I’ll be everything you need me to be while I’m here.” He kissed the tears from her cheek.

  A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but only one couldn’t wait. She opened her eyes to look at her child’s abba. “Hosea, I’m pregnant,” she said, scrutinizing his first reaction.

  A lazy grin creased his lips. His soft brown eyes danced with delight. “I know.”

  “You know?” She sat upright, her back straight as a rod. “How do you know?”

  He curled one of her copper locks around his finger. “Yahweh told me, and it’s going to be a boy.”

  “Oh! That’s not fair! I endure all the retching, but you get all the good news—” Without a moment’s warning, Gomer vomited all over her husband. Fortunately, she didn’t have much in her stomach. When she finished, they stared at each other wide-eyed.

  A slow, satisfied grin stretched across Gomer’s lips. “Welcome home, Husband.”

  “Good Sabbath, my love.” Hosea’s voice reached into the pleasant half-consciousness of Gomer’s first thoughts.

  Smiling, she nestled into his warmth. “Mmm, yes it is, because you are here with me.” Nearly five full moons had passed since Hosea’s return, and their lives had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Gomer’s sickness was forgotten with the joyful flutter of life in her womb, and Hosea—true to his word—had been everything she needed him to be, which included a constant friend and companion.

  The morning air was crisp, but she felt him nudge the blanket off her belly. He chuckled when she growled, but she still refused to open her eyes. “We’ll break our fast, and then . . .” He traced little circles around the dark, flat place that was once her belly button, seemingly fascinated by her changing body. “And then I think we should invite Amoz to join us for today’s visit with King Uzziah.”

  Gomer’s eyes popped open to find Hosea hovering over her. “Amoz hasn’t visited Uzziah since he moved to camp. Why today? Has Yahweh spoken to you?”

  He tucked a stray copper curl behind her ear. “I haven’t heard a direct word from Yahweh, but Uzziah and I have become friends during our daily visits—man-to-man more than prophet-to-king—and I sense a real sadness at the relationship he and Amoz have lost through the years.”

  Gomer traced her husband’s eyebrow and let her hand slide around his jaw onto his lips. He kissed her finger, and she drew him close. After a moment of tenderness, she lay at his side. “Whatever destroyed Uzziah’s relationship with Amoz has also come between Isaiah and his abba.”

  Hosea remained silent for a time, and Gomer wondered if he’d fallen asleep. She glanced over, saw him staring at the ceiling.

  “I plan to be an excellent abba.” He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over her. “I will go to Israel whenever Yahweh calls me, but I will always come back, Gomer.”

  Her heart stopped, all blood draining from her face. “Are . . . are you leaving?” It came out in a squeak.

  “No! No! I’m just thinking about Isaiah and Amoz—”

  “Uhh!” She shoved him away, frustration and anger seizing her. “Don’t ever do that to me again!”

  He pulled her to his chest in spite of her protests, holding her tightly, whispering above the loud pounding of her heart. “Isaiah has lived in the same house with his abba all his life, yet they barely speak. I may be called away from my wife and children for long periods of time, but I believe Yahweh will still bless our family, Gomer. I have to trust Him. We have to trust Him.”

  “I can’t think about you leaving,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d survive, Hosea. Yuval is still trying to teach me to cook, and I’ve never taken care of a baby—Merav tended all the brothel children.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Why did she bring up her past when he was thinking of leaving? What if he did abandon her? Where could she go now?

  “I think we should ask Aya to help you with the baby when he comes.”

  “No!” Gomer sat up straight as an arrow. “I won’t have Maiden Do-Right spying on me and then telling everyone in camp I’m a terrible ima. Why can’t Yuval help me?”

  “Yuval will be busy with the breba fig harvest.”

  Panic shot through Gomer. “Will she be here for the birth?”

  “Yes, of course. Amos told me she’s already got that birthing contraption at their house, ready to bring it over when you show the first signs of labor. But remember, when fig harvest begins, she’s busy from sunrise to well past dark.”

  Gomer had spent most of her time with Hosea during the past days and wondered how he knew Yuval’s schedule better than she. The thought of Aya’s pure and polite presence hovering over her every morning set her teeth on edge. “Why can’t we ask someone else?”

  The tenderness in his expression disarmed her. “Aya wants to be your friend, Gomer. She’s apologized a dozen times to you and to me. She could care for the baby and prepare an evening meal, making it possible for you to return to work at the pottery shop after midday—if you still wish to work the clay.”

  All her bluster, all her anger—gone with his proposal about the workshop. She was still awed that he’d allowed her apprenticeship to continue during the pregnancy. Each morning Hosea taught her lessons from Yahweh’s Law and then escorted her to the pottery shop after their midday meal. But working after the baby came?

  “You’d let Amoz continue to teach me?”

  “I see the joy in your eyes when you tell me what you’ve learned. Yahweh has called me to prophesy. I feel His pleasure when I obey. Perhaps He’s called you to work the clay.”

  Tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t ready to admit Yahweh had any plans for her, nor was she willing to agree to Aya’s daily invasion—but she was overwhelmed at the love of her husband. It was more than she had ever dreamed of.

  With a quick kiss, she scooted off the bed. “I’m hungry. I’ll bring us some goat cheese and bread so we can break our fast in bed.” She hurried into the main room, hoping to silence him. “We’ll decide about Aya later. We’ll invite Amoz to our visit with Uzziah today.”

  Hosea pulled his outer garment around his ears and began pacing again—fourteen footsteps between his front door and the stable. Gomer had gone into labor just after midday. Her water had broken while at the pottery workshop, and Amoz had run home, carrying Gomer in his arms.

  The moon was now well past its midpoint, and the
winter winds whipped Hosea’s hair as he counted. “One, two, three . . .”

  “Aahh!” Gomer screamed. Her shouts had become more frequent but weaker.

  “I can’t stand this!” Hosea marched toward the door, but Isaiah blocked his path.

  “Yuval is taking care of Gomer. I don’t think you should go in there.”

  “But I need to see her,” Hosea said, empowered by fear. Isaiah was taller and stronger, but he was easily shoved aside.

  “The last thing Gomer needs is a frantic husband frightening her.” A gentle voice restrained him. Both young men turned and found Amoz offering Hosea his stool. “And the last thing you need is to watch your wife suffer.” His voice faltered. “It’s an image you can never erase.” The potter worked his jaw like his hands worked clay.

  Hosea clenched and unclenched his fists, torn between wise counsel and his wife’s weakened wails.

  “I never knew you were with her in the end.” Isaiah’s voice was a whisper, his face as gray as the moon above. “Is that why you’ve never lov—” He stopped, his voice choked.

  “I took you from her arms,” Amoz said, raising his chin. “And I have loved you both every day of my life.”

  Hosea watched abba and son stand like pillars in unyielding years of pain. “I’m sorry, Amoz. I had no idea you were with Isaiah’s ima . . .” He glanced at Isaiah. “I didn’t know.”

  “They’ll come for you if Gomer is in danger.” Amoz’s eyes welled with tears. “Sometimes no news is good news.” He stole a glimpse of his son and cleared his throat. “I should get back to the pottery shop and clean up.” He turned and hurried from the courtyard.

  Hosea sighed and laid his hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “I knew your ima died giving you birth, but I had no idea . . .”

  “Now we both know,” Isaiah said, his words dripping with venom. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you.”

  Hosea nodded. “Do you want to talk?” Gomer let out another scream, and Hosea fought the urge to claw down the door. “Talk to me, Isaiah. Tell me something to keep me from going in there.”

  Eyes wide, Isaiah began recounting his story. “My ima’s name was Levana. All I know about her, I learned from cousin Uzziah. He said my parents weren’t married long, but Abba loved her.” He wiped his eyes. “Uzziah said my abba used to laugh. He used to talk more—even sing sometimes—before I was born. Something happened between Abba and Uzziah when we moved here to Tekoa. They’ve spoken very little, but Abba makes sure I spend a lot of time with my cousin.” He wiped his face on his sleeve and laid an arm around Hosea’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s walk. I’m done talking for a while.”

  The front door opened, and Hosea whirled around. Lamplight cast a glow around Yuval, who held a small bundle wrapped in brown wool. “Your wife would like to see you now.”

  Hosea rushed to the babe, inspecting his downy black hair and pinched face. “He’s beautiful.” He leaned over to kiss the little one, and Yahweh’s voice echoed in his spirit: Name him Jezreel. You must proclaim throughout Israel that in a little while I will punish Jehu’s family for the people they slaughtered at Jezreel. Then I will put an end to the kingdom of Israel. On that day I will break Israel’s bows and arrows in the valley of Jezreel.

  Hosea looked up at Yuval, startled. “Did you hear that?”

  Brows furrowed, she looked to Isaiah for clarification. “Hear what?”

  Isaiah grinned. “I believe our friend has heard from the Lord again.” Eyes damp, he said, “I felt a cool breeze but didn’t hear His words, my friend.”

  Hosea patted Isaiah’s cheek. “You’re right about Yahweh’s presence, and I did hear a message.” His spirit stirred again, and he waited for another word from the Lord. Nothing specific this time, but a sort of quickening told Hosea that Yahweh had more to impart.

  Hosea returned his attention to Isaiah, whose face reflected the joy Hosea felt. What are You telling me, Yahweh? He heard no inner voice, felt no breeze, saw no burning bush or fiery chariot like prophets before him had.

  He received a thought. An understanding. Isaiah had a role in this calling of Jezreel.

  Hosea leaned over to kiss Yuval’s cheek and lifted his newborn son from her arms. “Yahweh told me to name the boy Jezreel.”

  “‘God will sow,’” Isaiah said, nodding his approval. “It’s a fine name, rich with meaning.”

  “The meaning is greater than you realize, my friend.” Yuval had already retreated into the house, leaving the two men alone with the infant. “My son’s name reflects Yahweh’s judgment on the house of Jehu for those they slaughtered in the valley of Jezreel.” He saw Isaiah’s joy fade and could only imagine Gomer’s response to the gruesome symbolism. “I’m to return to Israel with this message of judgment—tomorrow.”

  Isaiah’s face went ashen. “What about Gomer? What about your new son?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve asked those questions too?” The words, spoken almost as a reflex, sounded harsher than he intended.

  Isaiah’s expression softened. “I know you’re doing what you believe you must, but are you sure it has to be tomorrow? Perhaps you misunderstood, and Yahweh is preparing you for your next mission—later—after you’ve spent more time with Gomer and Jezreel.”

  Hosea studied the small form in his arms, memorizing every wrinkle and eyelash illuminated by the torchlight. His heart broke at the thought of leaving his newborn—and his wife.

  “I heard Yahweh’s voice clearly, Isaiah. I must leave at sunrise.” Hesitating, he measured again his understanding of Isaiah’s role in this mission. Yahweh, are You truly calling Isaiah to accompany me to Israel, or is it my own idea? Hearing no clear answer, he pressed forward with his impression. “I felt a nudge from the Spirit, but it wasn’t as definite as the prophecy of judgment. I’d like you to seek the Lord’s will and then give me your answer before sunrise.”

  Isaiah looked puzzled but stood a little taller, seemingly honored to be asked for counsel.

  “I realize your marriage to Aya is planned for the next new moon celebration.” Hosea cringed at the thought of missing it. “Though Yahweh didn’t speak directly, I believe He wants you to accompany me to Israel—and I doubt that we could return in time for your wedding.”

  The dawning of Hosea’s plan settled on Isaiah’s features, and all eagerness fled. “You’re asking me to miss my own wedding?”

  Hosea bit back an angry response in favor of a pointed one. “Yahweh doesn’t always choose the most convenient times for His prophets to obey His commands.”

  Isaiah narrowed his eyes and raised his chin. “You’ll have my answer by sunrise.”

  The baby squirmed and fussed, stealing Hosea’s attention. When he glanced up, Isaiah was walking out of his courtyard. “Wait! Isaiah!”

  His friend raised his hand and waved. “You were right. If I’m going to be Yahweh’s prophet, I must sometimes choose between comfort and obedience.” He cast a grin over his shoulder. “Go tell your wife she’s amazing. I’ll pray about my decision and talk to you at sunrise.” He continued out the gate and toward his house.

  Hosea felt full, blessed, awed by Yahweh’s provision. He was surrounded by dear friends, family of the heart. His firstborn son lay in his arms, and a renewed urgency to see Gomer surged through him.

  An urgency equaled only by the dread of her reaction to his departure. Yahweh, give me wisdom to speak Your message tenderly. Give Gomer ears to hear and eyes to see the deeper meaning of our lives.

  20

  • LEVITICUS 12:2 •

  When a woman gives birth to a boy, she will be unclean for seven days.

  Yuval scurried about, gathering soiled linens and sprinkling scented oils in the dusty corners of the room. Gomer drifted in and out of exhausted slumber, still trying to grasp the truth. Asherah had answered her prayers.

  A child. She had borne Hosea a child.

  “Say shalom to your ima, Jezreel.” Hosea slipped into their bedchamber, nuz
zling the bundle in his arms. His eyes glistened as he approached their bed. “He’s beautiful, my love. You are amazing.”

  A sob escaped before she could restrain it. She’d never felt so loved, so treasured.

  Hosea placed the babe in Yuval’s arms and knelt a cubit from the bed, careful not to touch it—or Gomer. Confusion warred with disappointment. “What’s the matter? Why don’t you come clos—” Before she finished the question, she remembered the Law and quoted it aloud. “‘When a woman gives birth to a boy, she will be unclean for seven days.’”

  He seemed pleased that she remembered until she spat the word unclean. “Gomer, Yahweh’s Law protects women from infection. Men in other nations disrespect their wives and return to their beds too soon, placing them in danger and—”

  “I’m too tired for a lesson, Hosea.” She turned toward the wall. Sleep. She’d feel better after she slept.

  “Gomer, please. We need to talk.”

  She turned slowly, meeting his gaze and lifting a single brow.

  Yuval split the space between them and placed Jezreel on the mattress beside Gomer. “I’ll leave you three alone,” she said. “There’s bread and cheese, olives, and dates on the table in the other room.” Pinning Hosea with a stare, she added, “Make sure she eats something and drinks plenty of water. It’s your job to tend her until I come back in the morning.”

  Gomer silently cheered her friend and champion. It felt good to have someone on her side.

  Hosea winked and smiled at the old woman. The two were close, and somehow, that too felt good.

  Yuval nodded a sleepy good-bye, and the couple waited in silence until the door clicked shut behind her.

  “Yahweh told me our son’s name,” Hosea said. “Jezreel. It means ‘God will sow.’”

  Gomer cuddled the babe into the crook of her arm, running her finger over the slope of his nose, entranced by the little being she’d just birthed.