by Mesu Andrews
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 Ra
hmy 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.
“I see only relief on your face, and it troubles me. There’s no sorrow for sin, no compassion for others, not even a glimmer of fear or curiosity to learn more about the changing world around you.” Yuval’s appraisal stripped Gomer’s heart bare.
“You didn’t give me a chance to respond.” It was a pathetic answer, and Yuval’s silent challenge stirred her defenses. “What do you want me to say? Should I wail and moan because Assyria might someday attack Jerusalem? Why is it so terrible to be relieved that Hananiah didn’t abandon me?”
“It is your definition of abandoned that breaks my heart, little Gomer.”
Yuval reached for her walking stick and pushed herself to her feet, and Gomer’s heart plummeted. Her friend had finally given up on her. But to her shock and relief, the old woman pressed the stick into the dirt floor and drew a circle around herself.
When she finished, she looked up, a tender smile on her face. “I’m going to teach you what abandoned doesn’t mean, Daughter. You have drawn a circle around yourself—a very small circle. As long as everyone stays in your little circle, you believe they are with you. However, if someone steps outside of it, even for a moment, you feel abandoned and label that one a betrayer.”
“I do not!” Gomer’s indignation waned as the truth nibbled the edges of her heart.
Yuval raised a single eyebrow, silently awaiting permission to continue.
“You can keep going—since you’ve already scarred my floor with your drawing.”
The old woman tried to hide a wry smile. “Remember what I said before about the danger of becoming too focused on your own little circle—to the exclusion of the world around you. That great big world, where prophets and kings and nations are making all those decisions, can swallow you without warning. Those whom you accuse of abandoning you have stepped into a bigger circle—a circle you’ve chosen to ignore. Hosea has not abandoned you. Yahweh has not abandoned you. They are working in the wider world around you.”
Gomer blinked and nodded. All this talk of circles was confusing. What had happened to her no-nonsense, practical, fig-picking friend? The world would continue on its course with or without Gomer’s intervention or concern. In the meantime, she would hold tightly to the one thing that had given her hope since Ammi’s birth. Hananiah hadn’t left of his own choice. He’d been ordered to leave Tekoa. And now he was in . . .
Jerusalem.
I’m going to Jerusalem tomorrow!
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• HOSEA 8:14 •
The people of Israel have built palaces, and they have forgotten their maker. The people of Judah have built many fortified cities. [Yahweh] will send a fire on their cities and burn down their palaces.
Hosea and Gomer stood atop the hillside across the Kidron Valley. “Look,” he said, pointing at Yahweh’s temple. “It’s like a gleaming jewel, and the city walls are like a crown.”
Gomer smiled in response—really smiled—with a grin that reached her eyes.
He turned and hurried down the hill. His wife would no doubt keep the pace, maintaining the renewed vigor she’d shown since early this morning. She’d awakened before dawn, rattling around in the main room, packing for their journey. He hadn’t seen her this happy since before Jezzy was born. Her days of uncleanness and seclusion had been difficult. She needed activity and people like olive trees needed sun, soil, and rain, and this trip to Jerusalem seemed to blow a fresh breeze of life into her.
Hosea looked up, shaded his eyes, and measured the sun’s position. “It’s past midday. We’ve made good time.”
He glanced behind him and saw that Gomer was following closely but didn’t answer. She’d seemed lighthearted throughout their journey—though not especially talkative. The joy of the olive harvest anointed their travel, and each time they rested for little Ammi to nurse, Gomer chatted with a local farmer and invariably convinced him to shake an olive tree. She would then dance in circles, palms upturned, catching th
e falling fruit like raindrops. The farmers were so entertained, they made a gift of the olives Gomer captured. Hosea chuckled at the memory and stopped to catch his breath.
“What are you laughing about?” Gomer caught up and issued an annoyed glance.
He produced a few olives from his pocket as a peace offering. “I was wondering how you could still be so enamored with olive tree shaking after living on Amos’s farm for three years.”
Her brow furrowed, and Hosea feared he would catch her all-too-familiar wrath, but a wry smile tugged at a corner of her lips instead. “It’s the only time I can dance without drawing scorn.”
The revelation stole Hosea’s breath—and broke his heart. She’d undoubtedly intended the remark as humorous, but it revealed a yearning for her old life. Had she wished she could dance this morning when they’d passed Amos’s hired hands shaking the camp’s olive trees? My wife will never be free to dance and catch olives in the prophets’ camp. In Tekoa, Gomer would always be Hosea’s wife, the harlot.
“Come on. We’ll need to hurry home after your purification to help press the olives.” He resumed his downhill march, unwilling to dwell on the realities of their future when today was about the joy of Ammi’s life. “Amos said some of the shepherds weren’t able to help with the olive processing this year because the drought was sending them deeper into the wilderness for water.” He planted his toes into the dusty ground, steadying his descent toward the Kidron Valley. “Let’s cut across here. We’ll take a shortcut to the northern entrance of the city.”
“Hosea, slow down! I’m afraid I’ll fall.”
He looked back and watched his petite wife picking her way down the steep grade, cradling the precious bundle in the sling wrapped over her shoulder and around her waist. Her eyes were intent on the rocky terrain, and a deep scowl etched her brow. What am I thinking? Gomer wasn’t an experienced traveler like Micah—or even Jonah. He’d let his mind wander instead of tending to his wife.
