But Rebekah was not deceived. She knew Esau was capable of murder, and she did not miss the looks of hatred he always gave his brother, Jacob. Finally she devised a scheme and went directly to Jacob with it.
She found him out in the fields with the flock, for he often stayed away from the camp now. She knew he was troubled over having deceived his father and was fearful of his brother’s revenge. When he turned to her, she said, “Jacob, your brother will kill you as soon as he has a chance.”
“I know it,” Jacob said bitterly. He stared at his mother and shook his head almost violently. “I wish I’d never done it, Mother.”
“It was necessary,” Rebekah said. She put her hand on his chest and felt his heart beating. “It will be all right. In time he will forget it.”
“Not Esau. He never forgets a wrong.”
“Listen to me, Jacob. I want you to go to Haran.”
“To Haran? What for?”
“I want you to go stay with my brother Laban.”
“Stay with him? For how long?”
“A few days…or weeks, perhaps. Even a few months would not be too much. You must stay away long enough for Esau to lose this hatred for you.” She spoke quickly and persuasively. “Esau is an impulsive man. He will forget what you’ve done to him, and when he does I will send word for you to come home again.”
Jacob felt a weight lift at her words. “I will go, Mother, but what will we tell Father?”
“Let me talk to him. We’ve already talked about your finding a wife. You must not marry one of these Canaanite women. You must find a wife among our own people.”
Jacob shrugged. “I’m not worried about finding a wife. All I want to do is stay alive.”
Rebekah leaned forward and pulled Jacob’s head down and kissed him. “All will be well,” she said. “You will not be gone long, and you may find a woman there to love. A woman of our own people. Get ready. I will go tell your father.”
Isaac never spoke of the blessing Jacob had tricked him into making. Rebekah had prepared Isaac to meet with Jacob by saying, “You must be kind. What’s done is done, and Jacob must not marry a Canaanite woman. He must go to my brother Laban. There will be young women there, and my brother will help him choose.”
Isaac reached out toward his son, and when Jacob took his hand, he said, “My son, you must not take a wife from among the daughters of Canaan. Your mother and I want you to go to Paddan Aram, to the house of Bethuel, your mother’s father. Take a wife from one of the daughters of Laban, your mother’s brother.” He hesitated, then seemed to grow freer. He lifted his head and strained to see his son’s face. “May God Almighty bless you and make you fruitful and increase your numbers until you become a community of peoples. May he give you and your descendants the blessing of Abraham, so that you may take possession of the land where you now live as an alien, the land God gave to Abraham.”
Relieved that Isaac had not mentioned his deceit concerning the blessing, Jacob kissed his father and left the tent. His mother had gathered his things together, and now she embraced him. “Go quickly, my son.”
“I will miss you, Mother!”
“It will not be long,” Rebekah promised. “You will be back in a short time. Now, God be with you.”
Jacob shouldered his belongings and, taking his staff, left the camp. As he did, a sinking feeling came to him. He turned back to see Rebekah standing in front of her tent. Something about her posture disturbed him. He waved and smiled and called, “Good-bye, Mother,” but she did not move for a long time. Finally she lifted her hand in a gesture of farewell, but he saw she was weeping.
Why is she weeping? I’ll soon be back—maybe with a fine wife. With this thought he comforted himself and hurried out of the camp.
The night was coming on, and Jacob sought a place to rest. He had been on his journey four days now, and his provisions were almost gone. He had brought a bow and arrows but had been unable to take down any game. The game was plentiful, but Jacob had never honed his skill with bow and arrow. Bitterly he thought, If Esau were here, he’d be feasting by now.
When he stopped for the night, the place was filled with rocks. He had to search to find some softer ground in between them.
Opening his bag, he ate the portion of mutton that was left and saw that he was practically out of food. He drank the last of the wine in the goatskin and then sat back and watched the sun set.
All day he had walked under a bright, full sun, and now the crimson disk was settling into the west, far away behind the mountains. The air was becoming chilled, and he shivered. Drawing out his blanket, he wrapped it around himself, lay back, and tried to sleep. All around him, as the sun disappeared, pearl-colored shadows covered the rocks, and the rough terrain with its scrub bushes took on soft, silver shadings. The peace of evening magnified distant sounds, and a sense of loneliness came over him as he heard the far-off cries of a wild dog. He watched as dust whirled in the small wind gusts, skimming along the surface of the world. Then night settled almost at once.
Jacob lay awake for a while, his mind full of his life history. He had the gift of almost total recall, and time and again he relived the scene when his father had put his hand on him and given him the blessing of the firstborn. He tried desperately to believe that his real motive had been to fulfill the prophecy his mother had been given. He tried to convince himself that what he and Rebekah had done had been a good thing. It had been necessary for God to achieve His purpose. But when Jacob tried to pray, the scene came before him, and he could sense God’s displeasure. The thought chilled him.
Finally he built up a fire and sat for a long time watching it. From time to time he would light a twig and watch the yellow flame as it glowed briefly in the darkness. Overhead, stars spangled the ebony skies. There were no clouds, and when he looked up and saw the stars, he remembered his grandfather repeating the promise God had made him—that he would have descendants as many as the stars in the sky.
Jacob tried to count them, then shook his head, feeling foolish. “No man could count them,” he said aloud. The sound of his own voice startled him, and he picked up a stick and poked the fire. The action sent hundreds of tiny sparks flowing upward, twisting and turning in the breeze. They rose high in the air and seemed to mingle with the distant dots of fire in the sky.
Finally weariness overtook Jacob, and he wrapped himself as warmly as he could. But for a long time he lay thinking of his past, wishing he could undo some of the things he had done.
A light came so abruptly and sharply that Jacob could not bear it. He was confused and put his hands over his eyes to blot out the intense brightness. He was frightened also, for such brilliance out of such darkness was not natural.
And then he knew he was dreaming. This had happened to him before when in a dream he knew he was dreaming. It always gave him an eerie feeling, and the thought troubled him now as he lay shielding his eyes. What if I never wake up? What if this is the Strong One coming to kill me?
A sound came to him then that he had never heard before, and in his dream he sat up and removed his hand from his eyes. What he saw that moment he would never forget. A stairway glowing with light appeared before him. The bottom of it was planted on the desert, but it went up and up and up, higher than any mountain Jacob had ever seen or could even conceive of. It rose high into the air, and the size and magnificence of the stairway, which glowed like pale gold and glittered like diamonds, would have been enough to frighten him.
But even more frightening was the fact that the stairway was occupied! The beings were glorious beyond anything he had ever seen. Their faces—what faces they had! Jacob realized they were angels, some going up the ladder, ascending out of sight, and others coming down. They were older than the hills yet younger than the morning dew, and they were innocent. He knew he had never seen such innocent faces in all his life! Every face he had seen on earth was a mirror reflecting guilt and wrongdoing and sin.
But these beings had no sin, and th
ey exuded joy. And as they sang, the melodies they lifted were songs of praise such as Jacob could not have imagined. There were as many of them, it seemed, as stars in the sky, and they sang together—some in basso profundo tones, others with climbing, soaring soprano voices reaching the heavens. He could not understand the words, but he knew they all united to praise the glory of the everlasting God.
Jacob watched and listened, and the glory of the angelic beings and the stairway that reached far beyond the stars filled his soul. He was wishing he could stay there forever when he heard a voice he knew he would never forget.
It was as deep as the sea, as powerful as a storm with the strength to rip the earth asunder…yet as gentle as a breeze that might barely stir the tiny feathers of a small bird. There was comfort in that voice—and love and joy and strength—and it seemed to soak into Jacob like water to a man dying of thirst. He looked up and saw a mighty light above the stairway, majestic in its power and radiance. Yet the voice was close—in his ear…and in his heart.
“I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”
And then the angelic hosts lifted their voices in a triumphant song that seemed to move heaven and earth. It rose above heaven and went down to the deepest parts of the earth, but most of all it sank into Jacob’s soul. He never forgot that melody, and he mourned the rest of his life because he knew he would never hear it again on this earth.
Jacob sat straight up, frightened, and looked around wildly. He saw that it was morning, and he knew that the dream had taken all night. He would never forget the stairway, nor the voice, nor the words. He felt a great surge of joy, and he jumped to his feet, lifting his arms and crying, “Oh, Lord God, you are real! You have spoken to me as you spoke to my grandfather Abraham and to my father, Isaac, and to my mother. I praise and thank you, my God, for stooping down to speak to a sinner such as I!”
Jacob walked around praising God, tears flowing down his face. He took the stone he had used for a pillow and heaved it on top of an upthrust rock, forming a pillar. Then going to his pack, he pulled out a small jar of oil. He returned to the stone and poured the oil over it, tears filling his eyes. He stepped back and fell on his knees and lifted his voice toward heaven. “I call the name of this place Bethel—‘house of God.’ If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear so that I return safely to my father’s house, then the Lord will be my God. This stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God’s house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.”
Then Jacob fell on his face sobbing, and he felt again in his heart a trace of the glory he had seen. He lay facedown, simply giving thanks to God, knowing that one day he would come back to this place. Finally he got to his feet, gathered his pack, and took one last look around. “This place is none other than the house of God, and this is the very gate of heaven!”
Chapter 7
Jacob had begun to think that Paddan didn’t exist! Ever since he had seen the vision of the great stairway reaching up into heaven, he had marched hard across the arid lands. Water holes had been scarce, and at times his tongue had grown as dry as the sand and stones under his feet. His sandals had worn out, and he had cut pieces of leather off his pack in order to fashion new ones. Walking barefoot across the burning sand and rocks was intolerable.
As he approached the crest of the rise before him, he had little hope of seeing anything other than more desert. He had come over many such rises, and every time he had been greeted not with the sight of human habitation but only with more low, barren hills stretching endlessly over the horizon. With tongue swollen, feet torn and bleeding, and stomach shrunken from lack of food, his thoughts went back to Bethel, where he had met God face-to-face. Despite the discomforts his body suffered now, the memories he had of his past life were even harsher. Even with the glory of the vision still fresh in his mind, he could not help thinking what a wreck he had made of his life. If I’d set out to ruin myself, I couldn’t have done it better! He shut his eyes as if to blot out the bitter thoughts. He caught his toe on a rock, and pain shot up his leg. Hopping on one foot, he held his toe, wanting to fling his staff far from him in a rage. But that would not do, for he needed something to lean on.
Stumbling on, he berated himself for his stupidity. What did that vision mean? How can God use such a sorry fellow as I am? He knows everything I’ve done. You can’t hide from God. He remembered his mother’s words: “Soon you will come home again.”
“Fat chance of that,” Jacob groaned. “Esau will never forget what I did to him. Never! I might as well get used to never seeing home again.”
The sun rose higher in the sky as the lone figure stumbled along. A wild dog emerged from behind a rock, and the two stared at each other. For a moment Jacob thought the dog meant to attack him, but when he shouted and waved his staff, the animal ducked away and disappeared into the low-growing shrubs—the only vegetation the desert offered. Looking up, Jacob spotted three buzzards circling over to his right, and a shiver went through him. “They’re just waiting to get me, but they won’t,” he muttered grimly.
Less than half an hour after seeing the dog and the buzzards, Jacob reached the top of yet another crest. His legs were trembling with weariness, and he had never been so dirty in all of his life. When he topped the crest, he stopped dead still. There lying before him was a large valley with lush green grass that bespoke of springs and human beings.
He stumbled forward anxiously, nearly falling, and saw spots of white that he realized were sheep. He moved as fast as he could, but he was using his last reserves of strength. Then he remembered the promise God had given to protect him. Gratefully he uttered, “Thank you, God, for bringing me safely here!”
The valley opened up beneath his feet, and soon he was walking on a thin crust of dirt, dotted with tendrils of grass. But Jacob was looking for water, not grass.
Soon he heard the bleating of the sheep, and the grass became thicker. A sigh of relief washed through him as he saw two men leaning on their staffs watching him stumble forward. Jacob lifted his hand and croaked, “Greetings.”
The two men nodded but did not speak, and Jacob realized with chagrin that he was not much to look at. He was filthy from head to foot; his hair was clogged with the dirt of the desert and hung lankly around his shoulders. His knees were bleeding from the numerous falls he had taken, crusted with brown blood, and his clothes were ripped by the many thorns he had encountered along the way.
“Water!” Jacob gasped. “Please give me a drink!”
One of the two men looked at the other, and an unspoken message passed between them. He shrugged and said, “There’s your water. Help yourself.”
Jacob turned and saw a rock and beside it clear water bubbling forth. It fed a small stream that wound its way in a serpentine fashion, outlined now by the sheep that gathered around both sides of it, making a white line across the valley floor.
Dropping his staff and his pack, Jacob fell on his face and stuck his mouth under the water. It was cold and the best drink he had ever had in his life! He drank until he could hold no more and could almost feel the fluid seeping into his dry tissues. He stuck his whole head under the stream, letting it mat his hair, then rolled over and came to his feet. Wiping the water from his face and pressing it from his hair, he said, “Thank you, sirs.”
“You look like you’ve had a hard trip.”
“Yes. All the way from Beersheba.”
Both shepherds shook their heads, and the taller of the two said, “That’s not a good tr
ip for a man to make alone. There are bandits and bears between here and there.”
Jacob smiled wryly. “I know. But it was a journey I had to make.”
“Where are you going?”
“Do you know of Laban?”
The shorter of the two grimaced. “Laban?”
“He’s a relative of mine,” Jacob said.
“My name is Doni and this is Razo,” the taller man said. “We live over in that direction.”
“But you know Laban?” Jacob asked again.
Doni laughed. “Yes, we know him, but we don’t know much good about him, even if he is your relative.”
Jacob’s heart sank, and he saw the two watching him closely. “What evil do you know of him?”
“Oh, he’s not a criminal or anything like that.” Razo shrugged his scrawny shoulders.
“He would be if he had the chance, though.” Doni grinned. “But I guess the worst thing I can say about him is that he spends most of his time in the village drinking when he ought to be tending to his business.” He peered closely at Jacob. “You haven’t let him borrow any money, have you?”
“No, certainly not!”
“Well, I wouldn’t if I were you.” He laughed, saying, “He’s got two sons, Lomach and Benzar, dark-skinned fellows.”
“That’s right. They were born to a black concubine when Laban was a young man. He’s too cheap to hire good help, so those two take care of what work is done—which isn’t much.”
“Is that all the family he has?”
“Oh, he’s got a wife—who scares me somehow. She’s some kind of a witch, I think.”
“Yes, and he’s got those two girls.”
“Two girls? How old are they?” Jacob asked quickly.
Razo winked at his companion. “This fellow’s already checking out the women, and he hasn’t yet washed all the dust off of himself! One of them is too young to interest you now, but she’ll be a beauty someday. Her name is Rachel. The other is Leah.”
The Gate of Heaven Page 7
