by Lynn Austin
“I woke early, that’s all. I was thinking about Nathan’s thirteenth birthday today, and how we’ll be able to worship together for the first time. That started me thinking about Abba and grieving for him. So I decided to study you instead.” He kissed her neck, her forehead, and finally her mouth, but Miriam returned his kiss impatiently.
“I wish you would have awakened me sooner. I have so much to do today. I should have been up hours ago.” She freed herself from his arms and struggled to sit up, then pulled her deadened legs over the side of the bed. Joshua hurried to help her.
“Please don’t overdo it, Miriam. Let Mama and the others help you for once.”
“You fuss over me too much,” she replied.
“That’s because you never ask for anything for yourself.”
He helped Miriam put on her robe and pin up her hair, then crouched to fasten her sandals for her. When she was ready, he helped her stand, fitting the crutches beneath her arms. After three years, neither of them pretended that she would ever get stronger or walk unaided. But when Joshua had offered to hire servants to wait on her, Miriam had stubbornly refused. He had used his ingenuity, instead, to redesign their house, adding railings for support, ramps in place of stairs, wooden conduits to channel water from the cistern, and low tables with benches so Miriam could work sitting down. He assigned Nathan the heavier chores such as carrying supplies from the marketplace or hauling water and fuel.
When Miriam was ready, Joshua put on his own clothes, pulling the leather patch into place over his eye. As he inspected himself in the bronze mirror, his scarred reflection reminded him—as it did every day—of Manasseh and the great debt of justice his enemy owed him. Like the Nile River beyond his doors, Joshua’s grief and anger sometimes spilled their banks, threatening to overwhelm him. That was when Miriam became his island of refuge, the high ground to which he could cling.
“You look as handsome as ever,” Miriam said, shooing him away from the mirror. “Go wake Nathan up. This is a big day for him. For both of you.”
Joshua resisted the urge to help Miriam start breakfast, knowing it would only irritate her. He walked through their main living area to the alcove in the rear of the house where Nathan slept. As he gazed down at his son for a moment, he wished he felt the depth of love that he knew a father should feel. And he also wished for a sign of love on Nathan’s part. They were still wary of each other, as distant as two strangers, in spite of Joshua’s efforts these past three years to spend more time with him, engage him in conversation, and make a home for the three of them. Perhaps worshiping side by side today for the first time would finally knit them together.
“Nathan,” he called gently. “Nathan, it’s time to get up.”
The boy bolted upright as if ready to flee. Awake or asleep, Nathan was jumpy and on edge. Joshua thought of the unchanging peace and security of his own boyhood in Jerusalem, of the love and laughter his family had shared, and was reminded for a second time of all that Manasseh had destroyed.
“Do you remember what day it is, son? You become a man today.”
Nathan nodded and lay down again, draping his arm across his face. If he was filled with joy and anticipation at his passage into manhood, he hid it well. Joshua swallowed back his anger, praying as he did every day: God, help me love him. Help me accept him the way he is. He tossed Nathan his robe.
“Let’s go, then. We don’t want to be late.”
He returned to the main room of their house, where Miriam was already hard at work, arranging food on platters for the small celebration after the sacrifice. He came up behind her as she sat slicing a melon and encircled her with his arms, bending to kiss her neck.
“I don’t want you working too hard and wearing yourself out today. Wait and let Mama and Tirza help you.”
“It’s pretty hard to do much of anything with you hanging all over me like a gourd vine.”
“Then maybe I’ll have to hang on to you all day.” Joshua smiled as he laid his hand on her stomach. “Can you feel my son kicking yet?”
“It’s still too soon, silly. No one will even know I’m pregnant for another couple of months.”
“They’ll know. One look at your face and they’ll know.” He and Miriam had waited three years for a child, neither of them daring to voice the fear that she was barren.
She smiled up at him. “The only way they’ll know is if you go spreading the news all over the island.”
“No, I promised I would wait and I’ll keep that promise. I don’t want anything to take away from Nathan’s special day.”
In fact, Joshua dreaded telling him the news, fearful of his response. Nathan had been especially close to Miriam and still seemed jealous of Joshua, resentful of sharing his sister with him. How would he react to a baby?
Joshua moved his hand in gentle circles on Miriam’s stomach. “Does every man feel this way when he finds out he’s going to be a father for the first time?”
“And how is that?” she asked, laughing.
“Proud. Content. More complete, somehow, and—” Joshua saw a flicker of movement in the doorway and stopped. Nathan stood watching them, his face stricken. He had overheard them. Joshua released Miriam and took a step toward him, struggling to find the right words. “You, um . . . heard us talking just now?”
Nathan nodded. He pretended indifference, but Joshua saw the pain in his eyes and realized what he had just said: a father for the first time. If only he could take back his words.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. That wasn’t how I’d planned to tell you the news, but . . . now you know. You’ll have a new brother or sister by next harvest.”
“Or is it a niece or nephew? I’m confused.” Nathan’s voice was cold with sarcasm.
Miriam pulled herself to her feet and hobbled toward them. “Nathan, please—”
“Congratulations. To both of you. I’m sure you’re very happy,” he said bitterly. He turned to leave, but Joshua stopped him.
“No one knows about the baby except the three of us, and it’s going to stay that way. Today is your special day.”
“Go ahead and announce it to the world. I don’t care.” Again, he turned to leave.
“Wait. We have something for you, son.” Joshua retrieved the carefully folded bundle of cloth from where he’d hidden it and presented it to Nathan. The boy stared at it for a long time before unfolding the new embroidered prayer shawl. Joshua searched for a hint of pleasure in his eyes but saw none. When he recalled the time and money he had spent shopping for the flawless white linen, bargaining for the finest blue thread for the embroidery and tassels, hiring the best craftsman to do the work, he wished Nathan would show a little gratitude. It was so hard to love this difficult child.
“Try it on, son. Let Miriam see how you look.”
“Later.” He wadded it up and shoved it under his arm. “I just remembered something,” he mumbled as he hurried away.
Joshua looked at Miriam helplessly. “I’m so sorry he over-heard me.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s been contrary all his life.” She kissed his cheek. “You’d better hurry or you’ll both be late. I’ll have everything ready for the celebration when you come home.”
Joshua retrieved his own prayer shawl and put it on, then stooped to tie his sandals. “Nathan, it’s time to go,” he called. As he waited by the open front door for his son, he heard Miriam rattling dishes, but no sound came from Nathan’s room.
“Nathan, come on.” He struggled not to reveal his impatience. “Nathan?” Silence answered him.
Joshua’s stomach clenched like a fist as he went to Nathan’s room. The new shawl lay abandoned on Nathan’s sleeping mat. Joshua hurried outside to the rear courtyard where he and Nathan had set up tables last evening for the celebration, but there was no sign of him. The shofar sounded in the distance as Joshua ducked inside the house again.
“He disappeared, Miriam.”
All the joy drained from her face. Joshua remembered h
ow she had glowed with happiness before Nathan interrupted them, and he had to swallow back his anger. “Should I go look for him?” he asked her. “Where could he be?” For a moment Miriam seemed torn between the two of them, then she shook her head.
“No, go to the sacrifice without him.”
“I don’t want you to search for him, Miriam. It’s too hard for you to get around.” He hated reminding her of her handicap, hated being reminded of it himself, but he knew how stubborn she was. “You need to be extra careful because of the baby. Promise me—”
“I’ll wait here. Nathan will come back when he’s ready. Maybe he went on ahead to the sacrifice. Go on, Joshua. And don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.”
But as Joshua hurried to morning worship, he knew that it was his fault. He stood beside the gate to the men’s courtyard as long as he dared, waiting to take his son through it for the first time, but Nathan never came. Throughout the sacrifice Joshua peered over his shoulder at the outer courtyard where Nathan usually stood beside Mattan and the other boys, but he wasn’t there. The old, familiar anger billowed inside him like the smoke from the altar fire, some directed at himself, most of it at Nathan. He didn’t hear a word of the liturgy. So much for their special day.
When the service ended, the friends who had been invited to Nathan’s feast crowded around Joshua. Only Nathan’s younger brother, Mattan, dared to ask the question Joshua saw written on all their faces.
“Where’s Nathan? Why didn’t he—”
Jerimoth cut him off. “Don’t ask rude questions, son. Run ahead and tell Mama and Aunt Miriam we’ll be along in a moment.” He shooed Mattan and the other boys away.
“Yes, please go over to the house,” Joshua told all the other guests. “Miriam and my mother have been cooking for days. I’ll explain everything when I get there in a few minutes.”
He and Jerimoth lagged behind as the courtyard cleared, walking in silence as far as the outer wall. Then Joshua stopped and leaned against it. “I can’t do it, Jerimoth. I can’t love Nathan the way I should. I’ve tried . . . I’ve prayed . . . I’ve asked God to help me love him as if he were my own son, but nothing ever changes.”
“I believe that you do love him, Joshua, or you wouldn’t keep trying so hard.”
“I think I’ve only been doing it for Miriam’s sake. I’d walk through Sheol for her, you know that. But this is just too difficult.”
They listened to the sound of oxen and carts rumbling past on the street outside the enclosure, along with the shouts of vendors hawking their wares. “Do you feel like telling me what happened?” Jerimoth asked quietly.
Joshua sighed. “Miriam is going to have a baby.”
“God of Abraham be praised! That’s an answer to many prayers.”
“We weren’t going to tell anyone yet, but Nathan overheard us talking this morning. He also heard me say something stupid about being a father ‘for the first time.’ I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I should have thought—” He stopped suddenly and looked at his brother. “That’s not true, Jerimoth; I did mean it. I feel differently about my own child than I do about Nathan. God forgive me, but it’s true.”
“Josh, everyone sees how hard you try with Nathan.”
“Is it the same for you? Do you really feel the same love for Mattan as you do for your own children?”
Jerimoth winced at his words. He took a moment to answer, staring at his feet. “Mattan was very young when I adopted him. He still had his milk teeth, for goodness’ sake. He responded to my love like a flower to rain, and he was easy to love because he gave love in return. But even after all these years, Nathan has given nothing back to you. That’s why it’s so much harder for you.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Do you love Mattan the same as you love your own two sons and your daughter?”
“I feel no difference at all,” he answered quietly. “Unless someone reminds me, I don’t even remember that Mattan isn’t my own flesh and blood. And Mattan doesn’t think any differently, either. But Nathan has never forgotten that you aren’t his father, and he won’t let you forget. That’s his fault, not yours.”
Joshua smacked the courtyard wall with his palm, giving vent to his anger and disappointment. “I’ve waited for this day for months. I wanted everything to be perfect. I bought him a new prayer shawl, planned the feast . . . I couldn’t wait to stand here with my son for the first time. Remember our first time? Remember going to the Temple with Abba and Grandpa?” Joshua knew he had to stop before his well of rage and grief overflowed. “I don’t know what else to do for Nathan,” he said hoarsely.
“Just love him,” Jerimoth said.
“But what if I don’t feel any love?”
“Love isn’t a feeling; it’s an attitude, it’s actions. Like buying him the prayer shawl. Whether you feel anything or not, just do the loving thing.”
“Sometimes that’s very hard to do.”
“No, it’s impossible. At least in our own strength. Fortunately, Yahweh is the God of the impossible. He’ll answer your prayers, in time. It’s like this temple you’re building here. Everything looks like chaos now, all torn up and heaped everywhere, but it will shine with beauty when it’s finished. It’s unfair to judge a work in progress. And that’s what your relationship with Nathan is.”
Joshua slid his fingers beneath his eye patch and rubbed the dust from his eye, then smoothed the patch in place again. “Do me a favor? Run ahead and cover for me. Tell Miriam to start the feast. I have to find Nathan.”
By the time Joshua found him, nearly two hours had passed. The boy was wading through the marshes, several yards offshore, trying to spear a fish with a sharpened stick. His legs and the hem of his tunic were covered with mud, his sandals ruined. Joshua’s lungs squeezed painfully as he fought off a breathing attack, but he kicked off his own sandals and waded out beside him.
“Nathan, you’ve been warned about playing in these reeds. The crocodiles—”
“There aren’t any crocodiles around here.”
Joshua gripped Nathan’s arm and marched him back to the beach, silently praying for patience. He pushed Nathan down on the sand, then crouched beside him. “Do you have any idea how hard Miriam has been working to prepare this feast for you?”
“I never asked her to.”
“Then why do you suppose she did it?”
Nathan shrugged.
“Because she loves you.” He waited, but the boy stared sullenly at the ground. Joshua’s anger tempted him to lecture and rage at his son, but he recalled Jerimoth’s words and stopped himself in time.
“I want to tell you two stories,” he said, his voice calm and controlled, “and when I’m finished we’re going home so you can apologize to Miriam and all of our guests.” Nathan rolled his eyes, but Joshua decided to ignore it. “The first story is one of my earliest memories—the day my sister Dinah was born. When Abba brought me in to see her for the first time and I saw the shiny-eyed way he and Mama looked at her, I hated Dinah with all of my three-year-old strength. I wasn’t the baby anymore. Someone else was the center of attention. Then when Dinah started toddling around, learning to walk, I would push her down on her backside and make her cry every chance I got.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “I was jealous. I loved my parents, and I didn’t want to share the new baby with them. I can’t condone your actions this morning, Nathan. They were disgraceful. But I certainly understand them.”
“I’m not jealous of—”
“The second story,” Joshua continued, cutting him off, “took place the day I turned thirteen. My birthday is right before Passover, so I was doubly excited—I would be able to participate in the festival with the men that year. I barely slept the night before, and first thing in the morning, before the sun was even up, Abba gave me a new prayer shawl to wear, just like the one I gave you. ‘Today you are no longer a child but a man,’ Abba said. ‘A father is responsible for the deeds of his son until he’s thirteen, but starting t
oday, you are accountable as a man in Israel.’
“I felt so proud walking up the hill beside my father wearing that shawl, I thought I would burst. At the Temple in Jerusalem, Abba always stood with King Hezekiah on the royal platform to worship, so I expected him to leave me with my grandfather and my brother, Jerimoth. But Abba stayed by my side. He gave up the honor of worshiping with the king of Judah to worship beside me that day. I realized then that it wasn’t just a special day for me, it was a special day for Abba, too.” Joshua paused, then added quietly, “I wanted it to be like that for us.”
Nathan stared past Joshua for a long moment, gazing at the marsh. “I’ll never be the son you want,” he finally said.
“That’s your choice, Nathan, not mine.”
“Miriam’s baby will be your real son.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything!” he shouted, turning to glare at Joshua.
“You must be because you’ve built a wall around yourself that’s higher and thicker than the one I’m building around the temple grounds. You won’t let anyone past it. I’ve tried, but you won’t let me inside.” He paused to take a breath, to ease the suffocating pain in his chest. “Why didn’t you come today?” he finally asked.
“Rituals are stupid. I don’t see why we need all that stuff.”
“Those rituals act as a gateway into God’s presence. We go to the sacrifices to find forgiveness for our sins. There’s a gulf between God and us, Nathan. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you sense how far apart we are from Him? It’s like you and me. We’re so far from understanding each other, from getting inside each other’s hearts—” He stopped again, unwilling to admit to Nathan how much it hurt to see the other men worshiping with their sons, knowing that he and Nathan weren’t like them.
“You’re doing this to hurt me,” he said when he could continue, “but you’re really hurting yourself. You’re so afraid to let God inside your heart, so afraid He’ll disappoint you like I have. Or worse, that like your real father, God won’t be there at all.”