Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  Hosea kissed the top of his head. “Yes, I like the wind too, but we don’t get to choose the way Yahweh speaks.” He felt his son nod in understanding. “Ima has been living in a cave for two Sabbaths, but Yahweh has kept her safe, protecting her from all the beasts and birds and snakes.”

  Jezzy bolted upright on the mattress. “All alone—in a cave?” Hosea watched his tenderhearted boy wilt. “Is she afraid, Abba? We must go to her now!” His concern turned to weeping, and Hosea gathered him into his arms once more.

  “Jezreel, listen to me,” he said sternly. “If Yahweh can speak to you in a dream, can He not also place a hedge of protection around your ima in a cave?”

  Jezzy quieted some.

  “I’ve been taking her provisions every day, and Sampson the cat has been with her too.”

  “I wondered where he’d gone.”

  Hosea grinned in the darkness. Oh, the blessed innocence of a child.

  “Jezzy, I’m going to tell you a story about your name and the names of your brother and sister. Since Yahweh has spoken to you, I believe it’s time you became aware of His plan for our family.”

  He sat up, wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Okay, Abba. I’m ready.”

  His wide, brown eyes captured the moonlight, and Hosea wished he could capture the moment to share with Gomer. She’d be so proud of their son. “Jezreel, your name means—”

  “I know. My name means ‘God sows.’” The boy clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Abba. Aya says I interrupt too much.”

  Hosea chuckled. “It’s good to listen to Aya. Yes, Son, your name means ‘God sows,’ and we know now that Yahweh has called you to be a farmer. But your name also has special meaning for our family because we’ve been chosen to tell the story of Yahweh’s love for the descendants of Jacob—the house of Israel. Like us, Israel and Judah have been separated, and like with Ima and me, the love relationship between Yahweh and His beloved nation has been difficult. But on the night of Ammi’s birth, Yahweh promised that the people of Judah and Israel would be gathered together and would grow in the land—because the day of Jezreel would be a great day.”

  Jezzy gasped. “The day of Jezreel. That’s me!” Then his brow furrowed. “Was Yahweh really talking about me?”

  Hosea wrestled him until the blanket was in a knot, and then they both lay side by side, spent. “You’ll have to ask Yuval what Yahweh meant about Israel and Judah being gathered together,” Hosea said, chuckling. “She seems to have a better grasp on some of those things than Saba Amos and me, but I can tell you this.” He turned on his side, facing Jezreel, and brushed the stray curls off his forehead, noticing a fleck of gold in his moonlit eyes. “As soon as your brother and sister wake up, we’re going to bring your ima home—because this day of Jezreel is great!”

  Gomer lined up the six burnished pots in a row. Hosea had brought one every day since she’d thrown her tantrum—and the clay pitcher. She picked up a flint and made another mark on the wall, counting the days in this cave. Fifteen. Yesterday was the Sabbath, and she had been alone all day—alone with Yahweh. It had been wonderful.

  Memories of the day refreshed her, and she lifted Sampson into her arms, dancing to the heavenly melody in her heart. Unbidden, Jezreel’s face appeared in her mind, halting her feet, stopping her heart song. Then Rahmy’s likeness. Then Ammi’s. Regret pierced her, seeking to rob her joy. The children lingered in her heart a lot these days. Yahweh, teach me to live beyond my failure—to establish Your strong tower on the rubble of my past.

  She set down the cat and picked up a vase and smooth stone. It was already burnished to a gleaming shine, but she began buffing it again, the activity helping to distract her. Stubborn tears clogged her throat and blurred her vision. How was she supposed to work if she couldn’t see? The urge to throw the vase swept over her, but she remembered the shards from the broken pitcher that Hosea had taken back to Amoz. She’d destroyed hours of painstaking labor in a moment of temper. How childish she’d been.

  What did Jezzy look like now? Hosea said his head would reach her chin. And Rahmy? She’d had red hair when Gomer last saw her. Had it darkened or remained like hers? And baby Ammi. A sob escaped. He was no longer a baby, but he probably didn’t remember her. The old bitterness tried to strangle her, but she considered the caring people who had raised her children, taught them, loved them while she traipsed off to Israel. She thought of Yuval—her selfless sacrifices. And Isaiah and Aya—they’d loved her children as if they were their own.

  And the thought of Hosea’s unconditional love for Rahmy and Ammi crumbled her last walls of defense. How could a man, knowing those children were conceived in adultery, love them as if they were born of tender passion shared with a faithful wife? If Hosea ever allowed her out of this cave, she must be very cautious with those children not to destroy the masterpiece of love others had so painstakingly crafted over time.

  “Gomer?” Hosea appeared, his form silhouetted in the cave opening. “What’s wrong? You’re crying. Are you hurt?” Panic washed over his handsome features. He rushed to her and braced her head, wiping her tears with his thumbs as he searched her face.

  “No, no. I’m fine. The children . . .” She wanted to tell him everything but couldn’t find the words. How could she express the unfathomable restoration of her broken heart—the unspeakable mercy of a God who seeks to rebuild, not destroy? Would Hosea believe her? Or would he think she was trying to manipulate her way out of this cave?

  He kissed her gently and gazed into her soul. “Our children will be blessed of the Lord, as Israel will be someday. Yahweh promises, ‘I will be like dew to the people of Israel. They will blossom like flowers. They will be firmly rooted like cedars from Lebanon.’” His eyes filled with tears. “All those times you felt as if I’d abandoned you . . .”

  She silenced him with a kiss, and his eyes remained closed as she spoke. “I abandoned you long before you abandoned me.” She swallowed hard, realizing it for the first time. “I never gave you a chance to love me because I couldn’t risk that you’d choose not to.”

  He opened his eyes then, studying her expression. “Come with me.” He led her to a large rock not far from her cave’s entrance and helped her to the top, then took his seat beside her. They fell silent, looking across a large chasm.

  He focused ahead, his whisper bordering on reverence. “I’ve seen changes in you—peace where there was anger, hope where despair had always dwelt.” He reached for her hand but still stared at the cavern-dotted mountain. “Would you be willing to share the changes in your heart?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed and felt the warming rays of the sun. Yahweh had prepared her for this moment. Overwhelmed by the extravagance of Yahweh’s care, she felt His presence as surely as the rock upon which they sat. “After I broke Amoz’s beautiful pitcher, I realized how very broken I was. During the days that followed, Yahweh began to warm my heart with little signs of His presence—until one night, He consumed me in the darkness.”

  Hosea’s brow furrowed, concern etched on his features. “Yahweh doesn’t consume with darkness, Gomer.”

  She met his concern with a slight chuckle. “I hope you listen to Yahweh better than you listened to me!” Her hand rested on his cheek. “I didn’t say Yahweh consumed with darkness. I said He consumed me in the darkness. And there’s a difference, Husband.” She let her thumb brush his lips. “He searched and found me in the darkness—and there consumed me—because I was too frightened to walk into His light.”

  Hosea lifted her hand and kissed her palm, letting his tears flow into sobs. “Yes. Yes, my love. That sounds like Yahweh.”

  She pulled his beard toward her, kissing him soundly, longingly—sweetly. He left his eyes closed when she finished the kiss. “I know now what Yahweh sounds like,” she said, “even when He’s silent.”

  A slow, satisfied smile creased the lips of the man she’d loved all her life. “Would you like to hear what Yahweh said to me this morning?” he ask
ed. She nodded, and his face took on an ethereal glow. “‘The people of Ephraim will have nothing more to do with idols. I will answer them and take care of them. I am like a growing pine tree. Their fruit comes from me.’”

  She feigned a pout. “So Yahweh had already told you that He’d changed my heart. Will I ever be able to surprise you?”

  “You surprise me every time I look at you. I marvel that the Lord returned you to me.” He cupped her face, brushing her cheek, tears spilling over his own dark lashes. “And now I will surprise you.”

  She tilted her head, wondering, but before she could question, she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

  “Ima?”

  She gasped. She cried. She trembled. All in a single moment. Her babies stood in a line—each one having grown so much in her absence. Rahmy clutched her big brother’s right arm. Ammi, a precocious spark in his eyes, flanked his brother’s left. And Jezzy stood like a temple pillar, holding the refurbished pitcher she’d ruined days ago.

  Jezzy stepped forward, spokesman for the group. “Saba Amoz said I had to bring this pitcher and said not to drop it.” He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “It looks like someone already dropped it and tried to fix it, but it wasn’t me.”

  She laughed through her tears and watched Hosea approach their children. He lifted the pitcher from Jezzy’s arms and then whispered something, causing all three to look at Gomer shyly.

  Jezzy took another step forward. “We’ve come to take you home, Ima—if you want to.”

  Gomer covered her mouth, unable to speak without sobbing. She nodded, barely able to say, “I want to come home very much.”

  She opened her arms, and Jezzy ran to her, encircling her waist, squeezing as if he’d never let her go. “Oh, Jezzy.” She kissed the top of his head, which indeed reached her chin as Hosea had predicted. “You’re so tall! What has Aya been feeding you?” She heard his muffled giggle rise from his unrelenting hug.

  Hosea came closer, holding Ammi’s hand, while Rahmy gazed up with wonder at her ima. “Your hair’s just like mine.”

  Gomer cuddled the other two children in her arms with Jezzy, enjoying the nearness of the family Yahweh had restored.

  Hosea leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Jezzy woke me in the night after a dream. The Lord showed him an image of you on your knees in the cave, praying.”

  Gomer’s heart nearly burst. Indeed, she’d been awakened in the night by something lurking outside the cave. She’d heard Sampson hiss when something tried to enter the cave. Whatever Sampson sensed had turned and left, but Gomer was shaken. “Thank you, Jezreel, for listening to Yahweh,” she whispered into his curly, dark hair—so much like his abba’s. “Does Yahweh often speak to you in dreams?”

  A quiet sniff, and then a long swipe of his nose along his forearm. Gomer grinned. “No. It was the first time, but Abba says Yahweh told him on the night of Ammi’s birth that I was going to reunite our family, so I guess it was about time for Yahweh to do something.”

  Hosea and Gomer chuckled, exchanging a proud moment, witnessing their son’s growing faith. “Would you like to tell Ima about her other surprise?”

  “I have another surprise?” Gomer gasped, thrilled with the excuse to hold her older children at arm’s length—get a better look at them. “I don’t think anything could top this one.”

  “Saba Amoz has a whole bunch of broken pots at his workshop, waiting for you to fix them.” Jezreel shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know why he and Abba are so excited about it. I always get in trouble when I break one of Aya’s pots.”

  Gomer hugged her adorable son again. “Well, I think they’re excited about fixing those broken pots, lovey. Hopefully, Saba Amoz will teach me how to fix them and make them useful again.” She looked up then, holding her husband’s gaze. “If Yahweh can take a life as broken as mine and restore it, perhaps there’s a way to redeem other broken vessels. I’d like to spend the rest of my life trying.”

  Epilogue

  • 2 CHRONICLES 29:1, 3 NIV •

  Hezekiah was twenty-five years old when he became king. . . . In the first month of the first year of his reign, he opened the doors of the temple of the LORD and repaired them.

  Ima, why are you still working?” Jezzy rushed into the pottery shop and up the loft stairs. Gomer remained bent over her workbench, trying to find an odd-shaped shard. “Isaiah and Abba are giving King Hezekiah a tour of the farm. They’re almost here.”

  She kept her attention on her work, getting a little frustrated at the missing piece of her latest project. “Good! We’ll give them all aprons and put them to work. Isaiah doesn’t get to loaf just because Prince Hezekiah became king and named him foreign ambassador.”

  “Ima, don’t be difficult.”

  A grin stole her thunder. She loved teasing her all-too-serious son. So much like Hosea, he’d grown into a wonderful husband and abba, giving her chubby grandbabies and tending the prophets’ camp during the years of King Ahaz’s persecution. When King Jotham had died at such an early age, he’d left his rebellious son Ahaz to reign at just twenty years old. The fiery redheaded prince had become a dangerous, idolatrous king, leading Judah into the bowels of pagan practice—child sacrifice. King Jotham’s mild aversion to Yahweh’s temple had become a burning hatred in his son, and King Ahaz showed his contempt by erecting an Assyrian altar where Yahweh’s most sacred presence once dwelt.

  “So this is the house of broken vessels.” A deep, resonant voice filtered from the entrance below.

  “Ima, they’re here,” Jezzy whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Well, show them up, lovey.” She winked, and he rolled his eyes—and then gave her a smile.

  Jezreel walked down the steps with regal grace. “Welcome, King Hezekiah, to my ima’s workshop.” She watched him bow and felt the same pride she’d known since he was a babe. He had kept Yuval’s fig trees producing and Amos’s dwarf sheep profitable, and even harvested enough from their groves to provide olive oil and wine for the families in camp. It was enough. And it was a miracle—after all the prophets had endured at the evil hand of Ahaz.

  “My son flatters me.” She stood and looked over the loft railing, catching her first glimpse of Judah’s young king. “This will always be Amoz’s workshop.” She inspected Isaiah’s new royal robes, nodding a respectful bow at her longtime friend. “Welcome, King Hezekiah and Minister Isaiah. Shalom, Husband.”

  Hosea bowed and winked.

  “Shalom, Gomer.” Isaiah’s voice seemed weak and reedy. He and Hosea shared the teaching responsibilities, but Isaiah traveled between the palace and the camp to fulfill his new role as Judah’s foreign minister. She’d ask Aya how he was faring. “Have you found that missing piece yet?” He chuckled, and she shot him a wry grin. “I’ll send Aya to help you.”

  “Greetings to the mistress potter.” The boyish sparkle in King Hezekiah’s eyes told Gomer she liked him already. “Should I come up, or will you come down?”

  “If you come up, I’ll put you to work.” Everyone laughed, and she considered making good her threat. With his stout build, she could put a shovel in his hand and he could stoke the kiln fire. “I’ll come down,” she said, descending the stairs, admiring his ivory-white, gold-trimmed robe.

  Hosea extended his hand, calling her to his side. She obeyed gladly, assuming her cozy spot under his arm. “We’ve been showing our new king the prophets’ camp—what’s left of it,” he said.

  “I’ve told your husband that I admire his and Isaiah’s courage. Their continued teaching will be an important part of Judah’s rebuilding process.” Hezekiah’s voice seemed both kind and sincere. “And your specialized pottery is known world round, Gomer. It’s a symbol of what our nation can become. I’m committed to refurbishing and purifying Yahweh’s temple—since Abba stripped all its gold and replaced Yahweh’s altar with that Assyrian abomination.”

  Gomer left her husband’s sheltering wing to retrieve her favorite restored vase. “Thi
s was one of the first pieces Isaiah’s abba helped me refurbish. Are you familiar with the process, King Hezekiah?”

  “No, but I’m interested to learn.”

  She smiled, always happy to share the secrets of restoration. “We boil the bonding agent and glue the pieces together, then apply a thin glaze to seal the cracks. The glaze leaves the faint shadow of brokenness.” She captured his gaze, the emotions as fresh as they’d been the moment she first heard Yahweh’s voice. “This vase is restored, useful again. It can’t hold water, but it can store grain or become a lovely doorstop.” She chuckled at the thought.

  “Judah may never be what it was in the days of David or Solomon,” Hosea said. He loved to tell this part. “But if you let Yahweh restore your nation, He’ll make it useful in eternity’s plan.” She watched the young king soak up Hosea’s words like fresh cotton. “A wise old prophet once told me that when we’re fighting for eternal victories, we mustn’t be defeated by temporary struggles. If you prove faithful, King Hezekiah, your abba’s idolatry becomes merely a temporary struggle.”

  Hezekiah’s expression grew wistful. “I wish I’d known the other great prophets. Elijah, Elisha, Jonah, and Amos. And Isaiah tells me Saba Uzziah was a faithful king before his leprosy—and became a better man after. I never heard those stories from Saba Jotham or Abba Ahaz. I was filled with terrifying images of Yahweh’s fierce wrath and then forced to watch terrible pagan rituals—things no child should see.”

  Isaiah placed a hand on the young king’s shoulder. “We can always look back with regret on things in our past. My abba Amoz wasted half his life worshiping idols but discovered Yahweh’s heart through the faithful life of my wife and our family. Though I lost years with Abba because of his bitterness and regret, I watched him embrace Yahweh before he closed his eyes in death.”

  Gomer offered her precious vase to the young king.

  “Oh, I can’t take this,” he said. “I can see it’s very special to you.”