by John Hagee
Jacob had not prayed very often in the last few months; he had little to say to God and didn’t think he wanted to hear what, if anything, God had to say to him. It had seemed safer to keep his distance from the Almighty. At the moment, however, Jacob wanted to pray. He wanted to ask God to watch over Gregory and Livia, to bless them for the hospitality they had shown him, and to protect and prosper them. But Jacob felt too guilty to form his thoughts into a prayer. He supposed God knew what was in his heart, anyway. What was in his heart? Jacob wondered. He didn’t know anymore. He recalled Gregory’s prophecy the night they met, the prophecy that Jacob’s mission would not succeed. Gregory had said, “If you will let it go, your enemy will destroy himself. But if you continue your pursuit, you will fail. And you will find that the real enemy is inside you.”
At first the prophecy had rattled Jacob, but as the days went by, he had shaken it off. Now, as he stared into the fire and waited for the chance to pursue his enemy again, Jacob couldn’t get the prophecy out of his mind. Was the real enemy inside his own heart?
Jacob’s thoughts drifted to home, and he had trouble imagining himself back in Ephesus. Everything had changed for Jacob. He no longer had a desire to be in the ministry, and no idea what to do with his life after he dispensed with Damian and returned home. He couldn’t see himself running the family business. He couldn’t even see himself living in the huge villa again, with every luxury imaginable and servants to take care of his every need. He’d grown quite comfortable living in the cozy cave house, with Gregory taking care of the household chores and Livia running him out of her workshop, then staying up late so the two of them could talk.
Livia. His thoughts always came back to her. She hadn’t believed Jacob when he’d said he would come back for her . . . but he would. As soon as he finished what he’d set out to do, he would come back for her.
Jacob remembered the gift she’d made for him and pulled it out of the parcel where he’d stashed it. The small box was unlike any of her other designs—even more intricate and detailed. And very inventive. The pattern she’d created with the blue enamel reminded him of waves. Livia knew how much he loved the water; he’d told her it was one of the things he’d missed most about home.
A “keepsake box,” she’d called it. As he moved the box, he felt something shift inside, so he opened the lid. She’d said it was a place for him to store things; he hadn’t thought about her putting something inside for him.
A glimmer of reflected light coming from the box caught his eye, and Jacob reached for it. The stone he pulled out was a cabochon— polished smooth, without facets—and it was amber, her favorite. He was sure it was one of the stones she had purchased from the trader and Jacob had recovered.
He wrapped his fingers around the stone, warming it in his palm, and recalled the day they had spread the stones out on her workbench and Livia had begun planning how to incorporate them into her designs.
She had first separated the stones by size and color. “I just think they’re beautiful,” she said. “But some people attach special significance to them.”
Jacob told her about a sailor he’d known, who treasured a small stone of amethyst, believing it would bring him to a safe harbor. “It’s a common superstition,” Jacob had said, “although some sailors think it’s emeralds that will protect you on a voyage.”
“I like amethyst because it’s the color of new wine,” she said.
They’d discussed all the different stones she’d purchased, but she had declared that amber was her favorite, because it reminded her of sunrises and sunsets.
“Do you know what the Egyptians say about amber?” Jacob had asked.
When she shook her head no, he said, “They believe that when the setting sun strikes the water, the rays of light become solid, and the ocean waves carry them to shore in the form of amber.”
“What a lovely thought,” Livia had said with a laugh. “Pure nonsense, of course, but a delightful idea. No wonder amber strikes my fancy.”
That she had made a parting gift of one her favorite stones touched Jacob deeply. As he placed the amber back in the box, he noticed something else— a lock of hair, fastened by a tiny gold wire wrapped around the ends.
“Something to remember me by,” Livia had told him. A lump rose in Jacob’s throat as he picked up the lock of hair. How could he possibly forget the way she continually tucked that lovely raven hair behind her ears? He recalled the gesture with a smile that quickly faded when he thought how much he would miss seeing her do that.
He had been surprised to discover that Livia thought herself plain. So many times he’d started to tell her just how beautiful she was, but something had kept him back. He wasn’t sure what it was. It didn’t bother him that Livia was older than he was. It didn’t bother him that she cropped her hair short or dressed in men’s clothing to sell her own designs on her own terms.
Jacob didn’t know why he couldn’t tell her the truth: that he’d fallen in love with her when he crashed to the floor of the cave house and she’d yelled at him to pull the ladder up behind him. He had looked up into those huge dark eyes and something had grabbed hold of him and had never let go.
For a long time Jacob fingered the lock of hair. She was right, he thought. He probably wouldn’t come back for her. Oh, he wouldn’t forget Livia. That would be impossible. But how could he come back for her when there was nothing inside him worth giving to anyone?
The real enemy is inside you. The thought taunted Jacob, and it wouldn’t go away. A wild animal cried out in the darkness, and it sounded like laughter to him. Laughter that mocked his emptiness.
Finally, he put the precious lock of hair back in the keepsake box, and when he did, his hand struck a piece of metal lying against the velvet lining. It was a small sheet of copper, the kind Livia used for overlays, and it was engraved with writing.
He took a stick and poked the fire, causing it to blaze brighter, then held the copper sheet toward the light so he could read the words.
LET ME BE A SEAL UPON YOUR HEART,
LIKE THE SEAL UPON YOUR HAND.
FOR LOVE IS AS FIERCE AS DEATH,
PASSION AS UNYIELDING AS THE GRAVE;
IT BURNS LIKE DARTS OF FIRE,
LIKE A BLAZING FLAME.
MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE;
RIVERS CANNOT WASH IT AWAY.
The words of Solomon’s beloved in the Song of Songs. Jacob’s eyes stung with unshed tears as he reread the words.
Livia loved him. He did not understand it, and knew he did not deserve it—and never would. But she loved him, and she had asked him to stay with her. And what had he done? He had walked out on her.
The fire eventually died, but Jacob did not lie down and try to sleep. All night long, he sat and thought about Livia and searched his heart. How could he be worthy of her love?
He thought of Damian and murder and justice and vengeance, of persecution and bloodshed and martyrdom. Why did God allow it to happen?
When the deep black of night turned to gray, Jacob was still thinking. He heard a rooster crow, announcing daybreak, and not long after that he heard a horse whinny. The huge wooden gate of the camp swung open, and a rider on horseback emerged into the faint light of dawn.
Even from a distance Jacob could tell it was Damian. There was an unmistakable arrogance about the way the rider sat astride the black stallion.
Damian rode within twenty paces of him, but Jacob made no move to saddle his horse and follow. He let Damian pass and then said, “You’ll get what you deserve, Damian—whatever it is. But it won’t be at my hand.”
For the first time in months, Jacob felt a quiet peace. And then, at last, he began to pray.
29
LIVIA SNEEZED AS SHE DUSTED THE storeroom shelves. Obviously it had been a while since she had gotten around to cleaning in here. Gregory was meticulous about his kitchen, but the rest of the house was a hit-or-miss proposition. Theoretically, they shared cleaning duties, but Livia was
often preoccupied with her work and Gregory wound up doing her chores as well. At times like this, when she was not designing, she tried to make up for her lackadaisical attitude toward housekeeping with a flurry of activity. And today of all days she needed something to occupy her mind and keep her body moving.
After Jacob had ridden away last night she had stayed awake for hours, and when she had finally gone to bed, she slept fitfully. Yet she woke at the usual time. Livia was an early riser, never wanting to waste the natural light, which was best for working.
Once she finished in the storeroom, she swept the entire house. And when that was done, she decided to air the bed linens. She stripped her bed and then went to Gregory’s room, but her burst of energy suddenly waned at the sight of the bed where Jacob had slept. The reality of his absence settled over her like the blankets covering the bed, and Livia finally gave way to the tears she had denied herself since he had walked out the previous evening. Bereft, she sat on the bed and sobbed.
He truly was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. She loved Jacob fiercely, but it hadn’t been enough for him. She hadn’t been enough for him, and the realization was overwhelming. She was fundamentally flawed, with some character defect that prevented her from being loved.
Rarely one for emotional displays, Livia was surprised at the depth of her grief. Eventually the flood of tears subsided, and while she felt drained, she also felt strangely calmer. She dried her face, gathered the bed covers, and took them outside.
Gregory was tilling a garden. He always planted a few vegetables in the spring, as well as the herbs and spices he used for cooking and medicines. When he saw Livia carrying a huge load of linens, he left the garden and helped her drape the bed covers across a rope Jacob had strung from the side of the house to the shed he had been building for his horse. The unfinished shed was another sight that tore at Livia.
If her uncle noticed she had been crying, he didn’t comment on it. “I forgot to check the water supply this morning,” he said. “I’ll have to tend to that when I finish tilling.” No wonder Gregory had forgotten; hauling water was a chore Jacob had been taking care of for the last few months. He’d even purchased a small hand cart so he could haul several large jugs at one time, cutting down the number of daily trips they made to the communal well not far from the house.
Well, fine, Livia thought as she picked up a beater and swung it furiously against the defenseless bed covers, stirring up a small whirlwind of dirt. We managed to get along before you got here, Jacob of Ephesus, and we’ll get along just fine now that you’re gone. The ache in her heart gave lie to her thoughts, but she pushed that aside and pummeled the laundry until her grief and anger were spent, at least for the moment.
Satisfied that she had beaten the blankets into submission, she left them to soak up the fresh air and sunshine and finished straightening up the house. After lunch, Gregory took a nap, and Livia dozed for a while as well—something else she rarely did.
She woke up feeling groggy, not rested, which did nothing to improve her mood. For a few minutes she stood and stared out the window aimlessly, then she went outside to bring in the bed covers. She couldn’t help thinking that this time yesterday Jacob had come home from work early, galloping up on the chestnut, only to leave again—for good, this time—turning her whole life upside down.
Lost in her thoughts, Livia did not at first hear the sound of hoof-beats, and when she did, she assumed it was because she had been thinking about Jacob’s return the previous day. It was not until the rider came into full view that she realized someone was actually approaching. She stood rooted to the spot, not trusting her eyes, when Jacob rode into the yard and dismounted.
He stared at her for so long without speaking that she wasn’t quite sure whether he was really there or not. Finally she asked, “What are you doing back here?”
Jacob took a step closer. “I’d like to stay . . . if it’s all right.”
“What about Damian?” Could Jacob have dispensed with his enemy already? Why else would he be back so soon?
“He’s gone,” Jacob said. “I let him go.”
Something was different about him, Livia thought. Jacob looked tired and haggard and spent, but he also looked peaceful. Her heart pounding in her chest, she said, “Don’t just stand there. Help me get these inside.”
She shoved an armful of bed covers at him, then removed the remaining blanket from the rope. When she turned back around, Jacob was standing there, draped in laundry, a broad smile creasing his rugged face.
“Is this your way of saying, ‘Welcome home’?” he asked.
Livia blushed and almost stammered a reply. “I suppose it is.”
While Jacob helped Gregory remake their beds, Livia went to her room and dropped the covers on her bed. She would tend to that later. Right now she wanted to wash her face and change into a fresh tunic. It suddenly mattered that she look her best.
He came back! The thought reverberated in her head and her heart like a joyous refrain. He came back! And he hadn’t killed Damian.
A few minutes later Livia sailed into the kitchen, where Gregory had poured Jacob something to drink and was plying him with food. She plumped a cushion and joined them around the low table.
“I’ve already eaten,” Jacob told Gregory. “I had lunch with Pomponius and the boys after our lessons. And then we went for a ride—it was a perfect day for it.”
“You went to work today?” Livia asked, incredulous. Jacob talked as if this were just another ordinary day, as if he had gotten up this morning and gone to work and returned home as usual. But nothing was ordinary about this day. The three of them were sitting around the same table, having the same kind of conversation they always did, yet everything was different. Jacob had come back for her. He’d said he would, and she hadn’t believed him.
“Yes,” Jacob said in answer to her question. “I went to work, and Pomponius was quite relieved that he would not have to find another schoolmaster.”
Livia’s insides lurched when Jacob looked intently at her. Slowly, he smiled. He had opened the keepsake box; she could see it in his eyes. Jacob knew how she felt now. Warmth flowed into her cheeks and she forced herself to breathe deeply as he continued gazing into her eyes.
When he finally broke eye contact with her, Jacob told them about his long night of introspection and his decision to abandon his pursuit of Damian. “I suppose I’ve always been a champion of truth and justice,” Jacob said. “Even when I was young lad, I was always quick to take up a cause when someone was wronged. I’m like my father in that sense. He was constantly trying to fix things, working to make everything right, and eventually it cost him his life. Father’s appeal to Caesar on my behalf not only failed to bring justice, but it culminated in his own death sentence.”
Jacob paused for a moment, probably picturing his father’s brutal death in the Colosseum. Then he swallowed hard and continued. “Last night I realized I cannot right every wrong, not even the ones that affect me the most. One day God will bring every wrongdoer to justice. In the meantime, life is not fair, and cruel men sometimes get away with horrific evil.”
Livia recalled saying almost the exact same words to Jacob months ago. He hadn’t been ready to hear them then, but praise God, he had heard them last night.
“Christ is our Avenger of Blood now, not me,” Jacob said with a sheepish grin. “He is our Kinsman-Redeemer. It may not happen as quickly or decisively as we want, but His justice will ultimately prevail.”
“Amen to that,” Gregory said softly.
Jacob continued recounting the conclusions that had led him to relinquish his self-appointed mission, and finished by quoting the words of Christ. “‘In this world you will have tribulation,’ Jesus promised. But He also said, ‘Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.’ I have to learn to start living as if Jesus really has overcome the world.”
Livia was too filled with emotion to speak, and Gregory was blinking rapidly, as if he had someth
ing in his eye.
Jacob cleared his throat. “Beyond that,” he said, “I learned something else about myself last night.” He paused and fixed another riveting glance on Livia. “I discovered that what I wanted most in life was right under my nose, and I had been too blind to see it.”
Livia thought she would melt under the heat of his stare. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Are you asking me to marry you?” she blurted out, and immediately bit her tongue. Why, why had she said that? It’s what she was thinking, but she shouldn’t have divulged it so readily.
“Well . . . I . . .” Jacob appeared flustered by the direct question. “I intended to speak to Gregory about it first, of course.”
In a flash Livia went from embarrassment to anger. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why? So you could negotiate a price for me like I was some piece of merchandise for sale in the marketplace?”
Jacob raised his voice in frustration. “That’s just the way we do it where I come from—at least the Christians do!”
“And we still do it that way here too,” Gregory said, quickly shooting an apologetic glance at Jacob and then a sympathetic one at Livia. He tried smoothing things over by saying, “Livia is a little overwrought by all that’s happened.”
Livia uncrossed her long legs and stood up from the table. “I’ll wait outside while you . . . you men sit here and decide my future for me.”
Before either of them could say a word, she bolted from the room and climbed down the ladder. Outside, she gulped in the fresh air and tried to let it soothe her frazzled nerves. When she heard the chestnut whinny, Livia walked over to the shed where Jacob had tied the animal.
“I just don’t know how it’s done,” Livia told the horse as she stroked its muzzle. “I don’t know anything about being in love, or about marriage, or—or why men think they rule the world.”
Jacob’s horse neighed sympathetically, and Livia chuckled. “They do rule the world, of course. It doesn’t mean we have to like it, though.”
In a few minutes Jacob came outside to the shed. He stood on the opposite side of the chestnut and let the animal nibble the bite of food he offered in his hand.