Abram/Abraham

YHWH has answered my prayer, finally. After all these years, my wife is smiling like a young woman again. It has been such a long time. Like a spring rain, the tears of happiness spill down my wife’s cheeks, and her smile is like the sunrise over the desert plain. Her eyes meet mine and all the years of pain and frustration pass between us…

It started many years ago. Sarai was so beautiful, and every man in the surrounding area wanted her for his wife. Her eyes were like ebony pools, into which a man could lose himself. Her skin was clean and without blemish, and her hands were long and slender. Her breasts were full and caught the glance of many a man. Her teeth were white and even, and her smile could light up the darkest night. She bore her beauty with modesty and grace. Her talents were many, and she would make a fine wife for any man. Many other men wanted her, but she chose me. I was both overjoyed and humbled that she would become my wife. When my father, Terah, was alive, we lived with him. Sarai was a good wife and kept a good house, and she honored my father and my family. The only blemish on our marriage was the lack of a child. Terah was concerned over my lack of sons and prayed often that the drought in our marriage would end, but Sarai remained childless. I know that Sarai was disappointed that she had not provided Terah with a grandchild before he died, even though he lived a very long and full life. Why had our god dried up her womb? What had she done to offend him?

Eventually, our family left Ur and settled in Haran, but things remained the same. My kinsman Lot and I discussed our situation often, but in private. The lack of sons weighed on us both, but at least Lot had two daughters to fill his home with laughter. Our tent was barren of the joy of parenthood. Night after night I lay with my wife but there was no change in her status. We spoke quietly together of our sadness, and I tried to be brave for her and held her as she sobbed in my arms in her weak moments. I saved my tears for the desert, and when I was found with tears in my eyes, I blamed it on the bright sun or the desert sand. My servants knew better than to speak of the matter before us, but we were well aware of the whispers and looks discreetly – and not so discreetly – made in our direction. Sarai bore her infirmity bravely, trying not to stare at the children of our servants as they toddled and crawled within eyesight. She managed to hold her head high, despite the growing disdain of our household. When Terah died, we cried not only for his death, but for the fear that our family line would also die.

After Terah’s death, our god spoke to us, and ordered us to leave Haran and so we did. I was tending the livestock and contemplating that night’s dinner when YHWH spoke to me thus: “Go forth from the land of your kinsfolk and from your father’s house to a land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you. All the communities of the earth shall find blessing in you.” Sarai became angry when I told her the message. To pack up everything and leave? Was I crazy? I was seventy-five years of age, and Sarai only about ten years younger, even though her beauty still captivated every man who met her. But that day, her beauty was concealed beneath her anger and frustration. I insisted that we do as YHWH had commanded. She began making the arrangements, though the banging of pans and the yelling of orders made plain what she thought. After all these years, our LORD was going to make a great nation of us? Her time for motherhood was fast closing upon her, and her slim hope that the LORD would abide by his promise was the only thing that kept her working at the monumental task of packing our household and managing the servants and their responsibilities.
Lock, stock, and barrel we loaded our camels and goats, and lashed our belongings to wagons. Lot and his family joined us as we began our journey. We stopped briefly in Canaan, for the LORD declared that this land would belong to my offspring. I paid homage by creating an altar and making a sacrifice. We kept traveling, and a famine drove us all the way to Egypt. I feared for my life if Sarai were found to be my wife, as her beauty could drive men to desperate acts. She was afraid to lie to Pharaoh, but she did. She feared more for my life, and if Pharaoh believed her to be my sister, then Pharaoh might feel he had to kill me in order to have her. Desperation made us do desperate things. But the LORD would not allow her to be defiled, and sent plagues upon the Pharaoh’s house. When Pharaoh discovered our deception as the cause of his misfortune, he drove us from Egypt with all of our belongings.

We traveled back to Bethel, heavily burdened with our goods, servants, and livestock. There Lot and I eventually parted ways. He and his family, his servants, and his livestock went to live near the town of Sodom. I remained in the land of Canaan. Still, Sarai’s womb remained empty. At times I would see her place her hand over her womb and bow her head. I could not tell if she was praying or crying, as she would not discuss it with me. She tired of talking about her infirmity, other than the occasional remark she was going to hold YHWH to his promise for nations. After a while I could not tell if she was angry or joking. After some years, she would no longer even mention his promise, even though he again promised to make our descendants like “the dust of the earth,” too many to be counted. When I repeated this to Sarai, she only said “His will be done” and went back to her work. I would look at her straight back for a moment, and then go on about my work.

Sarai grew older each day. Her body was drying up like the desert, the skin on her hands growing thinner, so that I could easily see the delicate veins under skin. Her face, still beautiful, was becoming wrinkled, and her breasts were not as full as when she was young. The gray in her hair still framed her face, like a soft waterfall across her shoulders. I loved my wife, and my heart broke for her sadness. She continued to cry at the fire, and I continued to blame the desert sun. But despite this, I declared my faith in my LORD. I made sacrifice to him, and he promised my descendants much land, and also much suffering. Suffering I knew, and so I placed my faith in Him.

Sarai, however, was much burdened with our lack of children. She suggested that I take her maidservant, Hagar, so that my family line might not die out. When Hagar became pregnant, tempers flared between Sarai and Hagar, and Hagar ran away briefly. Sarai was much distressed, and when Haggai returned Sarai tried very hard to control her feelings. Hagar was not shy in making her place in our family. Hagar stayed on, and when I was eighty-six years of age, I became a father to a son, named Ishmael. Sarai, however, remained childless and grew more desperate. I know how it hurt her to see my son by another woman grow and thrive in our tent. I could see it in her eyes, which rarely strayed from the child Ishmael. Sarai’s beautiful lips were often pressed together in self-control as Hagar laughed with her son on her knee, giving orders to other servants as if she were the mistress. The tension grew in our tent. Sarai bore this indignity the best she could, excusing herself from tent, at times for hours.

I had ninety-nine years of life in my bones when the LORD again appeared to me, and again promised numerous descendants. He renamed me Abraham, and gave Sarai a new name as well. From now on, she would be called Sarah. He demanded a sacrifice from all those who would place their trust in him, a personal sacrifice. The males were to be circumcised as a proof of their fidelity. In return for our trust in him, I would be given numerous descendants, from which kings would spring. I looked at the calluses on my weathered hands and pulled my gray hair from my face. I placed my face in the dirt, and kept my laughter to myself as I thought “Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Or can Sarah give birth at ninety?” I thought of the deepening lines on her fair face, and the sadness that had carved more lines around her eyes. Her grief was written in her countenance, her age weighed heavily on her body. Like the desert, she had dried up, both emotionally and physically. She went through her days waiting for her life to be over, going through the motions required to run her household. Her hope had been blown away by the years of desert wind, not tempered by her own child’s laughter.

I returned home, and circumcised Ishmael and all of the men under me. There was much groaning and moaning, but all males were subjected to the knife. I laid on my bed in pain, my beautiful but aged wife tending to me, and I told her what our LORD had promised. “His will be done” she said, and continued to prepare the meal. She had heard of the LORD’s promises before, even though he had not commanded such sacrificial behavior before. I saw her lay her hand over her womb and bow her head.

Shortly after the circumcision, three men appeared at our tent. We offered them food and rest, and they repeated the promise that Sarah would have a son before another year had passed. Sarah could be heard laughing softly inside the tent. I knew what she was thinking. Her cycles had ceased, her womb had closed itself permanently, and I was old. What were we thinking, having children at such an advanced age? Sarah and I had done everything my LORD had requested of us, and things had not yet changed. Sarah had stopped placing her hand over her womb, though I still caught her with her head bowed. More times than not, though, I caught the glint of tears as she raised her proud head to resume her work. No burden of work would ever wear on her more than her childless state.

In that year there was the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, from which my cousin Lot and his family barely escaped. Then there was another situation much like the one with Pharaoh. Sarah could still catch a man’s eye, even in her advanced years! But before long, a look of wonderment came upon her face. Her breasts became full again, and her hand went to her womb. Afraid to become too happy, she said little to me as her womb stretched to contain the new life within. At her age, would the baby survive its short trip from the womb to full life? As the baby kicked within her, Sarah’s hand would travel again and again to caress the baby within, and she bowed her head each time. The difference was that now, when her head was raised again to her duties, she had a shadow of a smile. And she began to sing. She sang to the life growing within her.

And then, this morning, Sarah began to cry out from the pains of labor. The labor was difficult but Sarah was brave and bore it all with great dignity. Finally, the baby arrived, and we held our breath until the baby announced his arrival with a loud cry. The midwife announced “It is a son!” and I turned to Sarah.

It was if she had been resurrected. Before, the years had lain heavily upon her. The years of waiting were carved deeply into the lines of her face. Even when I loved her, I could sense the emptiness within her. Now, her face was like the desert after a rain. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. My Sarah, my beautiful, brave Sarah, who had borne a curse for her whole life, was fulfilled. The midwife placed our son into her arms, and Sarah was again transformed into that woman I had married all those long years ago. Once again, she was like the desert sunrise, shining light in all the dark places. Her arms full of our future, she looked at me and beamed. Isaac, our son, suckled at her breast, giving her life as she gave back to him.

My faith had finally been rewarded, and my life had been renewed. I went out into the desert, and it was not the desert sun nor the grit that watered my eyes.