turning to ashes before his eyes. And he knew why.
God is against me!
Lying on the hard ground in the opening of his sheepfold, a stone for a pillow, Judah stared up at the evening sky and remembered the promise God had given his father, Jacob, so many years ago—the same promise God had given to Jacob’s father, Abraham. Land and descendants as numerous as the stars in the heavens! The Lord had blessed Jacob-Israel with twelve sons.
Judah was haunted by nightmares about the fateful day in Dothan. His own words cursed him. “What can we gain by killing our brother? Let’s sell Joseph to those Ishmaelite traders!” The dry cistern yawned like a black hole in his dreams, and he could hear the cries of his helpless younger brother.
He knew it was because of what he and his brothers had done to Joseph that his life was now in ruins. There was no way to go back, no way to undo his part in it.
“Help me, brothers! Help me!” Judah remembered the boy struggling against his shackles and sobbing for help from those who should have protected him. “Help me!” The boy’s sobs still echoed, the same way they had the day he was dragged away to Egypt as his brothers watched.
Judah had shown no mercy to Joseph then.
Judah expected no mercy from God now.
* * *
Though outwardly obedient, inwardly Tamar balked at fate, for it was not her destiny to grow old and die without having children. Four years passed, but Tamar clung tenaciously to hope. She was still young; there was still time.
She worked hard for her father’s household. She gave him no opportunity to complain. She made pottery. She wove baskets and cloth. She made tools for her brothers and sisters to use in the fields. Only when the shepherds had taken their flocks away did her father send her out into the fields to work. Though the work was grueling, she preferred the open spaces. Better a burden of rock than the burden of others’ contempt.
Her father prospered. The third year Zimran harvested twofold from his fields. “Where is the ill fortune you were sure I would bring you?” she said in challenge.
“Let’s wait and see what next year brings.”
By the fifth year her father’s household prospered so greatly that everyone forgave her presence. Her sisters married, and she was welcomed into the house. Her brother took a wife. Tamar became an object of pity. She would have welcomed their compassion, but she despised their charity. They looked down upon her and upon Judah’s household.
She held on to her hope. She clung to it. One day Judah would send for her! One day she would have children! Someday the house of Judah would be strong and held in high honor because of the sons she would give them. She wept, for she ached to take her rightful place as the childbearer in her husband’s clan. What greater dream could a woman have?
Yet sometimes in the night, when Tamar heard the soft mewling sounds of her brother’s firstborn son, she wept. Would she ever hold a child of her own?
Surely Judah had not forsaken her. Surely he would send for her. He had given his promise. Perhaps this year. Perhaps next. Oh, let it be soon!
When she was alone in the fields, Tamar lifted up her eyes to the heavens, tears streaking her face. How long, O Lord, how long will I be abandoned? How long before justice is done? Oh, God of Judah, help me. When will this son of yours see that I can give his household the children he needs so that the name of Judah will not die? Change his heart, God. Change his heart.
Having prayed to Judah’s unseen God, Tamar did the only thing left to her.
She waited . . .
and waited . . .
and waited. . . .
FIVE
On market day, while her father and brothers sat in the city gate visiting with friends, Tamar remained in the goat-hair booth with her mother and sold cloth made from the flax. Sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued patrons never cowed Tamar, and the booth always showed a good profit when she managed it. Her mother was content to leave it
God is against me!
Lying on the hard ground in the opening of his sheepfold, a stone for a pillow, Judah stared up at the evening sky and remembered the promise God had given his father, Jacob, so many years ago—the same promise God had given to Jacob’s father, Abraham. Land and descendants as numerous as the stars in the heavens! The Lord had blessed Jacob-Israel with twelve sons.
Judah was haunted by nightmares about the fateful day in Dothan. His own words cursed him. “What can we gain by killing our brother? Let’s sell Joseph to those Ishmaelite traders!” The dry cistern yawned like a black hole in his dreams, and he could hear the cries of his helpless younger brother.
He knew it was because of what he and his brothers had done to Joseph that his life was now in ruins. There was no way to go back, no way to undo his part in it.
“Help me, brothers! Help me!” Judah remembered the boy struggling against his shackles and sobbing for help from those who should have protected him. “Help me!” The boy’s sobs still echoed, the same way they had the day he was dragged away to Egypt as his brothers watched.
Judah had shown no mercy to Joseph then.
Judah expected no mercy from God now.
* * *
Though outwardly obedient, inwardly Tamar balked at fate, for it was not her destiny to grow old and die without having children. Four years passed, but Tamar clung tenaciously to hope. She was still young; there was still time.
She worked hard for her father’s household. She gave him no opportunity to complain. She made pottery. She wove baskets and cloth. She made tools for her brothers and sisters to use in the fields. Only when the shepherds had taken their flocks away did her father send her out into the fields to work. Though the work was grueling, she preferred the open spaces. Better a burden of rock than the burden of others’ contempt.
Her father prospered. The third year Zimran harvested twofold from his fields. “Where is the ill fortune you were sure I would bring you?” she said in challenge.
“Let’s wait and see what next year brings.”
By the fifth year her father’s household prospered so greatly that everyone forgave her presence. Her sisters married, and she was welcomed into the house. Her brother took a wife. Tamar became an object of pity. She would have welcomed their compassion, but she despised their charity. They looked down upon her and upon Judah’s household.
She held on to her hope. She clung to it. One day Judah would send for her! One day she would have children! Someday the house of Judah would be strong and held in high honor because of the sons she would give them. She wept, for she ached to take her rightful place as the childbearer in her husband’s clan. What greater dream could a woman have?
Yet sometimes in the night, when Tamar heard the soft mewling sounds of her brother’s firstborn son, she wept. Would she ever hold a child of her own?
Surely Judah had not forsaken her. Surely he would send for her. He had given his promise. Perhaps this year. Perhaps next. Oh, let it be soon!
When she was alone in the fields, Tamar lifted up her eyes to the heavens, tears streaking her face. How long, O Lord, how long will I be abandoned? How long before justice is done? Oh, God of Judah, help me. When will this son of yours see that I can give his household the children he needs so that the name of Judah will not die? Change his heart, God. Change his heart.
Having prayed to Judah’s unseen God, Tamar did the only thing left to her.
She waited . . .
and waited . . .
and waited. . . .
FIVE
On market day, while her father and brothers sat in the city gate visiting with friends, Tamar remained in the goat-hair booth with her mother and sold cloth made from the flax. Sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued patrons never cowed Tamar, and the booth always showed a good profit when she managed it. Her mother was content to leave it
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