No Woman So Fair (13 page)

“It is only given to the one that the Eternal One chooses. It is not always passed from father to son, but it is always kept in our family. After the Eternal One showed himself to me in the wilderness, he told me to return to the home of my father. In our time together my father taught me much about the One I had sought for so long…. If only I had not left my father's home as a boy…things would have been so different. I would not have had to search so long and hard to know the Eternal One. But life is what it is….”

Nahor's words faded. His eyes closed, and Abram feared he would not speak again. But after a moment the old man smiled and began again. “During one of our discussions my father passed the medallion to me—his message was clear. He told me that the Eternal One had told him to give it to me, and he charged me to wait until I heard from God before I gave it to anyone else.” Nahor placed his trembling hand on Abram's arm. “God spoke to me last night, my dear grandson—the Eternal One, the One who is the God of all love, appeared to me. And He instructed me to give this to
you
.”

Abram felt his hands trembling. “But I'm not worthy,” he said.

“No man is worthy. The Eternal One alone is worthy.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means the Eternal One is working out His purpose. Somehow you have a great work to do for Him. He has not told me what it is, but He will speak to you. After I'm gone, wait for Him and He will come. Keep yourself free from the bonds of earthly concerns. Your father and your brother think only of this world, but you must think of another one, a world where the Eternal One is king. Think of the redeemer who is coming, the one who will be of our blood.”

Nahor reached up with a frail hand, took Abram's hand, and whispered, “Kiss me, my son. I go to my beloved, the Eternal One.”

With tears flowing down his face, Abram leaned forward and kissed his grandfather on the cheek. The old man embraced him strongly for a moment, almost with the strength of a young man, and then Abram felt the old arms relax.

Abram saw that Nahor had ceased to breathe. He had almost imperceptibly slipped out of his body, a body that now lay withered and still. Abram closed the old man's eyes, arranged the arms, and pushed back the hair. Then he turned to Sarai, who had entered the tent. “Did you hear?” he asked her.

Sarai's eyes were large. “Yes, I heard.”

Abram rose, and Sarai came to stand beside him. They looked down at the old man and did not speak. Somehow they knew their lives would change, and Sarai felt a sudden fear. She clung to her husband, wondering what time would bring.

****

For two months after the funeral of his grandfather, Abram went about his work in a perfunctory way. He could not get away from the last words his grandfather had spoken, and many times he would reach up and touch the pouch that he now wore around his neck. Often he would take out the medallion and stare at it, wondering what the lion and the lamb meant. He knew that Sarai was worried about him, for although he tried to be cheerful, his mind and heart and soul were constantly reaching out to the Eternal One, desperately seeking His presence. He fasted and prayed almost continuously, so much so that he lost weight.

He went out very early one morning, long before the sun was up, intending to look for several sheep that had wandered away. He had left Sarai sleeping, and now he traipsed across the rocky earth in the chill air of the predawn hours. He picked his way through the scrub brush by the light of the moon, thinking not so much of the missing animals as of the Eternal One. He finally found the wayward sheep and sat down near them as they were feeding. He sat there for a long time, just thinking and remembering and wondering what was to come.

Gradually he became aware that he was not alone. He looked up, expecting to see one of his shepherds coming for the sheep, but he saw no one. Still he had an uncanny feeling that he was not alone. And then immediately in front of him he saw what appeared to be a light. At first he thought it was simply the glare of the sunrise, but then he realized that was impossible because the sun had not yet risen.

The light continued to grow, and fear seized him when he realized he was in the presence of the Eternal One, the God of his grandfather Nahor. He fell on his knees and put his forehead on the ground, conscious that the light was growing. It expanded more and more until, even with his eyes closed, he could sense the brightness of it. And then the voice spoke:

“Abram, you have been faithful to seek my face. I have chosen you, and you will serve me in a way that will bring glory to my name.”

Abram rose and tried to open his eyes, but the light was unbearable to look at. He felt as if he were being washed in it, not only outwardly but also inwardly. The light seemed to flow down through his entire body, and tears began to roll down his face. He could not speak a word, but he listened as the voice continued:

“I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you. I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse. And all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”

Then Abram cried out, “O strong and eternal God, how can I be father of a great nation? I don't even have
one
son.”

There was silence for a moment and then the voice came again, and as Abram listened, comfort and joy flowed through him. Both the voice and the light were powerful, life-giving.

God said,
“Obey my voice. My promise is sure, and my word is sure. I have chosen you, and you will be my servant.”

Abram never knew how long he knelt there with his head bowed to the earth. Time did not seem to matter. The light continued to flow through him until finally he was aware that it was fading. Quickly he lifted himself and looked around. The light and the voice were gone.

Shakily, on weakened legs, Abram got to his feet. He turned and stumbled away, crying aloud, “O Eternal God, I will never again pray to any god except you! And I will believe you. Even though I have no son, I will believe your promise.”

He stumbled blindly back toward his tent to tell Sarai. He did not understand how or why, but somehow God, the Eternal One, the One who never changes, had chosen him. An inexplicable joy filled Abram of Ur of the Chaldees, for he knew that now, at last, he had found the true God!

For some reason Abram had never considered the problem of getting old—but the truth occurred to him late one afternoon while he was hunting with his nephew Lot. Perhaps he had never thought about it because his people all lived to an advanced age. Even one hundred was still considered quite young. Abram's grandfather had told him that before the flood it was not unusual for people to live over five hundred years.

Abram had always been an extremely strong and healthy man. He was not large, but he was quick and agile, with muscles like those of a leopard—lean rather than bulky. He had never been sick a day in his life and had given no thought before to passing out of youth into middle age. Not until late one afternoon when he was with Lot, now fifteen years old, and he discovered he was not the man he had been at his marriage twenty years earlier.

Since the death of Lot's father, Haran, Abram and Sarai had practically adopted the boy as their own son. Abram felt a great affection for the lad, who had grown strong and powerful. Lot's mother had become so depressed after the death of her husband that she needed much help in raising her son. Her mother-in-law and Sarai both helped with the infant, and as the child grew, Abram had taken the boy out of the city to grow up among the sheep and goats. Dehazi's family arranged for her to marry an uncle, a man with two other wives and many children. It pained her greatly to part with her son, but she agreed that Lot would be better off with his loving uncle and aunt, who still had no children of their own, than becoming part of such a large family, where he would have to work in town to help support them. Lot had been a joy to Abram and Sarai and had grown large for his age and proficient with the bow and sling.

Abram and Lot had left on their hunt at noon and had been unsuccessful until they finally came upon a hart at a small watering hole. They had crept to a hiding place downwind from the animal, and at a signal from Abram, both had loosed their arrows. Abram saw with chagrin that his own arrow missed by a fraction, but Lot's arrow caught the hart in the body. The wound was not instantly fatal, however, and the animal bounded off.

“He's getting away!” Lot cried. “Come on, Uncle!”

The two plunged after the wounded animal, and for a time Abram, with his longer legs, stayed in the lead. But the animal, apparently not as seriously wounded as they had thought, ran a good race. They were following him by the blood marks that he left, and after fifteen minutes of strenuous running, Abram felt his side aching and his breath coming in gasps. He was forced to slow his pace, and as he did so his young nephew shot by him.

Lot cried, “Come on, Uncle, he's getting away!” and ran even faster. Abram was stung by the lad's challenge and forced himself forward as rapidly as he could move his legs. After another few minutes, however, he knew he could not keep up and had to slow down to a walk. He put his hand over his aching side and saw Lot's black hair in the distance. The boy was jumping up and down, waving his bow and shouting, “Come on, I've got him, Uncle Abram!”

Abram walked along painfully, dodging the scrub bushes that contained knifelike thorns, and, for the first time in his life, he became aware of his own mortality.

There was a time, not long ago, when that boy could not have outrun me. He's only fifteen years old, and yet I can't keep up with him. I'm getting old. I can't do the things I once could
. For some reason these thoughts shot through him like a shouted warning. He had known, of course, as a matter of theory, that he would grow older and one day would die as all men do, but this was the first sound of that distant trumpet.
You're getting old, Abram
. He knew he was still much stronger than other men his age, but it half angered him that his body refused to obey his will. Abram was not a proud man—at least not consciously so—but this failure stung him.

Lot greeted him, laughing and shouting, “Look, I got him, Uncle! He slowed down, and I ran forward and wrestled him down and cut his throat.” He held the scarlet-stained bronze knife high, and the boy's face was filled with exultation.

“Well, let's dress him out and take him back,” Abram said wearily.

“But wasn't it exciting, Uncle?”

“We should have hit him in the heart so he wouldn't have run us half to death,” Abram said grumpily. He saw the boy's face fall and knew he had hurt his feelings. Lot was a sensitive young man in almost every way, and Abram at once felt compunction. He went forward and tapped Lot on the shoulders. “You did fine, son. I missed him altogether. You've gotten to be a better hunter than your teacher.”

“Oh no, it was just fun, Uncle,” Lot said quickly.

As Abram helped the boy dress the hart, he felt a sense of gratitude. Lot had become a handsome lad, with glossy black hair, rich and thick, and noble features. His nose was small for one of his race, and his cheekbones were high and almost delicate. His mouth was sensitive and often turned upward in a smile, and he had a rich golden tan from the suns of fifteen summers.

I may not have a son, but this boy is like a son to me
, Abram thought.
If it doesn't please the Eternal One to give me children, at least I'll have this one. He will be a son to me
.

They took only minutes to dress out the deer, and dividing the bloody load, they started back toward the camp. As they moved along through the scrub and scant grass of the desert, Abram listened with half of his mind as Lot chatted on about the hunt and other things that interested him. Abram's attention was turned toward the time that Nahor, his grandfather, had died. Unconsciously he reached up and touched the pouch that he wore constantly around his neck. He could feel the hard form of the medallion inside the soft leather and had the sudden urge to take it out and look at it. He had little need to do so, however, for he had fixed the image firmly in his memory after years of staring at it. He still had no idea what the lion signified, nor the lamb on the reverse side, but he could remember clearly, as if they were spoken the previous day, the words of Nahor telling him that the Eternal One had chosen him to carry the medallion and to pass it along when his time was done.

A gathering of tents loomed up before them. The camp in which Abram and Sarai lived had grown to include the families of the shepherds and herdsmen that worked for Abram. The colored tents were woven of wool and dyed blue and red and green, while others were blinding white. This was Abram's home, and as always, it gave him a feeling of joy and satisfaction. True enough, he had a moving home, not like his father's house, which was built of sunbaked bricks. No, Abram's life was that of a nomad. One day he might be in the south, in the dry country, and the next week they might move to find fresh grasses and feed for the flocks. As always, there was an ongoing search for water, so the tents had to be light and easily transported. But no matter where the tents were set up, they were home because Abram's life centered on Sarai, who was, after all these years, still the love of his heart.

As they moved into the encampment, Abram reached down and stroked one of the dogs he had domesticated. It was in his mind to breed them and teach them to herd sheep. This was a heretical idea to most herdsmen, for dogs had never been used for such a purpose. Wild dogs were the natural enemies of the flocks. But Abram had found this particular dog when he was no more than a puppy, apparently abandoned by his mother. He was a strange color—almost blue—with shaggy, coarse hair and was large, with a broad forehead and intelligent deep brown eyes. He was a powerful animal but had become a companion to Abram as he tended his flocks. Abram had named him Nimrod. He remembered how his grandfather, in reciting the ancestry of his people, had named Nimrod as a mighty hunter before the Lord, and since the dog proved to be an excellent hunter, often running down wild hare and other small game and bringing them to Abram's feet, the name seemed suitable. He bent over and said, “Nimrod, good dog.” The dog whined and, as was his habit, opened his mighty jaws and closed them on Abram's wrist. He held the man there for a moment and then released him.