The Warrior: Caleb (20 page)

Acsah’s answer remained in Caleb’s grieving mind. How had he come by his faith? Why was it he could not instill faith in his sons?

He lay awake upon his cushions all night, thinking. How was it that he alone among all his family members had known there was only one God with power, that all the others were counterfeit? He had grown up with the idols of Egypt, given libations and prayers as did his mother and father and his brothers and their wives. Yet, the moment Moses had returned from Midian, Caleb had known his life would never be the same. He had witnessed the plagues and known without doubt that the God of Moses, the God of Abraham was all-powerful. All the gods of Egypt could not prevail against Him, for they were nothing more than the pathetic conjuring of men’s imaginations.

Faith had come to him like a flash of sunlight, a joy in his heart.
Here is a God I can worship! Here is a God I can follow with confidence and rejoicing!

But faith had not come to his family members in the same way—reason and necessity had drawn them. Crops beaten down by hail and burned by lightning, animals dead from disease, boils making the Egyptians moan in agony, Caleb knew it had been fear that made his family listen at last to his reasoning and follow him to the Hebrew encampment. They’d never shared his excitement or joy at being in the Presence of the cloud or pillar of fire. They’d never stood in wonder and stared at the swirling canopy of light and shadow.

They followed in dread.

They obeyed out of fear.

They gave offerings because the Law required them to do so.

Surely my faith came from You, Lord, and I can’t boast in it. It was born in an instant. My eyes and ears were opened. My heart beat as though for the first time. My lungs filled with the air of thanksgiving. I wanted to be counted among Your people. I wanted to live a life that would please You
.

Why not my sons? Why only Acsah, a girl, last and least among all my offspring?

He wearied himself asking the questions. Whatever the reason, Acsah believed as strongly as he did. She yearned to be close to God the way he yearned. But instead of encouraging her faith, he had assumed she was patronizing him. He had been irritated at the thought of his concubines and sons humoring him, thinking he was an old man and should have someone to watch over him.

But Acsah’s faith was genuine.

Only last year, when they had gone up to Jerusalem to the solemn assembly of Atonement Day, Caleb had watched her gather olive and myrtle branches and palm branches while his sons were off celebrating with their friends.

“Where is Acsah?”

“Am I my sister’s keeper?”

Maacah slapped Sheva. “Go and find her. And you, too, Tirhanah.” She gestured to her sons.

“She is building a booth,” Caleb said.

Maacah had looked at him, perplexed. “Did you send her?”

He could see that his concubine wondered if he had lost his mind. “No. She went of her own accord.”

“But why?”

He looked at his sons. “Atonement Day is followed by the Festival of the Booths.”

“We haven’t lived in booths since Joshua died, Father.”

“No one does that anymore.”

Caleb roused. “It would be good for you to remember why we wandered in the wilderness for forty years and had to live in booths!”

Into the tense silence that followed, Maacah spoke gravely. “An unmarried girl has no business living outside her father’s house.” His sons went to bring her back. He remembered how Acsah had fought and then, defeated, had wept.

Now they lived in a garden of God’s making, and the wilderness was forgotten. So, too, were the lessons they had learned there.

Caleb knew he must do something before it was too late.

I am an old man, Lord, and I cannot fight anymore. My words no longer fire men’s blood. The sin in our lives is a greater threat than our enemies! We have not completed the work You set before us. I look around me and see how complacent my sons have become, how complacent the people.

We rebuild towns, but step over the rubble in our lives. We make friends with those who despise Your Name. I don’t know what to do. I’m tired, worn down by despair, worn out by age. I can barely rise from my pallet now or eat my food. Servants tend me. But my mind, Lord, my mind still races. My heart still pounds out praises to Your name!

“He’s crying again.”

Caleb sat with his back resting against cushions propped up to support him. Was he crying? Tears seemed to come without warning these days. His body was feeble. Did they think his mind was as well? He listened to his sons talk around him. He hadn’t spoken in days, his thoughts focused on God. Perhaps his silence now would cause them to open their ears when he did decide to speak again. If he did. He would say nothing until the Lord told him what to do. For now, let them wonder. He was beyond explanations, weary of trying to convince them to pursue God’s will.

I wait upon You, Lord. Until I take my last breath, I wait upon You. Tell me what I am to do about my sons.

Acsah came near. She rested her hand upon his shoulder and knelt beside him, a bowl of brown muck in her hand. He scowled as he looked at it. The few teeth he had left were worn down and caused him pain. He was reduced to eating finely chopped meat and mashed vegetables. He couldn’t even tell what she was offering him.

She placed the bowl in his hands. “Please, Father, eat a little. You need it to keep up your strength.”

It would do no good to tell her that he had lost his sense of smell and taste and that to eat this slop tested his will.

“What ails Father?” Hur studied him from across the room.

Moza shrugged. “He’s old; that’s what ails him.” He called to Acsah and held his cup up so she could replenish his wine.

Haran ate a date. “He hardly eats.”

“He’s not leading an army anymore.”

“He hasn’t said a word in days.”

Acsah poured wine into Caleb’s cup. “Perhaps he’s tired of speaking and being ignored.”

Her older brother Sheber scowled. “Go about your business, girl, and leave the men to theirs.”

Caleb clenched his jaw. It wasn’t the first time he had heard his sons speak to their sister with such disdain. Even some of his sons’ wives treated her like an outsider, a servant at best. And Acsah had more faith than all of them combined.

“Perhaps his mind is going.” Sheber did not appear much distressed at the possibility.

“The people still revere him. If his mind is going, we should keep quiet about it and not shame him.”

Caleb felt his sons studying him. He didn’t raise his head or look at them, but ate slowly with a trembling hand.

“He’s praying.” Acsah again, quietly, tenderly.

“For seven days straight? No man prays that long.”

“Moses was on the mountain forty days and forty nights.”

Sheber waved his sister off. “
Moses.
Yes. Our father believes in God, but Father was a warrior, not a prophet.”

“God chose him after Joshua—”

“Hush, girl! Go feed the goats.” Shaaph gestured. “Go card wool. Get out of our hair.”

Caleb heard the clatter of crockery and stomping feet.

“Maybe Acsah is right. Maybe he is praying.”

“We’re at peace. We’re prospering. What is there to pray about now?”

Caleb lost what little appetite he had. Shaking, he leaned forward to put his bowl down.

“You’d better take that from him or he’ll spill it all over himself.”

Hebron took the bowl and set it aside.

“I’ve never seen him pray longer than a few hours at one sitting.” Tirhanah squinted at his father.

“We should do something about Acsah.”

“What about Acsah?”

“We should find her a husband.”

“Mesha’s youngest daughter is a year younger than our sister, and she’s married and has a son. Acsah needs sons.”

“She has four brothers. She doesn’t need sons.”

“Besides, she’s needed here.”

His sons were silent just long enough for Caleb to know they were looking at him. The heat of anger surged into Caleb’s face, but he did keep his silence.

Replete from the sumptuous meal, Sheber leaned back with a belch. “She’s content.”

Content? How little they knew or cared about their sister.

“Just leave her be. If she wants to get married, she’ll say something to Father about it and he can decide what to do about her.”

It was easy to see they all assumed he would do nothing because of the convenience of her tender care. He kept his head down, pretending to doze. Let them think he was a tired old man, hardly able to chew his bread. One by one, his sons rose and went out to whatever work or pleasurable activities they had planned for themselves.

Acsah returned and knelt beside him. She tore off some bread and dipped it into the wine and held the morsel to his lips. “Just a little, Father, please. Don’t give up.”

He looked into her eyes. The others no longer needed him. They were moving on with their lives, moving ahead without any thought of him. But she was different. She was determined to keep him going. Why?
Oh, Lord, I’m tired. I’m sick at heart. Don’t let me live long enough to see my sons all turn away from You. Let me die before that day comes.
Unable to stop the tears, he bent his head and let them come, shoulders heaving.

“God of mercy and strength . . .” Acsah spoke softly, weeping as she prayed fervently. For him. “Give Father back his strength, Lord. We need him. If he lays down his head now, what will become of our people? Who will rise up to shout Your name? Who will . . . ?”

Caleb’s tears ceased as he listened to his daughter. His mind opened wide, as though a hand drew aside a curtain so that he could see clearly. Did his sons love him as she did? Did they listen to him with open mind and heart, absorbing the lessons he had to teach as though his words came from the Lord Himself?
Acsah. Sweet Acsah.
A future and a hope lay before him. This girl was more like him than all his sons combined. They caused him endless grief; she lived to please him. She alone stood straight among others who bent with the wind.

“Then give me the sword!” she had cried out to him once.

A sword.

His burden lifted and he let out his breath in a long sigh. “Acsah.” Trembling, he rested his hand upon her. “God has answered us.”

She raised her head, eyes red and cheeks pale from weeping. Catching her breath, she sat upon her heels, eyes brightened. “What did He say, Father?” Tiny bumps rose on her arms and she leaned toward him, eager to hear.

“I must find you a husband.”

She blanched. “No.”

“Yes.”

Her tears came again, in a storm of anger this time. “Why?” She glared at him. “You made it up. God said no such thing!”

Caleb caught her face between his hands and held her firmly, trembling. “I didn’t make it up. You are to marry. Now, tell me who it is to be. Give me the name.”

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t know.”

He opened his heart wide and sent up a prayer like an arrow to heaven.
Who, Lord? Who is to be my daughter’s husband?

Ask her.

If she didn’t know the name, she must know other things. But what? What?

“Father, don’t upset yourself.”

“Hush.” He must look wild in his frustration. He released her with a pat on her cheek. “Let an old man think.”
Lord, what do I ask? What?
And then it came to him. “What sort of man would you want?”

“I have not thought about it.”

“You must have thought about it. Now, tell me.”

“I see the sort of men there are, and I want none of them. Why would I want any one of them to be my husband? I would rather die than—”

“Answer the question. What would it take to make you content? to bring you joy. Think!”

She clenched her hands until her knuckles were white. “Someone who loves God above everyone and everything else. Someone who keeps the covenant. Someone who doesn’t look away when God’s enemies move back into the land God gave us. Someone who hears God when He speaks. A man with a warrior’s heart.” She glared at him through her tears. “
Someone like my father!
”

He smiled ruefully. “Someone far better than your father, I think. You want a prophet.”

“Nothing less.” Her eyes were as fierce as a lioness’s. “If I have any real choice in the matter.”

“Go and fetch me your brothers.”

Her defiance withered. “No, Father, please . . .”

“Do you trust me?”

She bit her lip.

He gave a curt laugh. Why
should
she trust him? Had he ever put her interests above his sons’? His eyes had been so fixed upon them that he had neglected to think much about her. But she had gleaned the Word of the Lord. She had taken up hope and held it close, nourishing her soul upon it.

“Father, let me stay with you.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Let me serve you.” She bowed her head.

He tipped her chin. “Acsah, my child. Do you trust
God?
” He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her lips.

“Yes.”

“Then trust in Him and go fetch your brothers. God knows the plans He has for you, and it is for your future and
our
hope.”