Pearl in the Sand (44 page)

As it turned out, the five Amorite kings devised a trick of their own. Rather than attacking Israel directly, they attacked Gibeon and the other provinces that had entered into peace with Israel. Rahab knew as soon as she heard the news that her husband would go into battle. Israel would not sit back and allow an ally to be destroyed by its neighbors. Salmone’s injuries from the battle of Ai had long since healed and he had regained his vigor. Nothing would keep him home with her.

Joshua chose to lead out the army late in the evening, marching
all night from Gilgal in order to take Adoni-Zedek by surprise. That night, as Rahab sat sleepless on her lonely pallet, knowing Salmone to be marching perhaps to his doom, she battled a terror like none she had ever known. Her heart could not bear the thought of losing her husband. She felt like her skin could not contain her, like she wanted to run out of her body and leave it behind, leave behind the intensity of alarm that clawed at her. Her heart pounded so fast and so hard she thought her chest might burst. She tried, but there was no reasoning with this panic. It did not comprehend comfort. It raged with an illogical fervor that would not end.

Suddenly, in the midst of this near-unbearable experience, she heard a whisper, one short phrase:
My daughter
. She recognized that voice, that combination of immense strength and inordinate love.
My daughter
. The attack of panic came to an abrupt end. She was not alone. One by one, she rehearsed what was true. Israel battled not as other nations. The Lord was her Warrior. He went ahead of His people. He opened miraculous doors to victory. She remembered that God had spoken to Joshua before he left on the long march, saying that Adoni-Zedek’s army would not be able to withstand Israel’s might.

Most importantly, she recalled that Salmone belonged more to God than to her. The Lord would see to Salmone. And He would see to her. Her fate, her well-being, her future were not in Salmone’s hands. They were in God’s. Whatever became of Salmone during this conflict—and all others to come—Rahab could trust her destiny to the One who had brought her through so much already. She needed to remember that Salmone was not her Lord, only her husband.

She could not entirely shake the feelings of anxiety for the man she loved. But the fear no longer consumed her. In her inmost being, God had grown greater than fear.

The next morning Rahab went to visit her family, taking with her some fig cakes, which she had prepared the previous day. Her father loved this particular recipe. She found him in the family tent, working on a malfunctioning lamp. A memory flashed in her mind
as she saw him rise up from the lamp and stretch his arms to loosen his knotted muscles. It was the memory of her father picking her up when she was three years old, twirling her around, shouting,
My daughter
. The very words God had spoken to her in her hours of panic. It occurred to Rahab that the Lord wanted her to understand something. God had covered the gap of her father. He had loved and protected her where her father could not. And He wanted her to remember that, regardless of his grave failure, her father also loved her.

In that moment the thought of forgiving him, of letting go of the bitterness of his betrayal became not only possible, but also irresistible. She might have other days when she would need to renew the struggle internally, let it go again, and give up the resentment afresh. For now, however, she could take this step with genuine peace. She considered how to convey this tremendous change of heart to her father. If she told him she forgave him, he might take offense rather than be comforted. If, as Miriam suggested, he had justified his actions, Rahab’s forgiveness would only make him defensive. It would smack of an indictment. Every act of forgiveness by its inherent nature hinted at a wrongdoing. Her father might feel judged instead of relieved by her words. And yet Rahab could not leave him without communicating that some impediment between them had been shattered that day.

With soft steps, she went over to him, proffering the fig cakes in one upturned palm. “For you,
Abba.”
It had been eleven years since she had called him that.

His eyes widened, and for an uncertain moment he stood and stared at her. Tears filled his eyes. He ignored the cakes. “What did you call me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Abba.”

He reached a trembling hand to the top of Rahab’s head and patted it once. “My daughter,” he whispered, his voice breaking. Then he turned and walked outside. Rahab laid the cakes down on a platter and wiped away tears as she straightened.

That day, an astounding event shook the nation of Israel. The sun stopped right in the middle of the sky. It just hung there at high noon for hours and hours.
For an entire day
. The people marveled, walking out of their tents again and again as if to verify that they weren’t dreaming or making this up. No one had ever heard of such a thing happening. Ever.

Finally, when they had all lost track of time, a runner brought news from the army. Joshua had prayed that the sun would stand still over Gibeon so that he could finish the battle and vanquish their enemies. To everyone’s astonishment, the sun obeyed, for God had honored Joshua’s improbable request. Rahab doubted the world would see such a day ever again.

And yet which was the greater miracle, she wondered. That the sun should delay going down for a day, or that a woman would forgive her father’s gravest sin against her?

Salmone returned from battle exhausted but unharmed. The very sight of him was joy to Rahab. Proudly, she presented the robe she had made for him, finished in the agonizing hours of his absence. He put it on immediately and proclaimed it the finest garment in all Israel, making Miriam laugh and Rahab blush. She and Miriam celebrated his safe return with a feast. After Israel’s incomparable victory everyone was in the mood for a celebration and the festivities were lavish. When the revelers finally left for home, Rahab danced for Salmone for the first time.

Her dance only lasted a very short time. Before she had a chance to show him one of her more elaborate moves, she found herself pulled roughly into his arms.

“I’m not finished,” she mocked.

“Neither am I,” he assured.

Later, as they lay cozily in each other’s arms, Rahab mused innocently, “I think Ezra is a fine man. Don’t you, my lord?”

Salmone’s lids, already half shut in approaching sleep, snapped open. “Excuse me?”

“Ezra, I said. Such an admirable man he is.”

“Is there a point to this discussion about the fine qualities of another man while we lie in our marriage bed?”

“Miriam would likely do a better job of answering that.”

Salmone pushed the sheet off his chest and sat up. “Miriam? What does Miriam have to do with it?”

“Well, I think she would agree about Ezra’s having many admirable qualities.”

“Miriam is just a child,” Salmone snapped.

Rahab giggled. “That may be, but most young women her age are already bearing their firstborn.”

Salmone frowned. “Hmmm. I grant you, she’s grown up a little in the past month or two.”

Rahab covered her mouth with her hand and looked down. Salmone crossed his arms. “What of it, anyway?”

“Ezra seems quite fond of her.”

“That boy has been following her with his eyes for nigh on a year. Don’t you think I’ve noticed?”

“Hardly a boy, husband. Why, half the women in Judah would court him as son-in-law. And Miriam is fond of him.”

“Has she said so?”

“She might have.”

Salmone punched a pillow and gave Rahab a fierce look. “Why hasn’t the boy … all right, the man … come forward then? Why should my wife be telling me about this in the peace of my bed?”

“The way you scowl at him every time he approaches Miriam? He can hardly expect a warm reception what with your frowns dogging his every step. And his only sin is to love your sister.”

Salmone held up his hands. “Peace, woman. Have it your way, then. Ezra is an admirable man and I will stop scowling at him. Anything more?”

“You are the very soul of generosity, my lord.”

Salmone bent over and kissed his wife. “I am only grateful you are on the side of Israel,” he murmured. Then he kissed her again before she could respond.

T
he baby screamed with healthy lungs. Salmone picked him up and bounced him. “Calm yourself, my son, or your mother will accuse you of being greedy.”

“He is greedy,” Rahab mumbled, cracking one eye open. “He just
finished
feeding.” She lifted her arms, and Salmone put their son into her hands.

“Shush, sweet. Mama’s here. She’ll take care of you.”

The baby began to suckle with noisy abandon.

Salmone laughed. “He definitely doesn’t have your manners.” As if on cue, the child passed gas, a gurgling sound that made them both smile. “Well, perhaps he has your brother’s manners.”

“Oh, it’s just a lower cough. Leave him be.”

“I have no problem with it. But the woman he marries might have a few objections.”

“I wonder who that will be?” Rahab reflected.

Salmone bent over him and kissed his cheek. “Son, whatever you do, wait for the right woman. Even if you are old and grey by the time she shows up, don’t compromise. Wait patiently.”

“Mmmm. And treat your wife well from the
first
moment you lay eyes on her. Unlike some people who shall remain nameless.”

“I don’t know who your mother has in mind.”

“Oh, Salmone, I pray he will be as happy as we are. I pray God will bless him with a good wife who will bring him joy—and a son to continue your line.”

“And yours,” he whispered, bending down to kiss her. Straightening, he moved to the open tent flap, where the sun’s rays were shining through. “I wonder what will become of our line, Rahab. I wonder what manner of men and women will be born through us, and what lives they will live.”

“I wonder how God will use them.”

“Yes, that most of all.”

“Well, little Boaz, haven’t we given you a lot to think about? The baby belched. Rahab and Salmone burst out laughing.