Love in a Broken Vessel Read online

  © 2013 by Mesu Andrews

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-4067-5

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from The Names of God Bible, GOD’S WORD®. © 1995 God’s Word to the Nations. Used by permission of Baker Publishing Group.

  Scripture quotations marked NIV are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearance of certain historical figures is therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  Praise for Love Amid the Ashes

  “Andrews re-creates the biblical story of Job through the eyes of the women who remained loyal to him. She has interwoven Job’s steadfast faith and his willingness to lead others to God amidst devastation and restoration. This classic story will speak to readers in new ways and ignite the passion for the ways God brings love into our daily lives.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

  “Andrews’s research shines through on every page as she delves deeply into the cultural, historical, and biblical records to create this fascinating and multilayered tale surrounding the OT hero Job and his family. Full of drama and overflowing with fresh biblical principles of finding forgiveness, hope, and healing.”

  —CBA Retailers + Resources

  “In Love Amid the Ashes, Mesu Andrews takes a biblical tale of great tragedy and skillfully weaves beauty and love amid the loss. Job’s story brought vividly to life!”

  —Jill Eileen Smith, bestselling author of Sarai and Rebekah

  “Mesu Andrews has skillfully brought the Old Testament story of Job to life in Love Amid the Ashes. Throughout this book she explains Job’s faithful adherence to studying the teachings of El Shaddai. Then she creatively reveals how those principles are demonstrated by his interaction with Dinah. You will be moved to tears as the characters reflect the mysterious role suffering plays in our faith. If you enjoy a story that includes a powerful plot, romantic passion, and biblical truth, read this book!”

  —Carol Kent, speaker and author of Between a Rock and a Grace Place

  “Love Amid the Ashes is a beautifully written account of Job’s faithfulness and Dinah’s redemption. Mesu’s passion for storytelling and Scripture shines throughout this novel. Not only did I enjoy reading the rich history and details, the story reawakened my desire to dig deeper into the lives of the Old Testament’s seemingly familiar characters. Congrats to Mesu for a stirring debut!”

  —Melanie Dobson, award-winning author of The Black Cloister

  Praise for Love’s Sacred Song

  “Andrews weaves a beautiful tale and takes readers to an ancient Jerusalem rich with history and customs and a culture that struggles to follow the one true God. This novel is well researched and well told.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

  “Andrews breathes life into her characters, portraying Solomon, who was known to have over 700 wives and 300 concubines, as a very human man whose love for one woman stands above all others. Recommended to readers who enjoy biblical retellings that focus on male/female relationships, such as those of Jill Eileen Smith and Francine Rivers.”

  —Library Journal

  “Stunning in its depth and scope, Love’s Sacred Song is a story of love and passion, faith and flaws that will haunt you forever. Mesu Andrews crafts characters that will capture your heart with prose that will stir your soul. Masterful.”

  —Roseanna M. White, author of Jewel of Persia and Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland

  To my forever best friend, Joni Edwards Jones.

  You saw me at my worst—and you refused to leave.

  You saved my life—and then I met Jesus.

  How do I thank you for eternity?

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Endorsements

  Dedication

  Note to the Reader

  Prophets & Kings of Israel / Judah

  Part 1

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  Part 2

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Part 3

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Mesu Andrews

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Note to the Reader

  When you think of reading the story of Gomer and Hosea, what novel comes to mind? Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers, right? I think I’ve read it at least four times. It’s tied for first place in my all-time favorites, and Francine Rivers is hands down my favorite author. So why would I dare write a novel that might be compared to such a classic? Because Love in a Broken Vessel is biblical fiction, and Redeeming Love is a biblical story set in a prairie romance. Trying to equate the two stories would be like comparing apples and oranges—both are fruit, but very different yummy flavors. My hope is that readers will enjoy each one for the unique story it is.

  Engaging fiction must be believable, but let’s face it—a righteous man of God marrying, loving, and repeatedly forgiving a prostitute is hard to grasp. However, as you immerse yourself in the ancient days of Hosea and Gomer, remember that the Bible says Hosea married a harlot named Gomer, and the story mirrors God’s desperate attempt to turn the hearts of Israel back to Himself. The story may not have happened exactly as I’ve written it, but it did happen. It was the mystery of Christ’s love and mercy before the incarnation of our Savior.

  Now, regarding the parts that are fiction, there is no historical data linking the prophets Jonah, Amos, and Hosea. However, Amos was indeed a fig picker from Tekoa, and it was feasible that Jonah was still living during the time of Amos’s prophecies and Hosea’s ministry. I’ve chosen to weave their lives together in a prophets’ camp—a sor
t of school for aspiring messengers of Yahweh. Though, again, I found no factual basis for a prophets’ camp in Tekoa, the Bible often refers to a community of prophets beginning as early as the tribes themselves. Shiloh was the gathering place for prophets with the ark of God. In 1 Samuel 19, Saul sent messengers to Naioth to seize David from a company of prophets, and 2 Kings 6 gives an account of some cantankerous prophets complaining that their living quarters are too tight.

  Scripture also describes the details of King Uzziah’s leprosy but gives no location of the rented house where he lived out his life while Jotham ruled from Jerusalem. Neither does the Bible declare Uzziah’s exact relationship to Isaiah and Amoz. Scripture tells us that Isaiah was the son of Amoz (2 Kings 19; 20), and according to Talmudic tradition (ancient Hebrew text), Amoz was Uzziah’s uncle (Meg. 10b). This dilemma encapsulates the beauty and challenge of biblical fiction—piecing together Scripture’s truths with historical supposition.

  Hosea’s ministry began approximately 180 years after King Solomon’s death. Solomon’s son, Rehoboam, angered the northern ten tribes with high taxes and hard labor, so they rebelled against the young king’s authority. The kingdom of Israel split into two nations. Israel comprised the northern nation of the ten rebelling tribes, while the tribe of Judah formed a new nation, maintaining its capital in Jerusalem and claiming the tribe of Benjamin as its sole support. The Canaanite people dispersed among both Israel and Judah continued worshiping pagan gods, drawing false parallels between El, the father of gods, and the Hebrews’ God, Yahweh. The northern nation of Israel set up golden calf idols in Bethel and Dan, drawing Israelites into idolatry and stoking Yahweh’s wrath. But more profoundly—Israel broke His heart. God’s chosen people rejected His love. And that is where Hosea and Gomer’s story begins.

  Prologue

  • HOSEA 1:2 •

  When Yahweh first spoke to Hosea, Yahweh told him, “Marry a prostitute, and have children with that prostitute. The people in this land have acted like prostitutes and abandoned Yahweh.”

  Hosea’s empty house throbbed with sweet silence. He soaked it in, letting it nourish him like the last bite of warm, fresh bread soggy with lentil stew. His stomach rumbled, and he realized it was past time for his evening meal.

  The stone worktable stood like a sentry in his main room. Covered baskets hung on the wall, filled with day-old bread and hard cheese. The meager fare would suffice until he could soak lentils for tomorrow’s meal. He approached the table, noticing dust dancing in a shaft of dusk’s golden light.

  A second look at the glow drew him deeper into contemplation. I only see the dust when light shines through the window. Hosea waved his hand through the light, stirring the dust, but felt no resistance. Visible and real, yet without recognizable sound or weight, the dust was present but immeasurable. A slow, satisfied smile crept across his lips. Now, that is a good topic for the prophets’ class tomorrow. Jonah would enjoy the—

  A breeze swept through the house, startling him, swaying the hanging herbs. Hosea turned to the front door, confused. Had the wind blown it open?

  The door was closed.

  “What was that?” he whispered to no one. The wind stirred inside the house again, this time not a breeze but a gale that whipped his robe around his legs.

  The wind spoke. Marry a prostitute.

  Hosea gasped. Yahweh?

  Marry a prostitute, and have children with that prostitute.

  The wind grew stronger, and Hosea covered his face, fell to his knees, listening.

  The people of Israel have acted like prostitutes and abandoned Yahweh.

  The wind stopped. All was silent. Tranquil again.

  1

  • HOSEA 1:1 •

  Yahweh spoke his word to Hosea, son of Beeri, when Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah were kings of Judah and when Jeroboam, son of Joash, was king of Israel.

  Gomer hurried from her private room, through a connecting breezeway, and into the brothel’s kitchen. Jarah, one of the servant girls, grabbed a few dried figs and, with a trembling hand, held them out to Gomer—an offering. Gomer took two and closed the girl’s hand around those remaining. “Eat them yourself, Jarah. Don’t let Tamir find them and give them to someone else.” Gomer walked away, noticing the girl slip one into her mouth, and tried to remember the last time she smelled warm bread baking in that kitchen. Her stomach rumbled at the thought.

  She emerged into the sunlit courtyard of Tamir’s brothel, spotting old Merav tending three toddlers playing in the dust. Gomer glanced left and right, hoping to avoid a confrontation with the owner. The wealthiest businesswoman in Samaria, Tamir had built her business on determination, cunning, and the favor of the gods.

  And Gomer.

  Yes, Gomer had been Tamir’s most lucrative harlot since she’d been dumped on the woman’s doorstep after Gomer’s twelfth year.

  “Why do I have to go to the sacrifice this morning?” Gomer ranted while stomping toward Merav. “Why can’t the younger girls go without me? I’ve had only a moment’s sleep, and I’m tired, Merav.”

  The old woman pressed a single finger to her lips and nodded at the sleeping infant in her arms. Merav, the brothel’s midwife, loved all the children inside the gates, whether born within or abandoned at the threshold.

  Gomer adjusted her volume but not her tone. “Why does Tamir demand I accompany the girls? They are quite capable and can work the crowd just as well as I.” Disgusted, she gathered one of the toddlers in her arms, giving her a little spit bath to clean her smudged cheek.

  “Tamir knows you represent her house well, and the other girls look to you for leadership while they’re on the streets.” Merav’s voice was gentle, and Gomer wondered how much of her soothing was for the sleeping baby boy in her arms and how much was meant to calm Gomer’s foul mood. “Here, eat your pomegranate skin.” The old midwife held out the dried rind and offered a wry smile. She was done listening to Gomer’s complaints.

  Gomer planted the toddler back on the ground and reached for the pomegranate rind—but captured Merav’s hand and kissed it before letting go. The old woman brushed her cheek. “Now, take some pomegranate seeds with you. I don’t want to be holding your baby next year.”

  A wave of emotion washed over Gomer at the thought. “Well, I wouldn’t know if it was my baby, now would I?” The question came out more accusatory than she intended, and when she saw the hurt on Merav’s features, she knelt beside the old woman. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just that, well . . .” She fumbled for words, trying to unravel the knot of feelings she’d awakened with this morning. “You know me, Merav. I try to forget yesterday and not worry about tomorrow. If it wasn’t for you and these pomegranates, I might have a dozen children by now.”

  The old woman met her eyes and stroked her cheek. “What troubles you this morning, my little Gomer?”

  “I awoke with a terrible sense of dread. Perhaps one of the gods is warning me of danger.”

  “Or maybe you drank too much wine last night.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “I’m serious!” Gomer shouted, causing the sleeping infant to stir. A warning glance from the old woman reminded her to lower her voice. “I’m getting older, Merav. I’ve lived through two childbirths and one rue-induced drop. No matter how many pomegranates you feed me, I’m almost certain to get pregnant again with the number of clients I see each night. Tamir says she’ll teach me how to run the brothel, but so far . . .”

  “But so far she hasn’t begun teaching you the business side of harlotry.” The old woman finished Gomer’s sentence.

  “That’s right.” Their eyes locked in understanding. “She hasn’t taught me anything! Only you have taught me, Merav. You’ve taught me what herbs, roots, and teas prevent a man’s seed from growing inside me. You’ve taught me how to bring forth a child on the birthing stones. But I’ve watched the other girls long for the babies of their womb and become less human with each child that’s take
n from them. I must know why Tamir sends all the male babies away but has decided to keep this one.”

  “Even I don’t know the answer to that, my little Gomer. I’ve known Tamir since she purchased this house, yet she hides what’s special about this boy.” The old woman caressed his downy black hair and snuggled him closer to her heart.

  “Then tell me why she refuses to let an ima know which babe is her own.” Gomer glanced at the little ones playing with sticks and stones at Merav’s feet. “Are any of these mine?”

  Merav’s eyes welled with tears, but her voice was solid stone. “You know I cannot answer that.” She raised her chin and swiped her tears. “And you know how hard I try to keep any of Tamir’s girls from conceiving. If they would eat the seeds I give them and drink the tea regularly, we wouldn’t have to take the babies or give them rue to induce—”

  “I know,” Gomer said, laying her head in Merav’s lap. “I’m not accusing you, my friend. I’m just frustrated, and for the first time I’m trying to see my future—but the path is very dark.”

  Merav stroked Gomer’s hair and began humming a familiar cradle tune while still holding the infant in her other arm. Gomer’s mind wandered to her childhood in Bethel. It seemed ages ago. She saw her three younger sisters cowering in the corner during one of Abba Diblaim’s drunken rages. He was a priest at Bethel’s temple—and a pig at home.

  Then she saw Hosea’s face. He’d been ten when she last saw him; she’d been six—that day in the temple, when she fell from the rafters. She didn’t even get to say good-bye when his abba took him from Bethel. Hosea had been her one friend, her protector.

  When Abba Diblaim sold her to an Asherah priestess from Samaria a few years later, she learned the bitter days of a priestess and the lonely nights with drunken men. She’d believed one of the Baal priests when he said he loved her. What a little fool she’d been. Stripped of her ritual duties, she was labeled a harlot and dropped at Tamir’s gate. Merav had soothed her broken heart and tended the whipping wounds on her back. The poor woman didn’t deserve the tongue-lashing Gomer had given her this morning.