Many times during my life I’ve changed location, moving from one side of the country to the opposite, south to north, most recently back south. Each change of place presents challenges, yet I eventually conclude, “This is where I belong for now.”
In recent years I’ve wondered how different the experiences of patriarchs and heroes of Hebrew Scripture might have been had they been women. As a result I’ve written a collection of stories imagining them as women. The story of a female Abraham fits your forthcoming theme of change, I believe.
“Leave your country,” God told Abraham, “and go to the land I will show you.” Had Abraham been a woman, what might she have experienced as she followed God’s call to venture far from home?
Even as a child I was restless, often escaping the light around the
evening fire to venture into the surrounding darkness. Further and
further I wandered, during the day and after dark, until I was familiar
with every knoll and dip in the surrounding landscape. With my eyes
closed I could see what the sun looked like as it rose over the lands to
the east and set beyond the distant hills to the west.
What was on the other side of the river, I wondered. Beyond the
distant hills? I also entertained questions about God Most High. Did
she reside beyond the mountains? In the cities? I dreamed of
exploring distant lands and finding her dwelling places.
My father assured me that the land on the other side of the river was
probably the same as it was on our side. It was not appropriate for a
young woman to go there, he insisted. Or to search for God Most
High. It did not matter if God Most High dwelt beyond the mountain
or in the city; what was important was that she was with us.
His simple answers made me even more impatient to journey afar. I
became convinced that my homeland was no place for one like me. A
curious woman.
A woman who sought adventure.
***
For generations the god of my people has been God Most High, the
one who stirs the heavens and earth, who destroys and rescues. Like
others, my husband and I made sacrifices to her out of fear. Yet
questions kept coming to me: If she was to be feared, why had she
created the peaceful stream I took clear water from? Why did my
whole being rejoice when I held a soft fox kit?
It is as if it happened in another lifetime, that day long ago when she
first came to me. I had just started to explore a shallow cave when I
heard a voice: “We are alike, you know, both adventuresome.”
Instinctively I knew it was the voice of God Most High. “Who but an
adventuresome god would have created contradiction?” she asked.
“Henna and thistle, for example. The poisonous berry and sweet
date. The booming shout of a man and the gentle song of a mother
with her infant.”
“I have often considered the rose and the thorn,” I answered. “The
playful cub that becomes a fierce lion. Why did you create animals so
that they must eat each other to survive? Why did you create a world
with the serene beauty of a meadow, yet also the storm and
earthquake?” I had scores of questions.
After we’d engaged in a lengthy discussion, God Most High told me,
“You do not belong among people who have answers but no
questions. I have a better place for you, a place where you can
flourish, where your intelligence will serve you well.”
My intelligence? No one before had ever said I was intelligent.
“In that place I will make of your offspring a great nation, so that you
will be a blessing to all.”
A new land, a place where I could flourish, she promised. A place
where I would not be considered a nuisance, a woman with too many
questions. A new role: mother, grandmother, ancestor.
As exciting as her invitation sounded, as much as I wanted to follow
the path she had prepared for me, I could not easily separate myself
from my people. Voices within said I should stay with them, try to be
the woman my parents and husband wanted me to be: committed to
kin, contented with the life I had. To embark on a journey would be
leaving familiar customs and language. Memories, too, many of them
pleasant.
Leaving all to follow a god I knew mainly through my kin. What if
after forsaking all security I ended up in a faraway land where I
would not flourish, where I would not be a blessing to all? But if I
stayed, my spirit was sure to die.
I decided to go, though I knew that convincing my husband would be
a challenge.
Hardly anyone understood. “It will be dangerous,” my mother and
aunts said. “Why do you want to go away,” my husband asked, “when
everything you need is right here?” Cousins tried to convince me that
beyond my familiar homeland there was nothing better than what I
already had. I heard whispers, barely within earshot, predicting that
as soon as hardship came I’d be back. Only my oldest sister remained
quiet.
At night everyone’s warnings invaded my dreams. I was lost;
strangers were raising their hands against me. Yet when morning
dawned, though I had no more assurance than I’d had the night
before, I would again trust God Most High’s promise to remain with
me. To bless me.
There were of course arguments with my husband, who lectured that
it was a woman’s duty to obey. If the husband said stay, the wife
should stay. I kept insisting that a woman must follow the call of God
Most High, until finally, reluctantly, my husband agreed to
accompany me. My favorite niece too, my middle sister’s oldest
daughter, who had started to dream about her own future.
We had no trouble deciding what to take, what to leave behind, for
our possessions were few. Nearly everything we planned to carry was
essential for survival: foodstuffs, utensils, medicinal herbs, several
goats and sheep.
The evening before we were to leave, my oldest sister drew me aside
and handed me what I recognized as her favorite bracelet. “Take this
with you,” she said, tears in her eyes, “so that a part of me ventures
out too.”
It had not occurred to me that she might also want to make the
journey. Her foot had been crushed by a ewe when she’d been but a
baby, and as the oldest daughter she was expected to care for our
parents. I had assumed she was content to stay.
As I put the bracelet on my arm, I knew my journey would be for her
as well.
Ah, I remember the day of departure as if it were yesterday. Of
course I cried—from fear or relief or sorrow, I do not know—as our
small caravan set out in the faint light of early morning. I led the way,
on foot, my head held high, my gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
***
Since God Most High had promised to bless me, I assumed that my
travels would be without hardship and danger. And indeed the
journey was easy at first. I was thrilled by each new vista and took
delight in moving forward.
But I discovered that while I sometimes journeyed in the protective
shadow of God Most High, she remained at other times beyond my
reach. Upon her reappearance I would build an altar, partly to honor
and thank her for safely bringing me that far, and partly so that it
could serve as a meeting place for the two of us.
***
Many nights I would throw a blanket over my shoulders and step out
of the tent. The nights were cold and clear, with stars so brilliant I felt
as if I could reach up and pluck some from the sky. Only my
husband’s snores and the faint sounds of restless animals broke the
stark mantel of silence. Seated upon a large rock or on the ground, I
spoke with God Most High. Rather she spoke to me, reminding me
over and over that I was intelligent, capable and lovely, for I still did
not always believe affirming words.
Gradually, as I began to understand that I was worthy of blessing, the
encounters changed. God Most High asked what I had been thinking,
laughed at my jokes, praised my ingenuity. I too listened as she
spoke of loneliness, for many had forsaken my dear friend and turned
to other gods. In those moments of honesty I discovered what a true
companion I had gained. Not only one who accompanied me on the
arduous journey, inspiring me to go forward and not be afraid, but
one who understood me better than I understood myself.
There were times too, when for hours the two of us argued, each
defending a position, neither willing to acquiesce. They were
pleasurable too, the disagreements, for I did not have to protect my
friend’s feelings of competence, and my own mind was challenged.
“How can I truly know you?” I asked one night.
“Knowing me,” she said, “will take a lifetime.”
I was disappointed, but as our caravan journeyed the following day,
I considered her response. Ah, I finally saw: her nature was not a
mystery to be solved; on the contrary it opened to questions without
answers. Then to more questions. The quest to fathom her nature was
for a mind that relished searching but was content not to find. A mind
like mine, for I had no wish to build a prison of knowledge around
her.
***
To find the place where she belongs, where she will flourish, a woman
sometimes has to change directions several times. While God Most
High has a destination in mind, she’s often attending to other
business. More than once I found myself in rugged terrain, making
slow and laborious progress.
There was a period when many days passed without any sign of God
Most High. One day our caravan would be battered by the harshness
of the sun, the next by the ferocity of the wind.
“I should have known better than to follow a woman,” my husband
complained.
I had assumed I could handle hardship. After all, I had brought along
sufficient supplies. Besides, God Most High had said I was an
intelligent woman. But now the dry earth I trod became the parched
soil of my soul, and I knew that nothing could grow there. It was
unexpected, this sense of desolation. Scanning the landscape, I saw
nothing that made me hopeful. I questioned the wisdom of having left
security behind and began to doubt God Most High’s lofty promises.
When would I find a place where I could flourish? How would a great
nation come of me if I had no children? A blessing to all? Hardly.
At those times of hopelessness, I often glanced down and saw my
sister’s bracelet on my wrist. I reminded myself that she would
rejoice if she had legs strong enough to be making this journey. Her
ongoing determination to survive sustained me. She, more than
anyone, would be disappointed if I returned home.
It’s part of the journey, I discovered: enduring times of emptiness
and discouragement as well as those of satisfaction.
***
“But you have brought us back to Bethel,” I complained to God Most
High. We had journeyed in a circle.
“This is the in-between place, not the final destination,” she
explained.
At Bethel my niece and I prospered, accumulating gold and silver,
numerous flocks and herds, too. As we discussed our achievements
one evening, asserting as we often did that success comes to those
who risk, I noticed that I was sliding my sister’s bracelet up and down
my arm. It occurred to me that she did not have the freedom to risk.
Her injured body and loyalty to our parents bound her to one place
so that she would never have my wealth. Neither would she ever be
able to experience the euphoria of standing atop a mountain, gazing
in every direction and seeing the wondrous beauty.
Until that moment I had simply accepted God Most High’s
explanations for why I was chosen, her words about my intellect and
adventuresome spirit pleasing to my ear. Yet my equally intelligent
sister yearned for adventure and success too. How, I began to
wonder, can a woman feel blessed if her sister has had no similar
opportunities?
Until that moment I had assumed that my wealth was the blessing
God Most High had promised. But there had been another part of the
promise. “So that you will be a blessing to all.” Now I saw that most of
my energy went into guarding my possessions. Instead of being a
blessing to all, I was using my riches to gain stature and power. I had
ceased wondering about her glorious creation.
That is when the restlessness returned. What was on the other side of
the river? Beyond the mountains? The prospect of newness again
excited me. New people, new landscapes. New opportunities to
become a blessing for others rather than a woman whose primary
goal was to accumulate.
My husband whined that life was good in Bethel; it made no sense to
leave. My niece said she was ready to move on too. We decided to go
in separate directions, though. She chose the plain; my husband and
I headed toward the mountains.
***
I awoke from a deep sleep, seized by terror. I had no idea what the
source of my anxiety was, only a feeling of deep, deep dread.
I called out to God Most High.
Only an abyss of silence came back to me. Dark, empty silence.
Then I sensed that she had approached. Yet she said nothing.
“Speak to me,” I shouted. “Tell me, why do I feel this way?”
I was trembling by now. Though I was awake, I pictured as in a
dream rows and rows of people, their heads lowered as they walked,
walked, into a powerful wind. I could not see their faces, yet I
recognized in the slump of their shoulders, the slow plodding, that
they were despondent.
I began to weep. “What does it mean? What does it mean?” I begged
to know.
As she replied, I could hear a sorrow that seemed to pierce the very
being of God Most High. “You are looking into the future with me.
These are your descendents. They will be sojourners in a land that is
not theirs and will be slaves, oppressed for four hundred years.”
“Then this journey is in vain,” I cried out. “Why should I struggle to
find a place that offers heartache?”
“Because I am always creating. Even when my wishes for harmony
are thwarted I will be their god. I will comfort them. Leave the future
to me.”
***
I have lived my full span of years. I have buried my husband in the
cave where I too will be laid to rest.
The journey was long and arduous, but eventually I arrived in this
land. I have truly flourished, where I have been blessed with children
and grandchildren who admire the harmony of God Most High’s
creation and praise her for it. They too are restless and full of
questions. I have taught them that God Most High is a god of mystery
and that while she delights in their efforts to understand her, she
cannot be contained.
I am a woman of wealth, but that is not the blessing that was
promised. Being blessed is less tangible than silver and gold; it is the
sense of well-being that comes with trusting God Most High’s
promises, in seeing my heirs come to trust her as well, in having my
neighbors view me as a woman of integrity and wisdom. My talents
and intellect have indeed made me a blessing to all.
The journey itself was part of the blessing. I have been allowed to see
what’s beyond the next mountain, on the other side of the river. The
times that have been arid or fraught with dangers—they have been
part of the blessing too, for I have survived them. A woman learns
from such times. She learns that she is strong and capable. Such
knowledge is certainly a blessing.
I have had the opportunity to be not just a wanderer over land but a
wanderer in my mind as well. Since I was young I have explored the
mysteries of God Most High. Sometimes I have been allowed to spend
time in her shadow; at other times I have walked and walked but she
has been beyond my reach. The times with her, even those spent
searching for her, have been a blessing.
Has my name become great? That is for future generations to decide.
If it is to be, the greatness will be the result of putting myself in new
situations, facing the challenges, taking actions that will provide a
better place for my neighbors and descendents.
I often think of my oldest sister. I do not know whether or not she
still breathes. I assume she lived out her days as our mother and her
mother and our grandmother’s mother lived theirs. Several times I
have wondered about God Most High’s intentions. Why should I have
flourished while my sister had no similar opportunities?
If I could see her again, what would I tell her? Not that God Most
High chose me. No, that would be wrong. I would hold my sister in
my arms and first thank her for her hard work and the care she gave
our parents. I would tell her that if her life has had few rewards, I am
sorry she did not have the opportunities I had. I would tell her that
all along the journey her bracelet has been a reminder that she is
with me.
Yes, I know that the blessing of God Most High was not mine alone. It
was also for the many who were unable to make the journey.