Rachel (39 page)

She gave him a quizzical look, but he ignored it, anxious to get back across the river, to be alone, to pray. He lifted his staff and felt her eyes upon him as he moved to the water’s edge, girded his robe above his knees, and steadied the staff in the water to help him as he stepped across the large rocks his older sons had taken with such easy strides on their way across.

Exhaustion nearly overtook him as he climbed the bank and stumbled to the clearing where his tents had been. The embers of the fire had been put out, the black ash visible only in the moon’s distant glow. He sank to the earth near the dead fire, his hands on his knees, emotions rising and falling within him.

He couldn’t do this. How could he face Esau after so much time and in such a way? If God had wanted to bless him, why did He make it so hard? Why not allow him to be firstborn? His father would have never questioned his right to rule, would have blessed him without deception, and he would never have had to flee his homeland to fight for his very existence, for his wives, his children, his possessions, these twenty years!

Grief and anger rushed him like a charging bull, crushing him. He lifted his arms to ward off the imagined blow and was startled to touch the skin of a man. Exhaustion fled as he sensed a presence over him, a man who suddenly grabbed hold of his arms and twisted his body, flattening him to the ground.

A loud grunt escaped him as the air whooshed out of him. His opponent held him fast, pressing his face against the dirt. Jacob struggled to breathe but quickly regained his strength and shoved up from the ground. Twisting, he grabbed the man’s leg and waist, bringing him down—and this time Jacob got the better of him.

But the man was no weakling and soon twisted Jacob around again, gaining the upper hand. The wrestling continued, taxing every muscle, every fiber of Jacob’s being, and with the grappling, though no words were said throughout the night, Jacob’s heart beat with questions. Every doubt and fear, every injustice, every deceit, every hint of anger that had crossed his mind poured like sweat from his limbs, and he knew he did not wrestle with a normal man. Neither of them would have had the strength to survive such a night if not for a strength beyond Jacob’s own.

No. But like the angels he had met twice before, this man was real, yet though he pushed and shoved and turned Jacob this way and that, he also imbued his power into Jacob, giving his weakness a vigor he did not possess. And somehow in the struggle Jacob knew his silent thoughts were being heard.

Night breezes turned cool in the midst of their fight, and the stars faded, chased away by the coming hint of dawn. And still they fought, one trying to free himself of the other’s grip, neither prevailing. At last, as the gray predawn light gave way to its pink overtones, the man touched Jacob’s hip socket, wrenching it out of place.

Weakness overcame him, and Jacob’s legs shook, begging rest, barely holding him upright. Tears came unbidden, and with them the awful realization of just how wretched he was, how deceitful, how fallen.

“Let me go, for it is daybreak,” the man said, his grip loosening on Jacob.

But Jacob, despite his urgent need for release, for an end to his struggle, couldn’t bear to let the man go. The sense of loss over such a thing was sobering, acute, and with the overwhelming longing, he wept.

“I will not let you go unless you bless me,” Jacob said, his breath heaving with the effort to speak.
Please, Adonai, don’t let
me walk away without some reward for my struggle.

“What is your name?”

Their striving had ceased, though Jacob still gripped the man’s arm. “Jacob,” he said, though he sensed the man already knew.

“Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome.”

Israel.
Jacob tested the name in his thoughts, pleased.
Thank you.
The man nodded, and his smile sent sweet warmth through Jacob, bathing him in acceptance.

“Please tell me your name.” Suddenly Jacob longed to know, needed to know who this was whose bright gaze could have won their battle without a fight, if the darkness had not kept his face from Jacob’s view. His grip slackened slightly, and he was overwhelmed by a look that seemed to hold the purest of love.

But with the love came the slightest shake of the man’s head. “Why do you ask my name?”

And Jacob knew he would not reveal it. But the man’s next words of blessing flowed through Jacob like a tender healing balm, replacing his fear, his doubts, his questions, with peace.

Jacob released his hold as dawn fully rose and blinked as the man vanished from his sight. He looked at the ground where they had wrestled, the evidence of flattened earth and the two sets of footprints the only sign that Jacob had indeed not been alone. Awe and unworthiness swept over him, and he realized with stark truth that his wrestling had been with Elohim Himself.

His breath floated in front of him in the chill of early morn, and he tried to stand but fell back from the pain in his hip. That he lived at all with only a displaced hip after such an encounter shook him to his very core.

“This place shall be called Peniel, because I saw Elohim face-to-face, and yet my life was spared.”

He searched near him for his staff and crawled over to it, then using it to aid him, he stood and slowly limped away.

Rachel rose before dawn, grabbed her water jug, and headed to the river, anxious for some sign of Jacob. She had spent a restless night half praying, half worrying that something awful had happened to him. Why did he want to spend the night alone where wild animals could find him? He had no protection except his staff and the sling he carried at his side.

Her heart beat faster as her feet neared the bank of the Jabbok, the dew of early morn clinging to her sandals, tickling her feet. She felt the brush of the grasses reach her calves and steadied herself where the land dipped to the water’s edge. Squatting beside the pebbles and rocks, she lowered her jar to the rushing stream below.

Movement across the river brought her gaze up to search for the cause. She hefted the heavy jar in her arms, set it upright beside her, and stood. Rustling sounds and the thump of uneven footsteps caught her attention, furrowed her brow, but when she saw Jacob emerge from the trees lining the shore, she released the breath she had not quite given vent to through the long night. He was safe! She smiled as he lifted his gaze and found hers, and hurried closer to where he was slowly attempting to cross the river.

“What happened to you?” She could not mistake the pronounced limp or the heavy leaning on his staff. She touched his arm and helped him climb the bank before retrieving her water jug and falling into step beside him.

“I was injured.” His look held a peace she had not seen earlier. “I spent the night wrestling with a man . . . no, not a man.” He looked at her, the light in his eyes radiant, as if he had gazed at the sun and the brightness had lingered. “I have striven with God and lived, beloved.” He placed a hand on his hip and swallowed. “He touched me. It was the lightest of touches, despite our grappling throughout the night. But it was enough.”

Rachel leaned closer to see that his leg beneath his robe was indeed bent slightly and he could not stand fully upright. “Why would He hurt you?” She was finding this God of her husband’s more confusing as the years passed. “If He promised you blessing, why wound you? Is that not more like a curse than a blessing?”

Jacob stopped his walking and put both hands over the head of his staff to hold his balance, looking at her, his gaze kind, tender. “Perhaps we would not recognize the blessings we have if not for the pain we face along the way.” He glanced beyond her, and she could hear the sounds of the camp awakening, the millstone grinding, the children’s young voices rising. “Besides,” he said, drawing his gaze back to hers, “I met Elohim face-to-face and lived to tell of it. To come away with only a limp from such an encounter is a small price to pay.”

She studied him, saw the awe in his dark eyes and a new sense of humility. “I imagine you are right,” she said at last, though not at all sure she agreed. “Though I do not like the suffering, the waiting for Him to act, the fear of what He will do to us or let us face. I do not see how striving with God will help you face your brother.” She hated to dash the joy in his expression, but she could not stop the fear from filling her own. “The messenger last night said Esau is getting closer. He could come even today, and what will we do?” She lifted the jar, and he moved slowly with her toward the camp.

“I will climb the rise to see if he is near,” he said, though his pace did not hurry, perhaps could not hurry due to his limp. “Then I will decide what we will do.” His look held reassurance, and she drew in a breath, trying to keep calm. But she knew her own struggles were every bit as difficult as Jacob’s had been the night before.

She had not seen Elohim face-to-face, and she was not hindered by God’s wound, but neither did she have His peace. She was not sure which one she wanted more.

The wind carried the scent of oak and pine as Jacob stood with his steward on the rise of a hill above the camp. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, the other arm dependent on the staff to hold him. The staff, his only article left from the days in his parents’ household, had become an extension of himself in recent years. Now even more so.

A distant stirring of dust along the road drew closer, the camels’ hooves moving to the pace of a master in a hurry, as he would expect of a raiding party, not a traveling caravan.

“Esau approaches,” he said to the steward. He glanced at Omid, who had come to him from Harran after his children were born, not part of Laban’s household, a man who had proved trustworthy during the years he had built his flocks and herds.

“What would you have us do?” Omid said.

Jacob stared at the approaching host, surprised at the peace that still cloaked him. Or perhaps the fear had turned him numb to what might happen. He had so little control.

“Divide the women and children into groups. Put the maidservants and their children first, Leah and her children next, and Rachel and Joseph in the rear. I will go ahead of them to meet my brother.”

The steward nodded and moved ahead of Jacob to do his bidding while Jacob made his way slowly down the path. When he was satisfied that the women and children were spread out with plenty of space between them and the approaching Esau, he limped toward the trotting camels and bowed low once, twice. He rose with effort and moved ahead several paces, then bowed again. By the seventh bow, the allotted amount he would have given any reigning monarch, Esau had drawn near enough to hear his familiar voice.

The camels came to an abrupt halt as Jacob rose slowly, warily.
Please, Adonai, if
ever You have heard my plea, save me now.

He glanced heavenward, then at Esau, and was startled to see his camel kneeling and his brother jumping to the ground, then running toward him. Jacob braced himself for the blow that would surely come, but Esau threw his arms around Jacob’s neck and kissed each cheek. Emotion rose swift and harsh, the past rushing in on him. He looked into Esau’s familiar face, saw the tears running freely down his cheeks, and could not hold his own tears in check. Moments passed in silence, each one clinging to the other, weeping.

At last Esau stepped back and glanced beyond Jacob. “Who are these with you?” he asked.

“They are the children God has graciously given your servant.” Jacob turned and motioned for Bilhah and Zilpah to step closer. Their children beside them, they came forward and bowed at Esau’s feet. Leah and her children followed, until at last Rachel and Joseph did the same.

“I could almost be jealous of you, brother. I myself have five fine sons and eleven grandsons. I see you are a long way from grandsons.” He laughed lightly and cupped Jacob’s shoulder. “But you have a fine family.”

“Thank you, my lord.” They exchanged a smile. How well Jacob recalled the Canaanite women Esau had married, the women his parents had found sorely taxing. Would his parents think more highly of Rachel and Leah?