me do my work.”
Truth to tell, I was always eager to surrender to her strong, ministering hands. And as weeks passed and the anniversary of my marriage approached, my despair at remaining childless and thoughts of Uriah’s departure evoked the old feelings of abandonment that had haunted me when my mother died. Anguish plunged me into a deep well of depressing childhood memories.
Uriah did not know what to make of my tears, my variable moods, and my deep silences. How could I explain such womanly things to a man who meant what he said and said what he meant without undergirding each word with some emotion?
More than once I snapped at him; more than once I apologized.I tried to explain that he had done nothing to cause my distress, but my own words— you’ve done nothing —accused him yet again. Was I barren because of something he hadn’t done?
I wanted to be patient. I wanted to believe that Adonai would bless us in due time, but how was I supposed to conceive a son who would influence Israel if my husband went away to war?
During the month before Uriah’s departure, I went into his arms every night, urging him to love me with all his might, tempting him with mandrakes and perfumed garments and his favorite foods in case the failure for conception lay in a lack of effort or desire on Uriah’s part.
And in case the problem lay with Adonai, I did my best to earn His favor, too. Recalling the story of how Hannah prayed fervently in order to win the Lord’s favor and conceive a son, every morning I climbed the steep path to the Tabernacle and sat outside the tent of meeting, praying that Adonai would hear and grant my petition. I prayed in the blazing sun, determined to show HaShem that my desire was sincere and my intention pure. I prayed aloud whenever a priest appeared, hoping he would remark upon my prayers and assure me that God would grant me a son in the coming year.
I poured myself out in every way I knew and still my courses flowed, even on the day of Uriah’s departure.
Elisheba and Amaris remained in the house while I walked my husband to the courtyard gate. I tipped my head back to look into his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“But you know I must.”
“Be careful.” I locked my arms around his waist. “I have just lost my father. I can’t lose you, too.”
Uriah gave me a warrior’s confident smile. “I am skilled, Bathsheba. I can handle myself.”
“I know, but . . . well, sometimes unexpected things happen.”
“Do not fret yourself.” He ran his broad hand over my head,smoothing my hair. “Joab is a wise commander, and Adonai is with him. This battle, when it finally comes, will be ours. Right now the army is only laying siege, and that means many hours of sitting and waiting. So don’t worry. Be well.”
I studied his eyes, searching for any sign of regret that he was leaving or sorrow that we hadn’t yet conceived, but all I saw was love, confidence, and conviction. So I pressed my cheek to his chest and prayed that Adonai would keep him safe from harm. Then, finally, I released him.
I don’t know what Uriah thought of my tears. He might have thought them an extravagant display of how much I would miss him, but we had become so entwined that I’m sure he read the truth in my eyes. I would miss him certainly, but my barren belly had become my overarching concern. If something happened to him, I might never bear a child, unless some other man took pity on me and married me. If I never had another husband, I would become a woman like Elisheba, a nurse to other women’s children, a servant with no family of her own.
Worst of all, if something happened to Uriah, the prophet’s words would be proven false and HaShem a liar. And that I could not bear.
Five months passed, long weeks of waiting and praying and fretting over my husband’s safety amid the stupidity of war. At the end of yet another womanly cycle, Elisheba extended her hand and helped me from
Truth to tell, I was always eager to surrender to her strong, ministering hands. And as weeks passed and the anniversary of my marriage approached, my despair at remaining childless and thoughts of Uriah’s departure evoked the old feelings of abandonment that had haunted me when my mother died. Anguish plunged me into a deep well of depressing childhood memories.
Uriah did not know what to make of my tears, my variable moods, and my deep silences. How could I explain such womanly things to a man who meant what he said and said what he meant without undergirding each word with some emotion?
More than once I snapped at him; more than once I apologized.I tried to explain that he had done nothing to cause my distress, but my own words— you’ve done nothing —accused him yet again. Was I barren because of something he hadn’t done?
I wanted to be patient. I wanted to believe that Adonai would bless us in due time, but how was I supposed to conceive a son who would influence Israel if my husband went away to war?
During the month before Uriah’s departure, I went into his arms every night, urging him to love me with all his might, tempting him with mandrakes and perfumed garments and his favorite foods in case the failure for conception lay in a lack of effort or desire on Uriah’s part.
And in case the problem lay with Adonai, I did my best to earn His favor, too. Recalling the story of how Hannah prayed fervently in order to win the Lord’s favor and conceive a son, every morning I climbed the steep path to the Tabernacle and sat outside the tent of meeting, praying that Adonai would hear and grant my petition. I prayed in the blazing sun, determined to show HaShem that my desire was sincere and my intention pure. I prayed aloud whenever a priest appeared, hoping he would remark upon my prayers and assure me that God would grant me a son in the coming year.
I poured myself out in every way I knew and still my courses flowed, even on the day of Uriah’s departure.
Elisheba and Amaris remained in the house while I walked my husband to the courtyard gate. I tipped my head back to look into his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“But you know I must.”
“Be careful.” I locked my arms around his waist. “I have just lost my father. I can’t lose you, too.”
Uriah gave me a warrior’s confident smile. “I am skilled, Bathsheba. I can handle myself.”
“I know, but . . . well, sometimes unexpected things happen.”
“Do not fret yourself.” He ran his broad hand over my head,smoothing my hair. “Joab is a wise commander, and Adonai is with him. This battle, when it finally comes, will be ours. Right now the army is only laying siege, and that means many hours of sitting and waiting. So don’t worry. Be well.”
I studied his eyes, searching for any sign of regret that he was leaving or sorrow that we hadn’t yet conceived, but all I saw was love, confidence, and conviction. So I pressed my cheek to his chest and prayed that Adonai would keep him safe from harm. Then, finally, I released him.
I don’t know what Uriah thought of my tears. He might have thought them an extravagant display of how much I would miss him, but we had become so entwined that I’m sure he read the truth in my eyes. I would miss him certainly, but my barren belly had become my overarching concern. If something happened to him, I might never bear a child, unless some other man took pity on me and married me. If I never had another husband, I would become a woman like Elisheba, a nurse to other women’s children, a servant with no family of her own.
Worst of all, if something happened to Uriah, the prophet’s words would be proven false and HaShem a liar. And that I could not bear.
Five months passed, long weeks of waiting and praying and fretting over my husband’s safety amid the stupidity of war. At the end of yet another womanly cycle, Elisheba extended her hand and helped me from
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