Miriam (13 page)

When [the Israelite overseers] left Pharaoh, they found Moses and Aaron waiting to meet them, and they said, “May the
L
ORD
look on you and judge you! You have made us obnoxious to Pharaoh and his officials and have put a sword in their hand to kill us.”

—
E
XODUS 5:20–21

I
njured overseers began arriving as Miriam and Taliah helped Eleazar replace his leather breast piece.

“The Egyptian physicians won't treat us anymore,” one man said, offering her a jar of honey to treat his wounds. “They're afraid Pharaoh's wrath will fall on them if they help us.”

Miriam received his payment, but the amount he offered wouldn't even cover his own wounds, let alone the wounds of those in the line of slaves forming outside her door. She caught Eleazar's arm before he slipped outside. “Ask Prince Ram to make arrangements with the Egyptian physicians. If they won't treat the slaves, they can at least share their supplies with us.”

By midday, Prince Ram's supply of bandages and treatments was nearly gone, and Miriam had received no word from the Egyptian physicians. Thankfully, most of the overseers were better compensated than plateau slaves and brought their own bandages and honey.

Now almost dusk, Miriam's back ached. She wiped sweat from her brow, stretched her arms overhead, and returned to debriding the wound of an overseer from the tribe of Reuben. A pair of brick makers carried in an injured man. He was barely conscious. “He's an elder and overseer of Judah. Stop what you're doing and help him.”

Taliah intercepted the demanding newcomers. “Let's take him into the adjoining chamber to wait. It's quieter, and he'll be more comfortable with Amram and Jochebed.”

“No!” one of the weavers shouted. “The Judeans have donated more supplies than any other tribe. You will help him now!”

Calmly, Miriam left the Reubenite and inspected the Judean's injuries. Though no doubt painful, the whipping wounds on his unscarred back were neither life threatening nor urgent. “I am grateful to the tribe of Judah for their donations, but I decide who is treated first based on need, not bluster.” She turned to Taliah. “He can wait outside if he refuses the quiet company of my parents.”

The injured Judean lifted a weak hand toward the curtain and the adjoining room. His companions hadn't been the first of their tribe to demand preferential treatment. Judeans had been blessed with thirty overseers' positions—a distinction of honor any day but today.

Miriam returned to the Reubenite on her mat and finished her work with a prayer, “May Yahweh make Himself known to you by His mighty works on your behalf.” She had prayed aloud over each patient, mentioning the name
Yahweh
so the nation of Israel would recognize their coming deliverance. Some of them thanked her without question. Some responded with growing faith, while others spewed cynicism that had grown from generations of buried hope. Some were inquisitive at the mention of
Yahweh
and asked why El Shaddai's prophetess would serve another god. “
Yahweh
is the new name by which every Hebrew can know El Shadd—Yahweh, the I AM. His mighty works will soon reveal the nature of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as we've never seen before.”

Somehow, the confidence of her declarations made Yahweh's silence to her more bearable.

Taliah returned from the adjoining room as the lavender hues of dusk shone through the window. “Our special guest is settled in the back room,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “Amram is telling him a story to keep his mind off the pain.”

Without warning, an image flashed in Miriam's mind—Moses and Aaron surrounded by jackals, and the snarling beasts were closing in on them.

“Miriam, are you all right?” Taliah steadied her arm, coaxing Miriam back to the moment.

Miriam assessed their three remaining patients. “Can you finish dressing this wound? The others can wait. I think Moses and Aaron are in danger.”

Taliah nodded. “Of course. Go, Miriam.”

Miriam hurried toward the door as the sound of shouting carried on the evening breeze.

“These stripes on my back are your fault!” a man roared.

“You put a sword in Pharaoh's hand to kill us!”

Miriam grabbed her walking stick and called for Sattar. The dog bolted from her parents' room and followed. In the distance, Miriam saw her vision being played out—Aaron and Moses were standing on the path connecting the city of Rameses to Goshen. The jackals closing in were angry Hebrew slaves and overseers.

Her brothers stood a head taller than the large crowd gathered around them. “Listen to us. Please!” Aaron lifted his hands high. “Let us explain.” One of the Judean overseers pushed Moses, but her brother didn't retaliate.

Miriam hurried on aching legs and prayed she'd arrive before harsh words turned violent. “Wait! Wait!” she shouted.

Several faces turned her way, but most remained focused on Aaron and Moses. “You have made us a stench in Pharaoh's nostrils with your demand to worship in the wilderness.”

“Who is this Yahweh? What has He ever done for us?” said another.

Miriam arrived at the edge of the growing crowd, and Sattar's vicious snarl cleared a path for her toward Aaron and Moses. She stood between her towering brothers and saw many of the men and women she'd treated earlier in the day. “I know you're in pain. I know it feels like Yahweh has failed us.”

A Judean elder jabbed his finger in the air. “Moses and Aaron failed us. I expect nothing from your Hebrew God, Miriam.” Rumbles of agreement surged through the gathering.

“Please, please,” Miriam begged, “listen to me. For years, El Shaddai has interpreted your dreams through me. You know He is real. Now He has disclosed a new name—Yahweh—and has promised to reveal Himself to all of us through mighty acts of His power. After four hundred years of His silence, can we not be patient a little longer?”

Murmurs rippled through the gathering, but no angry dissenters raised their voices. Relieved, Miriam exchanged a hopeful glance with her brothers. “Yahweh told Moses that Pharaoh's heart is hard and we should expect refusals until he is compelled by Yahweh's powerful hand. Ramesses has issued unreasonable demands like gathering our own straw before. We must wait patiently for El-Shadd…for Yahweh's plan to unfold.” How long would it take for God's new name to take root in her spirit?

“What if we don't like Yahweh's plan?” One of the elders stepped to the front of the crowd and pushed his daughter forward, pointing to her arm in a sling, her bruised and swollen face.

Miriam recognized her from this morning. She had not only been beaten but also defiled by a slave driver. This girl would bear lifelong scars. Only truth could offer hope to one so wounded.

“I don't like Yahweh's plan either.” Miriam confessed, drawing a collective gasp. “But I choose to trust Him because only He can build a life on which the future fits perfectly.”

Everyone fell silent.
Please, Yahweh, let my simple words be enough.
One by one, the crowd walked away. Some threw scowls over their shoulders, but at least they weren't throwing stones. No blood was spilled.

“Thank you, Miriam,” Aaron said, hands trembling as he combed his long beard. “Moses and I heard that the overseers had gone to Pharaoh. We knew they would realize Pharaoh's edict was a result of our demand to worship in the wilderness. That's why we waited here on the road to address their fears…”

“Fears?” Miriam shot a blazing stare at Moses but his head was bowed. “It's more than fears I've been bandaging all day. It's more than fears that ruined that poor girl's hope of marriage.”

Moses raised his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why did Yahweh send me here? To bring more trouble on these people?” He stalked away, bumping Aaron's shoulder without apology.

Aaron rolled his eyes and pointed at Moses's retreating figure. “Behold our great deliverer.” He turned in the opposite direction and marched toward home.

Miriam watched her departing brothers and turned her anger on the One who could receive it without offense.
So these are the men You've chosen to deliver Israel? At the first sign of trouble they run and hide.
With fists on her hips, she tapped her toe in the dust, fuming. Aaron would go home to Elisheba and get an ear full of criticism, but at least he had someone.

Though shadows lengthened and darkness loomed, she could see Moses headed in the direction of the private place she'd taken him to yesterday morning. “Come Sattar. Your first master needs our help tonight.”

The dog nuzzled her hand, remaining close as she followed at a distance, keeping Moses in sight. As expected, he veered from the path leading to the city and walked along the narrow dike toward her palm tree.

The evening breeze cooled Miriam's temper, and she watched Moses settle himself under the palm. He hadn't seen her yet. He faced the Nile, his back against the palm. He drew up his knees, and laid his forehead on them—as agile as the little boy she remembered. Thunder rumbled in the sky.

Odd. No lightning preceded it.
Before Miriam could ponder further, Moses raised his head and shouted, “Ever since I went to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he's brought trouble on Your people, and You've done nothing to rescue them. Nothing!”

Miriam's breath caught. Was Moses shouting at Yahweh? And the thunder.
Could it have been Yah—

A tremendous rumble shook the ground beneath her feet, and Miriam fell to her knees, face in the dust. Sattar yelped and cowered beside her. The thunder lessened to a gentle roll, and Miriam lifted her head to see Moses's face tilted toward heaven, eyes closed, expression pained. Was God speaking to him? Did it hurt?

She wanted to go sit with him, comfort him, ask him a million questions, but she remembered his account of the burning bush.
“Holy ground,”
God had said to Moses. Should she take off her sandals? Was her little palm tree holy ground now?

Just as suddenly as the rumble began, silence robbed the air of every sound, and Miriam heard only her own heart pounding in her ears. Sattar lifted his head, alert in the void of noise. Afraid to move, hesitant to breathe, Miriam waited.

Moses looked back, not startled but aware. “It's all right, Miriam. You can sit with me—if you're willing.”

He sounded defeated. She shouldn't have chastised him after he'd already faced the elders' anger. Pushing herself to her feet with the walking stick, she approached her brother under the palm and nudged his shoulder until he looked up at her. “I once told Aaron that it was both a blessing and burden to be included in God's counsel. I do not envy your burden, Brother.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Did you hear Yahweh's voice?”

She settled on the ground beside him and leaned against him. “I heard His voice thunder but no words. Can you tell me what He said?”

Moses remained focused on the Nile. “He wants me to assure the Hebrews that He will free them from Egypt's bondage and that He will give them the land He promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. But it's more than that, Miriam.” He looked at her then, his brows knit together like the stubborn Prince Mehy of his youth. “Yahweh speaks of Israel as if we are His family, precious in His sight. On my journey from Midian, He called Israel His firstborn. A moment ago, He promised to take Israel
to Himself
—as if we were His bride. These are words of love, Miriam. I don't understand—”

“Yes, Moses, yes!” Miriam's heart leapt at his words. “It is love, and this is the El Shaddai I've known. He took me to Himself—like a bride—and has been my family, my everything, all these years.” She gasped, wonder blooming like a rose in her soul. “He wants every Israelite to know Him as I have known Him? Truly?” It's what she'd been telling people all day, but had she really known it? Believed it?

Rather than the wonder she felt, only frustration showed on Moses's features. “How could a loving God let His people suffer four hundred years of injustice and continue to let them suffer now?”

For the first time, Miriam set aside her own offense and imagined the heartbreak of her Shaddai. “The bigger question is how could an all-powerful God let His people choose not to love Him? He lets us choose and then live with the consequences. He could force our obedience and impose His will, but instead He patiently treats us like wayward children. Only a God-sized love could restrain His power.”

Moses nodded, but the crimson creeping up his neck testified to his dissent. They sat in silence watching the shadows lengthen. A heavy sigh escaped her brother's lips before he spoke. “Was that innocent girl a wayward child, the one ruined by the slave driver today? What about the hundreds who have died since I returned to Egypt? Were they all wayward—”

“I don't know,” Miriam interrupted. “I don't know all the answers, Moses. I know only that I felt a rush of hope to think that others might realize El Shaddai's love as I've known it all these years.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Not since fellowship with God was broken in the Garden of Eden has Yahweh revealed His secret name—but He told it to you, Brother, and He's promised to reveal Himself to the whole nation of Israel. We can accuse Him or trust Him. It's a choice each of us must make for ourselves.”

They sat in silence, watching the river teem with life. Finally, when Miriam's back ached from leaning too long, she sat up and focused on her brother. “I must apologize to you for my harsh words back in the village.” He started to protest, but Miriam lifted her hand to silence him. “When I doubted you, I doubted God at work through you. I must ask you both for forgiveness.”

Sattar growled, interrupting the tender moment. Miriam scooted closer to Moses and scanned the tall grass around them. “You know, we're too close to the Nile and too far from the city to be safe here in the dark.”