Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) by Jill Smith Page B

men on alert. How long would he be able to keep Sarai safe?
    The camp had yet to stir, wisps of sunlight brightening the sky. His sandals touched the dew-drenched earth as he strode from his tent up the rise to the hill where the oak of Moreh stood proudly, its branches like great arms stretching high above him. He came to a stop at the tree, his gaze taking in the plain beyond. A lone figure strode toward him as big as the giants of the land, his bearing straight and sure, his clothes golden and white, nearly blinding. When he drew near, his gaze pierced Abram’s soul.
    The rush of fear cut deep, and Abram’s knees suddenly felt aged, too weak to hold him upright. His thoughts unfurled, his questions, his every doubt exposed. He sank to the earth, put his face to the ground.
    My Lord and my God! The unspoken words filled the air between them, musical and glorious, unlike any Abram had ever spoken or thought before. His blood pumped hard and his breath came fast. How is it that my Lord honors me with His presence? Surely he would die for having seen God.
    “To your offspring I will give this land.” The voice, both powerful and soothing, filled him with peace.
    Strength returned to him, and he felt the man’s hand grasp his, pulling him to stand. The man’s eyes drew him, and he saw in a moment’s gaze such perfect love that he wondered if he had stopped breathing altogether. Warmth enveloped him, and joy so deep he could not help the smile or the laughter that followed. The man smiled in return, and Abram felt as though he never wanted to leave this person or this place.
    But a moment later, the man disappeared from his view, his words lingering on the quiet morning air. To your offspring I will give this land.
    Not to Eliezer. To Abram’s offspring. Children that would issue from his own body. Sarai’s own son.
    Thoughts of Sarai reminded him of her quick retreat the night before, and he knew in the look that had passed between them that her time had come upon her again. Another week would pass before he could go to her to comfort her, to remind her of the promise.
    In the meantime, he must build an altar to Adonai, to offer a sacrifice of praise to His name.

    Sarai measured cumin, fennel, and coriander seeds and dumped them into a wide, three-pronged pot set over the embers of the dying fire. With a long-handled utensil, she moved them back and forth lest they burn, while a short distance away another pot of water sat over a fire, waiting to boil. She drew out some raw mustard from a pouch at her waist, then pulled a few cucumbers out of the basket near her feet. The smoke from Abram’s sacrifice still lingered on the breeze, but the meat would be in her hands soon enough to add to the broth.
    She hummed a soft tune as she stirred the seeds, saw that they were done, and lifted the pot from the ashes to cool. She stretched to loosen the crick in her back, then grabbed a sharp flint knife to cut long, thin slices of cucumber.
    “Do you need help with that, Sarai?”
    She hadn’t heard Melah approach, and she started, causing the knife to slip. She nicked her finger and quickly put it in her mouth. “You can prepare the bread if you like.” She checked her finger, saw that the nick was small and not bleeding, then resumed slicing. Melah went to the bags of grain and scooped wheat kernels into a stone bowl. She picked up a pestle and worked the grain.
    “I wonder how long we’ll stay this time. Lot is ready to settle here if Abram agrees.” Melah looked toward the distant hills. “It is beautiful here.”
    Sarai lifted her gaze to the lush hills, the sun glinting off the grasses, making them shine like burnished gold. “It’s breathtaking.” They had lived near the terebinth of Moreh for nearly a year when Abram declared they must move on again. Now, here in the hills between Bethel and Ai, she felt at peace.
    “I have no idea how long we will stay here.” Longing filled her to put down roots and have