Journal 2003

I have a story to share if you care to listen. It might help you if you find yourself in a jam like I did. You see, I worked one time for a very wealthy man. Actually, I was his wife Sarah’s slave. It was traumatic at first, being separated from my home and family at such a tender age. Memories of Egypt still haunt me daily. It was hard getting used to new food, strange customs, and slavery. I cried aloud for the first week, and in my heart for the first year, but eventually I adjusted to the fact that I’d never see my mother again. After Dad died, we just couldn’t keep food on the table, and I offered to sell myself to some traders rather than become a further burden to my mom. Sometimes I regret the decision. Perhaps I should have stayed and helped take care of her.

Anyway, back to my story. As I was going to say, being a black slave woman to a wealthy family isn’t all bad. My mistress seemed to enjoy my company; I got all the food I could eat and the luxury of a place to lay my head at night in comfort and protection. Abram was a kind man, usually pretty fair, but sometimes I wondered about his relationship with my mistress.

I mean, take the time he claimed she was his sister. A half-truth for sure! But isn’t a half-truth the same as a whole lie? Even my mom taught me that! I’ll admit Sarah was gorgeous, even at her age. No wonder Abram was attracted to her, but sometimes I wonder what he saw in her. Ok, maybe that’s not entirely fair either. She did show me favor—probably because I kept my mouth shut and did what she told me without complaining. It was easier that way. Hmm. Maybe that’s how she felt. No way out, just give in. But I think if I’d been in her position, I would have stood my ground and refused to go along with the lie. But then, maybe that’s why he liked her—she kowtowed to him. On the other hand . . . but here I am getting ahead of myself again. I could tell you a lot about the inside scoop on them, but this is my story, so here’s what happened.

Sarah wanted a baby, and she wanted it BAD, but nothing was happening. By the time I came along, she was too old to have a child. The trouble was, she claimed that Abram had heard from his God that she was supposed to have gotten pregnant, and here she was well into menopause! I kinda felt sorry for her at this point. But then something snapped in her. She decided if SHE couldn’t have a baby, then she’d just have to get one another way. And that’s where I come in.

Now I have to tell you—Sarah may have been beautiful, but I was quite a looker myself! I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve got eyes. I saw the way the young men looked at me while I worked. Anyway, imagine my surprise the day Sarah pulled me aside and told me to wash carefully and put on my best robe. Then she gave me some of her most expensive oils to rub on my body. You should have seen my ebony skin shine! While another servant girl brushed out my long hair to begin the corn rows, Sarah informed me this was my wedding day!

Excuse me?! Now I know that slaves have no say in the matter, but couldn’t she have at least given me some warning? I hoped it was Ami, that handsome hunk of a sheep herder that brought the daily ration of meat to Sarah’s tent every morning. But get this—you’re not going to believe it—she finally informed me my new husband would be Abram himself! I nearly choked!

I’ll skip all the hairy scary details, but you can guess what happened. Before long I was pregnant with his kid. Now what? My mistress kept looking at me like I’d done something wrong. Like it was my fault! Who did she think she was? I didn’t ask for this. I must admit it was kinda neat carrying a child inside me, however, and really Abram had been nothing but gentle with me, albeit a little aloof. But I was still a slave. Not much had changed. I rather had hoped my status would be elevated somehow. I suspect the poor lady was jealous. Sigh. Served her right, I guess.

Anyway, I had to laugh the day Sarah claimed that Abram was “responsible for the wrong she was suffering.” Huh? The nerve of her! Claimed I was despising her. Pretty soon she was making my life so miserable, I decided the only choice was to run away, and so I did.

I slipped out in the night after the two of them were in bed and headed down the road to Shur. I knew if I could just make it to the spring in the desert, I’d be safe. Maybe sell myself to one of the traders there. After all, a pregnant slave is two for the price of one.

But then BLAM! I had this incredible experience! Ever seen an angel? I hadn’t. Can’t even tell you how I knew it was an angel, but this was not the product of an overactive imagination. First, he asked me where I’d come from and where I was going. I told him I was running away from my mistress because she was mistreating me. Blew me away when he said I had to go back and submit to that woman! But somehow it seemed okay after he assured me that God had heard of my misery, and I was to bear a son. He even said to name him Ishmael (“God hears.”) Imagine that! I decided to name the place “Beer Lahai Roi” meaning “You are the God Who sees me.”

He told me some other stuff, too, about how Ishmael would turn out, and surprise surprise, that’s exactly what happened! Wow! That’s another reason I know he was an angel. Anyway, I agreed to go back to Sarah, and when Abram was 86 years old, I gave birth to Ishmael. You should have seen Abram’s face! He was ecstatic. But Sarah? Well, we’d stayed on uneasy terms, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. I just kept remembering the angel’s promise, and it kept me going.

Now I gotta skip a few years to get to the next part. Ishmael was about 14 years old when the miracle happened. Remember I told you about how Abram’s God had promised him a baby? Well, hold onto your hat—it actually happened! Really! It was weird seeing old Sarah getting bigger and bigger carrying that child. And I started to fret. If she carried this baby to full term, that meant my Ishmael could lose his favor with his father. Abram had grown to love Ishmael, and though my son was still a slave, he treated him almost like a son. Well, he WAS his son, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, my fears were soon realized. Isaac was doted on and pampered and made such a huge fuss of, it was nauseating. Things came to a head the day of the big party. Sarah was planning a feast for the day Isaac was weaned. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I opened my big mouth and told her to her face what I thought of her.

That did it. She went bawling to Abram and demanded he “do something about that slave woman and her son.” What could he do? He had to side with his wife and his real son. I knew he didn’t want to do it, and it really did distress him, but early the next morning, he slipped into my tent. He placed on my shoulder some food and a skin of water and sent us on our way.

Now I have to tell you, I hit a new low. First it was the grief of losing my dad; then the sorrow of leaving my mom and my country behind. Next, it was enduring slavery followed by being given in marriage to someone I didn’t love, only to be mistreated by his first wife. Putting up with that woman for 17 years was the biggest trial of my life. But being thrown out on my ear by the man who’d shown me kindness felt like the ultimate betrayal. What was I to do now? I was getting too old to be bought at full price, and if anyone saw Ishmael, we’d be separated for sure. We’d have to stay away from the trade routes.

My thoughts were driving me crazy. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going, but Ishmael didn’t seem too worried. He was free at last, he claimed. We walked and walked and walked in the desert until neither of us could take another step. Pretty soon our food ran out, and then our water. Shall I describe for you what it’s like to run out of water in the desert? It’s not a pretty sight. When I finally woke up to the fact that we couldn’t survive out there, it was too late. We didn’t have any energy left to make our way back. Ishmael had fainted with the heat. I dragged him to the only bush in the area and then crawled away from him so I wouldn’t have to watch him die. Talk about reaching the end of one’s rope!

I lay there panting and sobbing. What had I done to deserve this? How could I have handled myself differently? What had I done wrong? Where was that God that Abram claimed kept talking to him? I covered my ears. I could hear Ishmael sobbing, and I didn’t even have the energy to comfort him. I started to hallucinate. Terrified, I thought I saw an angel standing there. Was it time to die?

Then I heard, “What is the matter, Hagar? Don’t be afraid.” A feeling of strength began to spread through my body. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Go over and lift the boy up and take him by the hand, because God is going to make him into a great nation.” And then I swear on my father’s grave that this is what happened next. A well appeared right beside me. I quickly lowered my water skin and ran to give Ishmael a drink. He started to revive, sat up and hugged me. And the rest is history.

We made it to the next oasis, and there I found peace at last. Ishmael grew up to become a skilled desert archer. He’s a wild donkey of a man and at odds with everyone. He seems to be carrying a lot of anger in his heart over what happened to us. But me? I spend my days taking care of his little ones. Oh, did I forget to mention? I found a wife for him from guess where? Egypt, where else! My mom had something to do with that, but that’s another story.

And so, you see, when you think you’re done for, when life hands you what you don’t think you deserve, when you’re all alone or angry or sad, there’s a way out. “You are the God Who sees me.” Truly He does!