Chaos in the Tent - Rachel’s Story
- Nancy Counts
- Mar 4
- 7 min read
I know my time on earth ebbs with the flow of blood from my body.
I feel no physical pain. Leah’s eyes grow wide with panic. At first, the pressure and circular rhythm of Leah‘s wailing over my womb hurt more than I thought possible. But now, the pain eases as a coldness begins to settle in my bones.
I feel the baby squirming at my breast. My poor Ben-oni. Son of my sorrow. Son of my pain. My arms leaden, I have no strength to cradle him. I turn my head and nod to Bilhah who sweeps up the tiny bundle and retreats from the chaos. Leah’s look to Bilhah could scorch earth. She screams, “NO!” and demands more help and more clean water!
I examine my sister. I notice the tears streaming down her face, and I feel my body contract, making every effort to retain my precious life blood.
I remember the first birth I experienced with my family. Reuben was so large, when he finally emerged after Leah’s days long straining, I was almost glad Leah birthed Jacob’s first son. But I became consumed with jealousy against my sister and behaved terribly. I refused to help care for the boys or assist anyone other than what Jacob commanded of me. As I watched weariness grow in my sister’s eyes, my heart scolded me, but I did not change.
The abundance of our family meant Leah, as first wife, bore the responsibility for all of us. And Leah worked tirelessly for our good. So many mouths to feed: the planning and rationing of the harvest, tending the gardens, spinning the yarn and weaving all necessities. The work proved endless and there never were enough hands to assist - not even my own. Leah did not complain, only worked harder, while I sat in the shadow of Jacob’s tent and watched as the burdens of life leached the color from her skin and took the brightness from her eyes.
After the birth of Judah, Leah changed. I would find her singing over the supper rather than grinding her teeth along with the flour. She laughed as she pulled weeds in the garden and tickled the soft fuzz of Judah's head with the grass
After Leah’s heart lightened, her family flourished. She and I came to an unsteady truce. If Jacob could ever manage to escape the control of our worthless and cruel father, she and I being rivals served no benefit to our family. Once Bilhah bore Dan and Naphtali for me, I fully realized the need to flee my father’s control. All of Jacob’s work remained at the whim of Laban, and Jacob’s prosperity, which meant our family’s prosperity, depended on us all working together to free ourselves from Laban’s authority.
I also began to comprehend the difficulty of keeping children alive! It was Leah who poured sweet oil onto little Dan’s body when his cough would not ease and his lips turned blue. It was Leah who punished Simeon when he was cruel to the younger boys. It was Leah who argued with Laban when he tried to swindle Jacob out of this or that. It was Leah who held my hand when I miscarried so many little ones. It was Leah who held Joseph first and cleaned his little body and placed him at my breast.
Slowly, the tension and bitterness faded between us. I remember how fiercely Leah stood as we faced Esau at that first meeting. I stood behind her and peeped around her skirts as if I were a child. I feared for our family and their safety in this strange new land. Leah may have feared too, but she never showed it to anyone.
When Leah discovered me praying to our father’s idols, she did not tell Jacob. Jacob vigilantly served the God of Isaac, and I did not know his reaction if my theft were uncovered. Instead, when the moon waxed new, Leah sneaked into my tent, and we walked to the acacia tree. We buried our father’s idols there and continued to keep watch over them. Every new moon, she and I offered sacrifices of praise to Yahweh and prayers of remorse to our idols abandoned to the cover of the dark earth. Both Leah and I poured sweet wine and olive oil onto the soil. When I asked Leah why she helped me, Leah whispered under the cover of the night,
“I honor the God of my husband. I honor the gods of my father. The God of my husband protects our family and causes us to prosper. The gods of my father keep me close to my sister.”
My heart softened in those days of labor and toil. I came to depend on my sister, and I knew Leah depended on me. Sharing Jacob became easier as the tasks of caring for children and the growing flocks increased. Leah’s body grew stooped from all the weight she carried while I remained young and beautiful. Leah bore her burdens with such grace and tenderness. When Jacob warmed to Leah after she fiercely defended him against Laban and his brother Esau, I accepted that Leah was indeed the first wife. I listened as Leah talked of the faithfulness of Yahweh, and how she learned that the God of Isaac offered comfort and strength to those who praised Him.
Leah would often say, “God answers my prayers.” When Leah spoke of her prayers to God, her eyes became distant and thoughtful, as if she were not really talking to us at all. I wish I knew the desires of my sister’s heart, and how this God provided and gave her so much peace. But I never asked. I sadden that my time draws so near, and I never asked Leah how to pray to the Fearsome God of Isaac. I regret my wasteful gifts of sweet wine and olive oil to dead gods in the earth by the acacia tree. My heart aches for all I will leave behind. I gather my strength and touch Leah’s hand. When Leah’s gaze locks with mine, her hands fly to her mouth to stifle a cry.
“Hold me.” Is all I have the strength to say
Leah lies down beside me and cradles me with her strong, loving hands. I feel peace as my sister cries softly, her tears mingling with my own.
“Care for them.” I murmur.
Leah weeps harder and begins to wail.
I think back to the day I first saw Jacob at our father’s well. He was so young and handsome and strong, and I knew that I loved him. I remember the feeling of a knife twisting in my gut when I arrived at the marriage feast with the bride and groom already abed in the marriage tent. I did not direct my fury upon my father where it should have been placed but upon my sister. I know now she played no part in my father’s schemes. She did not send me to the midwife’s tent miles away to be granted a gift for fertility. Laban did. Leah always obeyed our father until his true nature came to light that week. I push the regret for so many years of wasted anger aside, and I grab Leah’s hand in my cold, weak grip.
She looks into my eyes, and I try to fill her with all the love I still possess. Leah stills. Her tears continue to fall, but her wailing stops. I look at my strong and powerful sister and move her hand above my slowing heart. I remember all the fruitless prayers to the idols to open my womb. I realize what a fruitless waste are the things made of man’s hands as I gaze at my righteous sister.
Bilhah returns the cleaned babe to my breast. She gazes into his perfect face as Leah holds him close to my heart. I understand now.
“No one creates except Yahweh, the Lord most high.” I form the words, but am unsure anyone hears. Asleep at my breast is the proof of God’s goodness and power. I mourn the loss of my own life, yet I know that the God of Isaac and Jacob will provide for this little one as He has always provided for all of my family.
“I’m sorry,” lingers on my lips. This sacrifice is all I can offer now.
Leah rocks me gently and begins to sing:
Lord, I call to you;
My rock , do not be deaf to me!
If you remain silent to me, I will be like those going down into the pit.
Listen to the sound of my pleading when I cry for help, when I lift up my hands toward your holy sanctuary.
May the Lord answer us in this day of trouble;
May the name of Jacob’s God protect you.
May He send you to His sanctuary and sustain you.
May He remember all your offerings and accept your burnt offering.
Leah sobs, but she does not quit singing. I cling to her hand with what little strength that remains.
Who may ascend the mountain of the Lord ?
Who may stand in his holy place?
The one who has clean hands and a pure heart,
Receive your blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of His salvation. Such is the generation of those who inquire of Him,
Who seeks the face of the God of Jacob.
“Can you see his face, Rachel? Please tell me you go to the God of Jacob. I cannot bear to lose you if you do not go to be with the Lord on High. I have to know I can find you!” Leah’s voice whispers across my skin.
I feel nothing but peace and warmth flowing on that whisper. The deep cold in my bones eases under Leah’s gentle touch.
“I love you, Leah.” I murmur. “I go to the God of Jacob. You will find me there.”
I close my eyes, but I do not fear. I find peace in Leah’s song. Sweet peace and the feel of her breath on my skin and my baby on my heart. Sweet peace until I know no more.
And here end's Rachel's story.
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