Bitter Cup, Sweet Aftertaste

It had been two years since God’s chosen people had left the clutches of slavery in Egypt. In the middle of the wilderness, thousands, now free, lay sleeping in tents strewn across the desert as far as the eye could see. My husband Bezalel and I were among the chosen. While the camp was still cool and quiet, I instinctively woke up just before dawn, as I had every day since leaving Egypt. With my eyes still closed and my soul writhing in pain, I lay hoping that the dreadful events of yesterday were all just a dream. Overcome with hopelessness, I had no will to face the day, let alone the rest of my life. My circumstances were so emotionally overwhelming that they had begun to affect my physical body as well. As I sat up in bed, my head throbbed and my heart raced. Surmising that as long as I was alive, I had to eat, I managed to swing my stiff, aching legs over the side of the bed to begin the task of collecting manna for the household for the day. The reality that this drafty tent in this dry, barren, lifeless wilderness would be my home until the day I left this earth engulfed me. With labored breath, I held my heavy head in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably with no regard for waking my sleeping family.

With his head still on the pillow, Bezalel reached over and gently stroked my shoulder without saying a word, even though he was in his own private hell. His touch, which usually soothed me, provided no comfort. But I turned and touched his hand, just to let him know that I cared that he cared.

“Talk to me, Chaya,” he said softly, still holding my hand and caressing it as he did when he needed me to open up my soul to him.

I looked away for a few moments to collect my thoughts. Before I could clearly communicate my feelings to him, I first needed to understand for myself what was going on inside of me.

“I’m tired, and I’m not sure I can do this anymore,” I said from a grief-filled heart as I turned and looked directly into his eyes. I exhaled, relieved to finally be able to say what I had been thinking for a long time. “I’m tired of this miserable, empty wilderness, tired of trying to do the right thing but having little to show for it, just tired of waiting on God to keep His promise to make our lives worth living.”

Bezalel had not only been listening to my words, but also carefully studying my face and body language. I could tell that he wanted to thoroughly understand every nuance of what I thought and felt so that he could give me the wise counsel that I so desperately needed.

He reflected for a moment, carefully choosing his words. Then he said, “I know you better than anyone else on theface of this earth, and I know that you are a strong, resilient woman. With my own eyes, I have seen you weather far more adversity than the little bit of discomfort and the long wait that come with being in this wilderness. So I know you can do this. Am I right?”

I pondered his words and had to admit that he was right. He had seen me persevere through the emotionally painful miscarriage of our firstborn child, and his bout with adultery, which I knew he deeply regretted. And he had witnessed every other misfortune that I had overcome.

“Yes, you’re right. You are always right,” I told him, grateful for his helpful perspective. As I felt my shoulders relax, and my face soften, I leaned over and grazed his lips with a kiss to say “thank you.” I was encouraged by his words of wisdom, which gave me the strength I needed to keep moving. With my newfound resolve, I was determined not to be worn down and defeated by the wilderness but instead to make it work for me and my family. One way or another, I would make it produce good fruit for us, however long we lived.

My wise husband gave me one more crucial thought to consider. He said, “Don’t give up on God yet. He may just have a plan to bring something magnificent out of this journey through the wilderness.”