AN: Hello again!
I was originally going to make Orpah a oneshot, but as I left it, it seemed rather unfinished. So I've got an update, and you can expect at least one more.
Also thank y'all for your generous reviews. I hope you'll enjoy this second chapter, and learn and grow too.
Update: I thought I had proofread this chapter well, but as I read it, I found some spelling and grammar errors. I hope they haven't caused too much confusion, and I have fixed them. If any more questions arise, please feel free to leave a comment and I'll do my best to answer.
Orpah's mind raced that night, meditating on the words of the angel. It was true, that nothing he had told her should have astonished her, for she knew or had known all that he had said. And yet...
She must have fallen asleep eventually, because she definitely awoke in the morning. It was late- even the third hour by the sun's position- so she lost no time in arising. Her first thought was to eat something, so she went immediately to the pot over the fire to prepare some food.
And although the pot was obviously hot, what filled it was not mere water, but ice.
Just like the messenger had said.
Now she remembered all that had been told her- that, and what she had committed to do.
There was a caravan in town going west, wasn't there?
But when she made inquiry at the market, she found that they had left at dawn. And another caravan wasn't expected for over a month.
Could she wait that long?
No. If she waited even until the next day, she could change her mind. Or her health might give her trouble. Or someone else might delay her indefinitely.
She knew from experience.
So then how was she to go? It was a fool's journey to go into the wilderness of the northwest alone. She had never heard of anyone who made it. Certainly not of old women nearly seventy years old who had never been more than ten miles out of town in over two decades. And she had heard reports of giants in those parts. Giants weren't always mean- she had known one when she was young- but they were dangerous when drunk, and she didn't want to be alone when she came across one, drunk or sober, friendly or not. So she kept searching the marketplace for someone who could go with her, at least until they could catch up with the caravan. Caravans were slow enough that it wouldn't be too long- two days' journey at most, less in favorable conditions. If they started tonight, that was. Otherwise, they could be gone much longer.
But after asking around all day, she had found no-one. Discouraged, she headed for home. She could not leave tonight, but she would pack supplies and as soon as morning came, she would leave, guide or no guide.
Shalakhia was restless. He had eaten a late supper, and now he didn't know what to do. So he went out to walk about the streets. The sun had gone down behind the hills in the west, sojourning on to whatever places lay beyond the great Sea. He had heard some names of those countries: Kittim, Tarshish, Lud, to name a few. The men of Tyre knew better what lay there, and he had learned what he knew from various of them who came to trade in Moab.
Israel, too, lay beyond those hills. It was the land of his birth, although he remembered less of it than he would have liked. When he was only seven years old, he and his father had left their family in Judah. It was supposed to be only a few months before they returned, but his father had been killed, leaving Shalakhia alone in a strange land. He had known no way to go back home, and although he now was free to travel and capable of the journey, something had always kept him back.
Although he was ashamed to admit it, it was his fear. He was afraid of the journey, and even if he made it, he feared his return might not be welcome news with his family in Ephrath. He had five older brothers and three sisters, and not one of them ever showed much liking for him. In their eyes, he had always been in the way, asking foolish questions, and too slow, incoherent, and clumsy to be of any help to them. They had no time for such people. And so they didn't give any to him.
His parents had been better- his father saw potential in him, and his mother loved him as much as any of his siblings. But Father had been killed, and his mother was as likely dead as not, for she must be sixty or more by now, and her health had been failing already when he last remembered her.
And yet, he longed for his homeland. He longed for his people, who served a God much mightier than any there might be in Moab. He longed for the Tabernacle in Shiloh, where his family had gone each year to worship the only God worth anything at all. And this God was not just worth something, but worth all. Indeed, He gave all worth. Nothing had any value without Him, but anything where He was, anything done for Him, or instituted by Him, was worth one's whole life.
But he hadn't given Him his whole life.
Because what held him back, even more than fear of his reception, was success. He had found success renting horses to townspeople and farmers who valued them for many reasons. But he couldn't take his horses with him. And even if he did, there would be no market for them. Cattle were the primary beasts used for labor, and donkeys for pack work and for riding. And he couldn't compete with them, not as an unknown startup that owned no land. It was impossible.
He knew in his head that he ought to go back, or if he stayed then to be a bold witness, a light to the Moabites in darkness. But it was unpopular to go against the flow, to serve a God unknown to them. So he had caved, choosing to burn incense to their gods. He excused himself, saying that it was acceptable because his heart was not in it. But in his heart he knew it was wrong, and he could see it driving him away from the one true God.
Stop it, Shalakhiah's mind said. He tried to push back against those thoughts. He didn't like them. They made him uncomfortable. But the more he tried, the less he succeeded. He couldn't fight. Why can't you do this, he asked. You're always competent enough. Why can't you get rid of this? But he could find no answer. He must have fought for hours before he finally gave up. He was so convicted he couldn't go on any longer.
"Oh Lord," he cried out into the night, "forgive me! for I am undone in my own wickedness! I have abandoned You, tried to make life work without You. And I have thought I was doing well, though I was empty apart from You. I have strayed from You to chase after gods of wealth, of prestige, of acceptedness- those which were no gods at all have I served, and I left You though I knew You were the One I needed. O, God of Abraham, Who made this whole world, deliver me now from its ways, from its wealth, from its desires, from its bondage, and restore me that I may worship You forever, to be Your servant, and You my God. I can in my own strength do nothing, but grant me Your grace that I may do all for Your glory. I can offer nothing but myself, but take me, and change me back into Your image, that I may be a well pleasing sacrifice to You. In Your name, and according to Your glory and good pleasure, let it be done."
There was no blinding flash of light, no great wind, no sudden rush of energy. Indeed, what Shalakhia felt was almost nothing. It was stillness. It was the state of being clean. It was having a once more right relationship with God. It was... peace.
And at that moment, he knew God had heard him. And forgiven him. It was so amazing he wanted to shout out for all the world to hear. He was at peace with God!
Across the great plain to his east, the first rays of dawn shone upon the ground. It was a new day. And he was ready for it.