CHAPTER ONE
Lane reached the age of decision. It was 1734, and he was thinking about a journey.
He lived east of the Mediterranean city of Joppa, right there between the sea and the mountains.
Tamar is his mother. She’d tell him stories about Israel’s glory days, a time, when God moved and walked in their midst. He liked her stories.
Lane still recalled many things about his father, a proud Jewish man, a man from the tribe of Dan.
It was hard to get everything right, for his father had left home a long time ago. It was in the month of IYYAR, but it was three years ago.
IYYAR happens in the spring time.
Lane was proud of the fact that his parents gave him the same name as his father.
An ever present question remained upon his mind, as he stepped into the kitchen of the tiny house they lived in. So, he asked his mother about it.
“What do you suppose happened to him?” Lane spoke plainly to Tamar. Tamar finished chopping those few remaining vegetables. She scooped them into the soup kettle, and she addressed her son’s question.
“Your father went to Joppa to see those Romanists, the people he spoke to, those folks from the north.”
Tamar’s eyes glazed over some, as she recited what she had seen. “He was so certain about the prophets. But, I don’t know.”
Lane could see her tears and, looking into those beautiful, brown eyes, he listened.
“Come here!” He invited her into an embrace, an embrace to comfort them both. It was also on his mind that he was already much taller then her. He had reached the age of twelve.
“Have you decided?” Tamar muffled her words into her son’s chest, and she cleared the remaining tears from her eyes onto his tunic. “You’re a man now, and I can’t stop you from talking to those people.”
“You mean the priest from the Romanists?” He knew her answers before any came, for it wasn’t their first conversation on the topic.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands now, Tamar confirmed it.
“Yes, my son. They’re not our people.”
Lane found it impossible to meet the penetrating eyes of his mother. His hands were on her shoulders, a gesture much like the one his father had often used. It was how a man addressed a woman under his authority, ever so gentle, but still very much in command.
“I’ve looked over what Father left me. The prophets also speak of the gentile people.” Lane made his case, or started on it.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed you to read them.” It was an old argument for Tamar. “I could have kept them from you, or stopped you from going to the temple.”
Lane knew full well that his mother was actually very pleased with his ability to read, and she also supported and encouraged him in his ability to speak and understand some of the other languages, the tongues of the northern clans. He smiled at her.
Then, Lane spoke. “You see God’s promises too. You know Father was right about this.” He came at her with a new approach. “The Lord came to save everybody, not just us, not only the chosen tribes of Israel.”
“I’m going to the city with you tomorrow.” It was the first time Tamar voiced her desire to him.
Taking his standard seat at the head of their table, Lane distracted himself with the aroma from the turnip soup.
“I’m only going to be gone until the new moon.” He began to object to his mother’s news. He secretly enjoyed the idea of being alone on this trip, a journey into the world as a fully grown man.
It upset him to ponder this change in his plans, but he didn’t speak his thoughts aloud. Lane knew that Tamar wouldn’t understand his rejection.
He chose to employ mercy. “Though the priest is only expecting me, Mother, I am pleased to share this mission with you.”
She turned to face him. “What mission or duty are you talking about?”
“Father wouldn’t have been gone this long, Mother, but that some odd thing altered his plans. You are far too beautiful.” Lane blurted this out.
Tamar smiled once again. Her son’s words tickled her.
Lane continued. “I mean to investigate what’s happened to Father, no matter where the road leads me, no matter how long it takes.”
“May the Lord be with you in this. And, may he guide your steps to where he wants you to be, as always.”
Lane enjoyed hearing his mother’s blessings. It was a habit of hers’ and he decided to copy it.
“And may our Lord bless you, Mother. May he lead you back into the loving arms of my father.”
She moved over to the table and began to serve up their soup.
“You are probably the best cook in the world.” Lane led out the dinner conversation with this old compliment, one he had often heard his father use.
Tamar looked at her son and, feeling playful, she asked him, “And, you’ve sampled the cooking from around the world?”
Lane met her eyes, and this time his compliment was from the heart. “It’s not so much that I’ve sampled the cooking from around the world, Mother. I don’t have to. The Lord has provided me with a mother able to understand what I love.”
Tamar knew a tear ran down her cheek, but she was very happy. The Lord had also blessed her with a very loving son.