In my dream that night, I found myself once again in the bright meadow where I had dreamt of meeting Samson near a well. Again I saw my gentle giant. He was sitting in the grass, playing with a child. I heard the child's delighted laughter as Samson tickled him. As I moved closer, the child turned from Samson. He had large dark eyes and his head was covered with raven curls. His pudgy cheeks dimpled when he smiled at me.

"Look, Mama," he said. "Your friend does not care that I am a bastard. Neither does the steward of this place."

Samson looked toward me and smiled a welcome.

"Your son is a delight, Delilah," he said. "I'm taking good care of him, just like you would have if given the chance. You would be a wonderful mother. Any son would be proud to call you Mama."

I awoke filled with disquiet. Was the dream telling me my son really was better off dead? And then there was the message that Yahweh did not affix labels as men did. The boy had said the steward of the place did not care that he was a bastard. Since both my son and Samson were dead, I reasoned that the steward of the place where their spirits resided must be Yahweh. The third and final significance of the dream was Samson's inference that any son I bore would be pleased that I was his mother, rather than shamed by the association.

As I mulled over the possible interpretations of the dream, I heard Naomi stir. I told her of my dream and asked her the most disturbing question arising from it.

"Would Yahweh direct the abortion of a child to spare him a life of ridicule? Was it a god who guided my father's actions that night?"

With a rueful laugh, Naomi said, "Ah, if only I could understand the mind of God. I cannot imagine Him condoning, much less ordering, the murder of a child, even a child conceived in an incestuous union. Abraham's nephew Lot impregnated both of his daughters. The girls were afraid they would remain outcasts and never be able to marry and bear sons in the usual manner. They got their father drunk and then slept with him. Their sons were not aborted because they were the bastard children of an incestuous relationship. The Moabites and the Ammonites are their descendants. When evil occurs, I am sure that Yahweh can bring good from it. I imagine it is like with Joseph. His brothers sold him into slavery. I do not for a minute believe that Yahweh led them to do such a wicked thing. Yet, God turned this sinful action into something good. Joseph ended up in a position to aid his people during the famine that came later."

"Perhaps that is what Yahweh is doing here," I gestured widely including all of my surroundings. "This refuge is the result of my sordid past. Even though I originally conceived the idea as a bargaining tool to keep an angry God from wrecking ruin on my life, He has shown me that this business is His tool of redemption, not only for my life but for the lives of many others. When Rachel told me that our forgiveness led to her family's reunification, I recognized the hand of Yahweh in bringing us here."

"In that case, He used a dream to bring us to this juncture, just as He used dreams in Joseph's life," Naomi added. I could hear the smile in her voice as she continued. "The constant seems to be that optimal good comes only when Yahweh remains central in a life, as he did in Joseph's. Have you deduced the meaning of your dream the night you wrestled with a divine being and aged prematurely?"

When she asked the question, it was as though a bright light illuminated my mind. "Yes, I think I just have!" I answered excitedly. "He was telling me that if I built this place, my pilgrimage with Him would continue; and as I gained knowledge of Him, I would grow in wisdom and thus become more like you."

With a chuckle, Naomi added, "So you needn't worry about premature aging. The wrinkles in your dream were only figurative."

As we left our room, I heard Alian's voice raised in praise on the adjoining rooftop.

"Go to him," Naomi urged me. "Join in his worship. Allow Yahweh to be central in your relationship. I can see to the household this morning."
And so I followed Alian's voice to the rooftop. As I approached the top of the stairs, I raised my voice in adoration, allowing my utterance to weave a counterpoint around the melody he offered to His God. I heard no hesitation or alteration in Alian's voice as mine united with his in the harmonic sacrifice of praise. Together we worshipped, both focused on someone greater than ourselves.

When the final words of praise faded, Alian began the morning prayers. While he started with the Shema, his words did not end with the memorized recitation. Instead he petitioned God for wisdom during the day. He appealed for Yahweh's mercy on behalf of the members of the household. He spoke of his own unworthiness. As I stood by his side, I felt like an eavesdropper listening in on a private conversation between two very close friends. As I stood with my face raised toward the heavens, tears ran down my cheeks. I began my own internal conversation with the God Most High. I praised Him for His grace in my life. I thanked Him for giving me a chance to know Him. I enumerated my sins, not only those of the distant past, but the ones that led to false pride and rebellion on a daily basis. I asked Yahweh how I could even consider melding my blackened soul with one as pure as Alain's.

I could feel the presence of Yahweh on the rooftop. His love permeated the space, but I also could feel an edge almost like exasperation. Then I heard the words, "Who do you think is the author of purity? My mercy is wasted if you do not forgive yourself. I would bury your sins in the depths of the ocean. Why do you continually dredge them up? Do not reblacken what I have declared clean."

As the words faded, I felt filled with an unspeakable joy. My tears turned to laughter. It was then that I realized that I was prone on the rooftop, rather than standing with my face raised toward Yahweh. Somehow as I petitioned God, my unworthiness had brought me prostrate before my redeemer. As I struggled to sit up, I was jostled by someone evidently also striving to right themselves.

Alian asked quietly, "Did you hear His voice, Salome?"

"I heard a voice," I admitted.

"He was frustrated with me for allowing my guilt over how I treated my parents and the things I did while away to interfere with his grace in my life," he continued.

"No, Alian!" I exclaimed. "He was not speaking to you. You are a good and righteous man. He was talking to me."

With a rueful laugh, Alain said, "I am far from righteous, Salome. I only appear that way because you see only the outward man. Yahweh sees my heart. It appears that we both needed to hear the same message."

In awe, I said, "Perhaps you are right. I was so wrapped up in my communication with Yahweh that I forgot your presence."

"The same here," Alian replied. "When you first arrived, I knew you were there. I rejoiced that you felt comfortable enough to join in my adoration of Yahweh. As I spoke to Him, I was filled with gratitude for His grace in bringing you here. Somehow as I talked with Him, I lost consciousness of you. As we worshipped together our combined adoration seemed to usher us more deeply. . . Oh, I don't have the words to explain it," he interrupted himself.

"Nor I," I said with a laugh. "Suffice it to say, that was the most powerful and personal encounter I have ever had with Yahweh; I think the shared, yet separate, nature of the experience somehow heightened my awareness of Him."

Reaching up and feeling a smudge on my cheek, I asked with a chuckle, "Just how blackened am I from this close communion with your rooftop?"

Joining in my laughter, Alian concluded, "You are slightly soiled on the outside." Then sobering, he ended softly, "But you are shining from the inside, Salome. You have never looked more radiant."

That morning I agreed to become Alian's wife, but there were some conditions. I told him I did not want a traditional week-long wedding feast. One night of feasting and celebration was more than enough. I also asked that instead of a wedding steward giving the benediction, that Naomi be allowed to do the honors.

Those concerns, though, were not deal breakers. My biggest worry was still that he would regret marrying a woman who could not have children. I exacted a promise from him that if at any time he regretted his choice to live without the possibility of an heir, he would tell me. In that eventuality, I promised him he could chose either to divorce me or take a second wife without any opposition on my part.

"That is an easy promise for me to make," Alian assured me. "You are more concerned about me having an heir than I am. I have already decided to allow my caretaker to have my family farm. I will offer to let him work the farm and give me the proceeds for the next seven years. At that time, the land will become his. Any livestock currently on the farm will remain mine until they are sold or die. Any offspring will be his so that when he inherits the land, he will have the beginnings of a herd. The remaining animals that are mine will be sold at the end of the seven years and the proceeds will come to us."

I argued vehemently against this plan. I feared that Alian would regret giving up his family inheritance. I tried to get him to wait until we had been married for ten years before doing anything so irrevocable. I reminded him that if he ever had a son, the boy might resent the fact that his father had squandered his birthright.

Finally in exasperation, Alian informed, "I know that the farm is the land that was my family's portion of Yahweh's gift of the Promised Land. This home that you and I renovated and turned into a refuge for outcasts is my spiritual heritage. This is the birthright I would want any son of our union to have. This is Yahweh's blessing."

"What if the son were not of our union?" I asked softly.

"I will never sire a son by a concubine, Salome," he replied heatedly. "Don't you understand yet how much I love you?"

"I know the depth of your love," I answered, trying to fill my voice with sincerity and wishing I could look him in the eye so he could see the truth of the statement. "But something could happen to me, Alian. I might not live with you into old age. If I were to die and you were to remarry, you could father a child by another."

"And if that unlikely scenario were to occur," he responded stubbornly, "this is still the birthright I would want to leave my son."

After he reminded me that he would inherit Naomi's home and so would have two inheritances to offer a son, I finally conceded Alian's right to do whatever he desired with his farm.