The following morning as I gathered my supplies for grinding grain, I located a small, flat-edged stone used in tanning. Making sure the tool was sharp, I hid it in my girdle. Then I went about my tasks as usual.

During the midday rest, I slipped away to the shade of the pool. After looking around to see if I was alone, I stood close to the edge to view my reflection in the still water. Passing my hand over my flat stomach, I assured myself that my secret was safe. Then I knelt to look at my face. Viewing my haggard countenance, I recognized that the battle within had taken its toll. I appeared much older than my years.

Sitting down and placing my feet into the cool water, I loosened my girdle and removed the cutting instrument I had hidden there. I turned it over several times while I considered the consequences of my proposed action. Mama and Papa would be saddened; perhaps Simeon would feel guilt. For everyone else my passing would be only a momentary nuisance. Stiffening my resolve, I slowly slid my thumb over the edge of the blade to determine its sharpness. Reassured by the sting of the small cut, I lay my left arm in my lap. Gripping the tool firmly, I positioned it above my exposed wrist. As I brought the stone down in a slicing motion, I was startled to hear feet pounding across the sand.

A voice called, "No, Dinah, wait!" A small hand snatched away the instrument as I gazed at the line of blood forming on my wrist. Dazed I stared into the face of Sheerah as she stood in the water before me. Tearing a strip of cloth from her headpiece, she dampened it and tied it tightly around the cut. Taking my hand, she said, "Come. I will take you to your Mother." Weakened, my resolve gone, I complied.

When we reached the tent, Sheerah led me inside without pausing to request permission to enter. As we crossed the sitting room, she called, "Leah, mother of Dinah, I am bringing your daughter in to you"

Mama had risen quickly at Sheerah's call. Taking in my bedraggled appearance, she had me lie on her mat. Smoothing back my tangled hair and laying my bandaged arm across my stomach, she bid me rest. Then taking Sheerah a few feet to the side, she asked what had happened.

"I followed her to the pool," Sheerah confessed. "She tried to befriend me when I was in need following the slaughter. I was rude to her, but her words stuck with me. I watched her grieve as the days passed realizing that she did not even have the comfort of public mourning, or sympathetic friends with which to share her memories. I wanted to talk with her; let her know that I returned her concern for me. Today when I saw her head for the pool, I followed planning to talk with her. As I watched from the trees, I saw her take this from her girdle. When I realized her intent was to cut her wrist, I ran from the trees calling her name. I bandaged her wound and brought her directly to you." Finished, she handed Mama the tanning tool.

Thanking her for her concern and promising to reward her diligence, Mama made as though to dismiss her, but Sheerah said, "Please, I don't mean to be presumptuous. Dinah evidently is in great distress and could use a companion. With your responsibilities, you do not have time to shadow her. Perhaps I could be her maid. I have a younger sister for whom I am responsible, but she could come with me."

Looking at Sheerah with renewed interest, Mama responded, "I will discuss your suggestion with my husband. Perhaps Dinah could use a maid. What is your name, child?" Repeating Sheerah's unfamiliar name, she said, "I will send a message to you after I have talked with Jacob. Thank you again for returning my daughter to me."

After Sheerah left, Mama knelt by the mat and carefully removed the makeshift bandage. Cleansing the cut and anointing it with oil, she rebandaged it with a clean cloth. Sitting beside me she said, "I so hoped that you would not repeat the mistakes of my life. I never considered you might face problems that made mine look small. Can you forgive me for having failed you?"

"You are not to blame," I answered. "I did not want to hurt you. I just wanted to end it all. Life should be more than one hurt after another, but there is nothing else —only tragedy."

"You are wrong," she said. "Thanks to the girl Sheerah, you may live to learn of joys springing from sorrow. My life has had its share of pain, but you are one of the joys that have made the sorrows bearable. You have always been so full of fun — able to make me laugh. Time heals, Dinah. Allow it to do its work." Then changing subjects, she continued, "Sheerah is concerned about you and has offered to be your maid. I am inclined to favor the arrangement. What is your feeling?"

Smiling feebly, I said, "She has been a good friend. I would have trouble thinking of her as property."

"You needn't consider her as such. Zilpah is my handmaiden and my confidant. You and Sheerah would be free to work out your own relationship. If she is part of your dowry some day, you could then release her."

"Dowry? Papa will have to render some payment now that he is selling soiled goods. But yes, it might help to have Sheerah around," I said.

Suggesting I rest, Mama withdrew to the front of the tent, leaving the flap between open. Knowing she was afraid to let me out of her sight, but comforted by her concern I closed my eyes. Sarah running in to tell Mama that Papa was coming as she had requested disturbed my dozing.

I lay listening as Mama gave a brief account of my attempted suicide. I hadn't really thought of it as suicide before, just as relief from suffering. Seeing Papa's expression, I realized for the first time the import of what I had tried. Recognizing a desire to live, I was relieved that Sheerah had intervened. For the first time since Shem's death I prayed — a brief prayer of thanksgiving. I still was not sure I believed in God, but old habits tend to resurface. At this moment I was at least willing to give God a chance.

Turning my attention back to the conversation, I heard Papa agreeing to Sheerah serving as my maid. He suggested offering to free her after seven years service as thanks for her saving my life. His willingness to put aside a dowry for her from the spoils taken from Shechem came as a surprise. I had not realized that my life meant so much to Papa.

Sheerah and Hurriya moved in that evening. Room was made for their sleeping mats next to mine. I had no opportunity to thank Sheerah properly for what she had done, but hoped my smiling welcome would suffice for now. Hurriya's exuberance over seeing me demonstrated that Sheerah's bitterness had not extended to berating me to her sister. Her buoyancy boosted my spirits as she sat beside me begging for another of my wonderful stories.

Papa prolonged our stay at the spring for a few days to allow me to regain my strength. Luckily the wound did not become infected and I was soon ready to travel again. I looked forward to the journey knowing it would give me more unrestricted time to talk to Sheerah.

Now that both Mama and Sheerah were keeping a closer eye on me, it was more difficult to keep the recurrent nausea a secret. Both urged me to eat, something I had been avoiding until later in the day when the sickness lessened. Finally Sheerah confronted me with her suspicions. Acknowledging that I was probably pregnant, I begged her to help me keep it concealed. She felt this was unwise pointing out that neither of us knew much about pregnancy. Afraid that I might endanger the baby, she pressed me to tell Mama. In return for her silence, I promised to tell as soon as we reached Bethel.

Although my thoughts of suicide were gone, I was not yet ready to deal with the problem of a child. As long as no one knew, I had almost successfully denied its existence. Now I worried about my parents' reactions. I also had to face my own ambivalent feelings. In one sense, I welcomed a child as something from Shem — something my brothers could not take away. In another, I resented the complications a child would represent. I had sarcastically referred to myself as soiled goods, but had felt the stigma would lessen with time. My dreams of appearing even slightly desirable would be ended with a birth. A child would be living evidence of my disgrace. I was afraid to reveal my pregnancy.

Too soon we reached Bethel. As I helped to set up camp, I struggled with my promise to Sheerah. Momentarily alone with her, I told her I had decided to wait until after the altar had been built and the sacrifice made for our sins. In that atmosphere, Papa could only forgive and welcome the child. Reluctantly agreeing, Sheerah promised to keep the secret a little longer.

Early the next morning, Sheerah and I were both sent to find rocks for the altar. By midday enough rocks had been located; the altar would be erected after our rest period. This evening we would fast in preparation for a morning sacrifice. Tomorrow would be a day devoted to worship ending with a meager meal to show repentance.

During the search I had located a spot shaded by trees where I could go to think. While everyone rested, I planned to go there alone. Showing Sheerah that I had no concealed weapon and promising not to try to harm myself, I begged her to wait some distance from my chosen spot. Knowing of my tortured spirit, she agreed to stay nearby assuring me that she would be glad to listen if I wanted to talk out my options. I was touched by her concern, but needed the time alone to understand my emotions.

Sitting in the shade of the trees, I let my mind drift. The name of Yahweh kept floating through my thoughts. Remembering what Aunt Rachel had said about His love, I began to pray. My early thoughts were confrontational. I poured out all of the pent up vehemence, pounding my fists into the dirt, demanding answers. Finally, my fury spent, I sat in tears wondering why I bothered. Then I felt the remembered presence; the words "Are you ready to listen now, my child?" echoing in my mind made me look around uncertainty. Surely someone was playing a trick on me.

Finally convinced that the words had been put in my mind by the Being I had denied, I raised my hands heavenward, saying, "Why do you still bother with me? I am unworthy of Your attention. My life has been filled with denials, uncertainty, rebellion. Your punishment is just; I will struggle against it no more." I bowed my head in submission,

"Punishment?" The word reverberated through my mind.

Looking up again, I said, "Yes. Shem's death, the child, everything that has happened since I refused to give you my fantasies about Shem. I do not deserve happiness; my punishment of living without human love is tolerable if you still love me." Although I meant what I said, I could not help but cry again in my loneliness.

Unbidden the questions surfaced, "Would a loving God sacrifice a life to punish another? Would He bring into being a new life destined for despair?"

I recalled Papa's words to Simeon, "Your actions were neither led nor sanctioned by God." If that were true then Shem's death was not punishment. But then what was it? He was dead wasn't he?

"How could You allow him to die like that?" I questioned aloud. The answer was in my phrasing; it was so simple. God had not created puppets. He did not deny me the right to control my own destiny. My mistakes were created by my rebellion, not by God. In the same way, Simeon and Shem had made their own choices. Yahweh did not direct our lives unless we allowed it. I wondered if Shem's death could have been altered had he prayed to Yahweh that night instead of Mot. Knowing such questions were futile, I shrugged it aside. What mattered now was not what could have been.

My mind then turned to the unborn child. Since God had not altered Shem's death, could the child be an indirect answer to my prayer on his behalf? Would not Shem live on in his child? In awe I held my hand to my belly. Feeling the first slight movement within, I thought, "This child is a blessing, not a curse." Remembering the story of my revered ancestor Sarah, I determined to emulate her by raising my child to know and worship Yahweh. My circumstance might be opposite, but my baby was of the same seed and therefore a part of the mighty nation promised to Abraham.

Once more I raised my hands heavenward, this time in true adoration. "Thank you God for listening to me even in my unbelief. I do not deserve your love, but I will strive to live my life worthy of it." I sat for some time basking in the fullness of His love. Then I knew what I must do. "Sheerah," I cried.

She came quickly but stopped stunned by the transformation evident on my countenance. "What is it," she asked? "What has happened?"

Stumbling in my excitement, I told her I had talked to Yahweh. She did not understand of course. When one prays to stone gods, only silence responds. The Canaanites did not claim love as an attribute of their gods. They saw them as vengeful creatures to be appeased. Telling her to sit, I explained that Yahweh had a wrathful side that demanded justice. But He was also a God of love; a God of second chances. He had heard my cry for help and responded in love. My life had meaning again.

Sheerah admitted that my experience was beyond her understanding. She expressed happiness for me, but could not see how the grace of my God could affect her. The concept of one supreme God for all people was foreign to her. My attempts to explain that the destruction of her village had not been Yahweh's vengeance were totally misunderstood. She could not see how it could have been anything else since Shem had made the necessary sacrifices to their gods. Finally realizing that only continued exposure to God's ways would help her to understand, I hugged her and suggested we return to camp before someone came looking for us. From the position of the sun, I knew what had seemed like minutes to me had really been hours. I couldn't wait to talk to Mama and Aunt Rachel; I knew they would understand.