The Palm

I have these times. Times where my soul wanders, making it hard to chip away at anything other than the engulfing thoughts. Times where names of the Bible, the anxieties of the day, or the memories of my heart, settle in deep, crevicing into corners of my being. They knock persistently, waiting to be addressed. At times they drift off with the busyness of life, just to resurface at my door, holding their ground until I invite them in as a friend. Once I open the entry, it doesn’t take long for the world around me to take pause. The house collects crumbs, the laundry is left-buried for another day, lunch is served late, I fail to brush my teeth past an acceptable time, and my kids run in circles as I sit and choose to wander…to wonder.

Today I begin to drift hand in hand with the wind that has disrobed the tree’s boughs outside my window. Thoughts of the Duggar case, and so many others, cause my heart to sway. The sapling is almost stripped clean, left for naked and ashamed. Yet, a couple tiny leaflets clutch the arms that shake…holding on for dear life, not wanting to give way to the storm. They are bold…brave amidst the commotion that surrounds, threatening to beat them to the ground. I feel it then…the hesitation to open my thoughts gates. Why am I afraid? My baby girl looks up at me from where I sit. Dragging that doggie blanket that used to be her brother’s. Funny how the heart can attach itself to such an unexpected thing. She struggles to boost herself up next to me before delicately placing the worn wool on my shoulder and placing her head down comfortably. As she rests, I wonder if it will be worth it-worth the mess that will gather if I choose to roam. Wonder if the walk down memory lane, and the attempt to place myself in the memories of others will be worth all the vibration. I stifle as I look out the window once again…the trembling leaf is gone…flown away to be forgotten. Should we also forget? Bible unzips, exposing another name. A beautiful name that held a soul. One that was diminished and dismissed. Tamar-meaning palm tree-implying peace. Laptop opens, and the thoughts-they are thankful to pour freely. The floodgates have been opened.

Lust. Conniving. Deceit. Pressure. Would not listen. Overpowered. Forced. Shame. Hate. Put her out. Bolt the door. Continual crying. Keep silent. These are some of the words that scratch the scandalous surface of 2 Samuel 13’s narrative. To hear these phrases drip from the mouth of Scripture can cause the gut to do an inward roll. It can feel like a bit of ocean waving us into sea, leaving us a bit distressed just from the reading. The temptation comes to breeze over this history, sending it to the wind, to be forgotten as a dream. It's a story we would rather not speak around the dinner table where the intent ears of our children attend. We forget because it’s easier. We forget because it shows the chaos, when it’s more comfortable to read the comfort. But we often fail to realize that comfort is only needed where chaos has been present. Tamar. A name that has stained my memory with the staining of her garments. Let her name bleed onto your heart. Let her story devastate you…so the cross can dazzle you.

“And it came to pass after this.” Just as we were called to look back at Jacob when the rape of Dinah occurred, so also, somewhat unexpectedly, we must retrace our steps to father David before entering the story of Tamar. After this. What events are bottled up in those two small words? After this: David resided at the palace when he should have been off fighting in battle. He had risen from his bed at evening tide and walked out onto the roof. There he saw a woman bathing…a beautiful woman. A woman whose heart was stitched to the heart of another mighty man of valor. David beheld her and lit with desire, giving way to uncontainable flame. Despite the many wives and concubines he already had, there was something about this woman that he saw, wanted, and took. Why? Because he could. Because he was the king and had the strength to do it. As upright as David was, what follows his misuse of power are the devastating sins that accumulated in the coverup. David’s bones waxed old day and night as his pride tried to stifle the shame of it all. And Bathsheba? The wife of Uriah, who never speaks a single word in this entire narrative… though no audible lyrics are inscribed for us, we do hear the record of tears play solemnly over her death of her husband (2 Samuel 11:26). She then bears a son as the effect of David’s lust. And where God, in His unending mercy and providence used the prophet Nathan as an instrument to humble David for his adultery and murder- consequences were given for his sin. David is told that their child will surely die…he fasts and prays, nonetheless, God’s word comes to pass. But God’s covenant faithfulness opens Bathsheba’s womb again, and Solomon is born…Jedidiah…for how the LORD loved him. David then hears from Joab, and having learned his lesson, heeds the call to go to war. He defeats the Ammonites and then returns to Jerusalem. However, it doesn’t take long for the ramification listed in 2 Samuel 12:10 to come to pass, “Now therefore the sword shall never depart from thine house; because thou hast despised me, and has taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be thy wife.”

After this we come face to face with the grotesque memories involving David’s children. Children who certainly saw exposed the sins David tried so vigorously to cover up. Tamar…beautiful one. Princess-daughter of King David. Sister to handsome Absalom. Tamar…treasure of God…but target to half-brother Amnon. And so, the disturbing song begins to pound itself out line by line.

Amnon’s heart was vexed-literally depressed, because he found it difficult to do anything to his sister. But Amnon had a cousin friend, by the name of Jonadab, who was subtle as a serpent. He felt Amnon’s spirit waning; perceived his despair. So, his insight questioned, “Why art thou, the king’s son, lean from day to day?” Don’t you know who you are Amnon? You are a prince! You have but to give the command, and your wish will be carried out. What vexes you so?” “Wilt thou not tell me?” I care about you Amnon. Confide in me.” And in lust masked as love, it darts from Amnon’s venomous tongue, “I love Tamar, my brother Absalom’s sister.” Instantly the snake glides closer, sliding across Amnon’s neck, putting an arm around his shoulder. Jonadab’s words come out carefully, deviously. And the poison spews, feeding the infection. “Lay thee down on thy bed, and make thyself sick: and when thy father cometh to see thee, say unto him, I pray thee, let my sister Tamar come, and give me meat, and dress the meat in my sight, that I may see it, and eat it at her hand.” This crafty character gives one simple piece of advice. Lie Amnon. Lie…that you may lie with your sister.

The prowling notes crescendo as the predator sets carnivorous sight on his innocent prey. Amnon does just as Jonadab suggests…taking the first shot in this lethal ploy. “And David sent home to Tamar, saying, Go, now to thy brother Amnon’s house, and dress him meat.” David unquestionably acts as a pawn in Amnon’s wicked scheme to groom his sister into bed. He had had the discernment to see through others such as the honor seeking Amalekite, who had lied about killing Saul (2 Samuel 1). But here, when it comes to his own children, whom he should have possessed intimate knowledge of, he proves inattentive. So, he sends her…to her rape.

Tamar submits to what is required of her; laboring under the lustful eye of the brother who feasts his eye on only one thing. “And she took a pan, and poured them out before him; but he refused to eat. And Amnon said, Have out all men from me. And they went out every man from him.” I don’t want the cakes. All I want is this one woman. Not bone of my bone, or flesh of my flesh, but daughter of my father. I want my sister as my skin. “And Amnon said unto Tamar, bring the meat into the chamber, that I may eat of thine hand. And Tamar took the cakes which she had made, and brought them into the chamber to Amnon her brother.”

His sinister hand grabs hold of his sister, pressing into her as he presses her with 4 words, “Come lie with me.” And if the pressure isn’t enough, he reminds her of who she is… “my sister.” Know your place, Tamar. You must submit under my rule. Did she crumble in terror under the strong touch of her brother, as she became keenly aware of the danger she was in?

Tamar knew the laws God set forth that said, “Cursed be he that lieth with his sister, the daughter of his father” (Deuteronomy 27:22). And she responds to Amnon not only boldly, but confidently. “And she answered him, Nay, my brother, do not force me; for no such thing ought to be done in Israel: do not thou this folly.” Literally: Do not do violence unto me. Please no. Firm no. God says no. “And I, whither shall I cause my shame to go?” Amon, if you don’t care about the law, will you at least think about me? I will be wed to shame the remainder of my days. She becomes more and more frantic under his grasp. What will make him stop? I just want him to stop…. if it’s not enough to appeal to God’s law, or my own heart, perhaps he will at least care about himself. “As for thee, thou shalt be as one of the fools in Israel.” Brother…you will be as a son of Belial. And in a final thread of desperation, trying to buy as much time as possible, she moans out one final plea, “Now, therefore, I pray thee, speak unto the king; for he will not withhold me from thee.”

“Howbeit he would not hearken unto her voice: but, being stronger than she, forced her, and lay with her.” The violence erupts. Strong hands hold down her bedraggled, weary frame. Tears blew her eyes, but she lay…silenced.

And following this murderous act, we are told that Amnon hated her with hatred that was greater than the love wherewith he had “loved” her. Not even worth being addressed by name, he puts a hand up to dismiss her from his presence saying, “Arise, be gone.” Despite the traumatic experience of just being ravished, Tamar speaks without shame, “There is no cause: this evil in sending me away is greater than the other that thou didst unto me.” You have no right, Amnon. You treat me as garbage-good for you one moment and ready to be trashed the next. What you do is evil. And typical of an abuser, Amnon doesn’t want to hear a word of it, but rather muzzles the truth that ought to prick his heart of stone. He calls in a servant, and shifting the blame says, “Put now this woman out from me, and bolt the door after her.” I’m not the problem…this woman is. Remove her.

A coat of many colors that once laid on the delicate shoulders of a virgin princess, now lays lifeless on the ground. Torn to pieces with the stripping of her innocence. Black ash covers her head, giving voice to how she was scarred and suppressed. Her weeping runs passionately for the shame that is now linked to her name. The impression is that her wails are continual, and quite public. Enough for her brother Absalom to ask the simple question that David should have thought of before sending Tamar to her doom. “Was Amnon with thee?” Tamar must have spilled everything, for his counsel to her is, “Be quiet.” Put on a face. Pretend nothing happened. And although Absalom had his own vengeful and murderous reasons behind this advice, we see Tamar remaining in her brother Absalom’s house, who provides some sort of protection, where David neglects.

Where was David in all of this? Nowhere. And how did he feel when he heard the news? “Very wroth.” And what did he do with that anger? Nothing. Maybe he realized he was no different than Amnon. He had, after all, just taken advantage of Bathsheba. His deficiencies as a father are shown in his failure to protect Tamar and execute righteous discipline upon Amnon. Maybe he silenced his responsibilities with the words he had uttered in 2 Samuel 3- I am this day weak, though anointed king, nonetheless, it’s too hard for me...the Lord will reward the doer of evil for his wickedness.

I’ve read it, heard it preached, and yes, even believed it for as long as I can remember. Had imprinted into my thoughts that Bathsheba shouldn’t have been bathing. That perhaps David could have been saved from his sin if only Bathsheba hadn’t taken that bath. But I see no “if only,” in the narrative given between Bathsheba and David. I do however read David’s confession of, “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned.” Nathan brings nothing to David concerning Bathsheba. Rather, he says, “Thou art the man.” I have read that Tamar should have known better than to nurse her brother. As if she could have been saved the suffering if she hadn’t been so foolish. I have been told that men just have an eye for beauty…that what they see in a woman is a work of art, painted by the Creator. To that I ask…how quickly does an eye for a beautiful thing turn into lust? It took David only a matter of seconds. Where I don’t negate the serious reality women must dress and speak modestly, this post is not written with that emphasis in mind. It is written however, to highlight with urgency, that if and where there is victim blaming-it needs to stop. The excuses and minimization for sin need to stop. The enabling needs to stop. David committed his sins secretly, but God brought public consequences, “before all Israel, and before the sun” (2 Samuel 12:12). We too must let truth shine in the light. The spirit lusteth to envy…but God giveth more grace…Grace to the humble to accept consequence and responsibility, but detriment to the proud in their idolatry.

I read different now than I did as a child. Lies continue to untangle as I stare deep and long into the mirror of Scripture, reflecting that a woman’s worth...your worth...my worth…is not made up of outer beauty that may cause another to fall. Rather, as I read to my children, “No one has power to change what God’s done, and He says you’re worth everything, even His Son. Worth all the pain, worth great sacrifice, worth leaving heaven, worth giving His life...no one and nothing can take that away.” (How Much Is a Little Girl Worth?- Denhollander)…Sometimes reading means closing your eyes and not reading at all. It’s tracing your fingertips over the words like holy braille, trying to place yourself in the past of another…like that of Tamar. It’s stepping through the hallways of her heart and walking down the corridors of the haunted memories. It’s opening a door to hear the plea, “Do not force me,” to then turn the handle on another, where the unspeakable takes place. It’s continuing to walk her inner pathway, fingers grazing the walls, to find her covered in black, the light gone from her eyes-wailing, wanting it all to go away. And if you stay, the passageway will continue to wind, leading you to a little girl, disregarded by a father who should have held her…just held her. Not rushing her to speak, or hassling her for quick forgiveness. But just embracing her, covering her with white robes fit for royalty; all the while whispering protectively and persistently, “It’s not your fault my child…my sweet child, it’s not your fault…Will we stay? Will we enter the unknown territory of a wounded heart; believing the voice that discloses...and then understanding that if seems traumatic to hear, it is even more traumatic to tell? Or will we, like Amnon, bolt the door, shutting it away silently? Are we content in the naivety that “nothing...or almost nothing this bad happens in the church?” Are we more comforted to ward off the disturbing stories than welcome them in? If we stay long enough, maybe, just maybe, we will have the glorious privilege of viewing the magnificent mansion of a precious soul. For as I’ve read, “Shame dies when stories are told in safe places.”

Dear wounded sheep…I am sorry for your pain. For the sleepless nights and growing old too soon. For the nightmares only God can see, and for the sights and smells that take you back into the depths of the sea. You are more than what they made you out to be… Look to Jesus, child. A day is coming where the ewe shall no more be a prey. Neither shall the beasts devour…but you shall dwell safely, and none shall make you afraid. (Ezekiel 34). Other shepherds fail, but His goodness and mercy will pursue you like hound dogs, and when He sees you bleating and afraid, alone and confused…He will graciously gather you in His tender arms. And oh, how He will hold you the way a Father ought to hold His precious child. He will walk the journey, bringing you to the highest mountain where you will feed on grass green. And even though so much didn’t make sense in the pain, there will come a time when the musings of your soul will be verdant with understanding-giving way to the bold confession, “He is never ashamed to associate with me.”

Yes, there are times my mind wanders. Like a feather drifting to the wind. Here one second and gone the next. I know there comes a day when I will sit hunched and gray, with worn Bible open on my frailty. As my eyes begin to dim, perhaps my children will read these things to me…and maybe I will remember all the words I once spoke internally. Will trace my finger upon ink I marked down next to the love story He wrote for me. Will recall all God’s grace breezed down from generation to generation-from father, to daughter, to me. And that knowledge of faithfulness… it will cause me to flourish- just like that name Tamar…the palm tree (Psalm 92:12-15).