A Voice from Scripture’s Forgotten Pages

Oh, had I known what one moment would have stolen from me, I would have asked not to have been made to attend to my brother at all.

I would have carefully chosen my direction, weighing the cost of such a moment with no reversal in time or outcomes.

His desire to possess me and violate my innocence far outweighed my desperate cries to remain untouched.

His scheme unfolded as he desired.

Realizing I had entered into his abode through deception, I saw that although his words appeared smoother than butter, war was in his heart, never heeding to my heart’s cry of “no.”

My innocence stolen.

My prized possession, only to be offered to a beloved husband, now no longer exists.

Stolen. Not given. Taken. Not offered willingly.

Even when I desperately pleaded with him to speak to the king rather than violate me, he refused to listen. What should only have been offered freely within the covenant of marriage was stolen by one I trusted.

He cast me away, even as I desperately pleaded not to be sent away after what he had done.

These fiery darts hurled at me by none other than my beloved brother, whom to me is no longer brother, but foe.

Oh, how do I go on?

How do I silence the noise within my own aching heart, that I now feel…

Worthless. Shamed. Scorned. Unsalvageable. Unredeemable.

Overcome by grief, I tear my kĕtōnet passîm, the robe that once testified to my dignity as a virgin daughter of the king. Now I feel all loss of dignity, and the shame forced upon me, the dishonor done to me, and the violation of who I am.

The ashes I cover my head with become the only covering I have, revealing my devastation and mourning at such loss, as I drape my hand upon my head in overwhelming grief and disgrace.

Alas, I walk away crying aloud beneath the weight of grief and shocking trauma, with no one coming to protect me.

Yet, I know that no earthly retaliation can return what was taken, and no act of vengeance can undo what has been done to me. Justice may answer evil, but it cannot make that terrible moment cease to have happened.

And to remain in an existence of unforgiveness is to live within my own prison walls, only adding to my grief.

My heart aches for what was, and what will no longer be, and yet I cannot look back too long for the depth of agony it brings to my weary soul.

I have cried before my God.
I have cried before my earthly father.
I have cried before my mother.
I have even cried before my brother Absalom.

All have seen the anguish that I feel within, but none can deliver me from what has been dealt to me by one I should have been able to trust.

By one I desired to care for, in my own innocence.

Yet, there is no one to turn to.
Those who could defend me stand by and watch from afar.

As my tears flow freely, Heaven provides a divine vessel to collect them.

Who shall deliver me from the snare of the fowler?

Yet, my hope is in the God of Israel, who can redeem all things and people.

My God in Heaven sees me, now hidden away.

Will I ever find love now?

Will I be able to marry and bear sons and daughters of my own?
Or will I forever be looked upon as stained?

Will I one day adorn myself as a beautiful bride?

Or will I only be deemed by others as damaged and wasted away?

Oh, that I could fly away and hide in the hills… away from the stares of pity.

My life now forever changed, what will become of me now?

Is there still purpose?

Oh God, but I must believe so.

That one day, perhaps, one will read these words and know their worth is not found in what they once possessed, or what was stolen.

Their value, of more than many sparrows…

Their worth rooted in the One true God, who redeems what human hands try to destroy.

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who loves me beyond what I can see when I look upon myself as irreparably damaged goods.

He redeems.
He restores.

My hope is in God alone, who delivered our father Abraham from many enemies.

He too will deliver me, His beloved.

My story will not be one of final failure, but of hope, even if only remembered by those who learn of it for what was stolen.

They too will know nothing this earth considers of value can destroy the purpose God placed within me.

He knew me from my mother’s womb, and I shall stand in victory.

I will not allow this tragedy to become my failure.

I will not allow another person’s evil to become my identity. What he did was his sin, his shame, and his failure. It was never mine.

My God, who led Abraham and his lineage all those years, too will lead me.

I shall stand and trust in the God of my fathers.

Amen.

------NOTE-----

King David had a daughter, Tamar. I share today what I think she may have written in a diary had she kept one.

People sometimes look at the atrocious things happening in our world and think they are entirely new to our generation. They are atrocious, but Scripture shows us that the human heart has been capable of terrible things for a very long time.

Long after David’s days as a young shepherd who killed the lion, the bear, faced Goliath, and eventually became king, his own household became marked by tragedy and inner turmoil.

After David’s sin with Bathsheba and his arranging of Uriah’s death, the prophet Nathan told him:

“Now therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house, because you have despised Me, and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife.” 2 Samuel 12:10 NKJV

David did repent, and God did forgive him, but his choices brought consequences that would reach into his own household.

What followed was turmoil and tragedy within David’s family, much of it involving his own sons.

Amnon, David’s son, raped his half-sister Tamar. Tamar’s full brother Absalom later took vengeance and killed Amnon.

Eventually Absalom himself rebelled against his father David, and still more bloodshed followed.

The sword had entered David’s house.

You should read these stories.

But today I share something different.

I wondered what Tamar might have written after her half-brother violated her.

What would she have thought? What would she have written?

This diary entry is fiction. Scripture does not tell us Tamar’s private thoughts.

But knowing what Scripture does tell us about what happened to her, I can only imagine the depth of what she truly may have felt.