Moses and Jochebed

I’ve heard the story of Moses for almost the entirety of my life. Moses is one of the Heroes of the faith that we hear about as children. I’ve cannot remember a time before I had watched “The Prince of Egypt” by Disney or “The Ten Commandments” with Charlton Heston. Moses was always a bigger than life character to me, someone marked from the very beginning as destined to do great things for his people. Yet when I reread his story this time what stood out to me was the faith of his mother, Jochebed. I can’t help but wonder at this woman. In the midst of incredible death and suffering she takes action.  To trust her child to the Nile River is an incredible action. The Nile is anything but a safe place. The risks were numerous, but she was a woman out of options.

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Moses and Jochebed by Pedro Americo, 1884

This painting by Pedro Americo shows the angst and fear of a mother at wit’s end. I cannot begin to imagine the pain in her heart. As a hospital chaplain I often minister to mother’s who are at risk of losing their sons, of varying ages, and to those who have lost sons. I can attest that there is no greater grief in this life. Jochebed was surrounded by grieving mothers. She was so scared of losing her son that she placed him in a basket in one of the most dangerous places imaginable. The Nile was home to alligators, snakes and all other manner of dangerous animals. There was the risk of him being discovered, or washed away in an errant wave. It’s difficult to imagine a more precarious place for a newborn, who most certainly could not even swim. I wonder what must have gone through her head to be able to make a leap of faith like this. What was her plan? Did she have any idea that saving Moses’ life would also mean giving him away. Jochebed watched as her son was adopted by a stranger. His new mother even gave him his name. (I’m curious to know what Jochebed called him before this incident.) She gave up all rights to her son in order that he might survive. This woman, who we know almost nothing about, made an incredible sacrifice that benefited an entire nation. The pain in her heart must have been great as she watched Moses grow up with his new family. She almost-certainly would have seen him as a part of the royal family. Perhaps he even passed by her on a daily basis with no knowledge of who she was. I cannot imagine the pain, mixed with pride she must have felt.

 

I wish I knew more about this women’s incredible decision to entrust her infant to a small “ark” on a dangerous river. How did she come up with this idea? What did she think was going to happen? How did she feel when she saw him plucked from the river by the Egyptian nobility? Did she know the sacrifice she was going to make? Instead all I am left with is a few quick verses that are often overlooked for the more action-packed parts of the story. This infant would go on to save an entire nation. It’s easy to skip quickly past this action by a mother scared to lose her son. I know that I now read these verses and linger, wondering and questioning this brave woman.

Don’t Treat Me Like I’m Broken

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Often as I process my own story I think about how people react to some of the “sadder” things that I have experienced. One friend described this as the “puppy dog look.” It’s that look of pity as if they are shouting “Oh, you poor thing.” Or I hear, “You’ve done great things given the kind of setbacks you’ve had.” Although people are trying to nice or caring it often comes across as though little was really expected of me and evaluates my achievements only through the lens of past pains. People tend to see difficult experiences as something that must be overcome, rather than something that has ultimately shaped me into who I am today and made me stronger as a result. I hate pity. I mean really hate it. I’m okay with empathy, even sympathy but not pity. I wrote this poem during a time when I was really beginning to discuss my story and was just being totally bombarded with the “puppy dog look.” I was so frustrated with how the way people looked at me changed after they heard my story. I was still the same person, but they looked at me as an object of pity. I pray I never do that to anyone. Discussion and thoughts welcome. How do you feel about pity?

Broken
Don’t treat me like I’m broken,
An object to be pitied.
You see the cracks, the wounds,
But I am so much more.
My hands though scarred and shaking,
Still serve joyfully.
My guilt and pain are evident,
My shame plain to see.
But they do not define me.
I am more than my scars.
They will heal with time.
Your love and care surround me,
Your listening ear my strongest comfort.
I need your friendship, your patience,
As I wrestle with my past.
But don’t treat me like I’m broken,
I’m afraid I will not last.
I cling to hope,
A plan, a purpose.
I know I am not alone.
My life, though streaked with pain,
Is overwhelmed by grace.
I’m scarred, shaken, beaten,
But I am free.
I am me.
-R. Bryan