When Abraham commented with delight on some special dish she served him, she would motion for her son Jokshan to come and tell his father how he had managed to trap the bird. “Your son Isaac has never done such a thing and at such a young age,” she would say with pride as she pushed her son into the firelight.
The boy would quickly come to stand before Abraham, still holding his throwing stick. His eyes seemed to glint in the firelight with anticipation of his father’s approval. His head was held high with a certain haughty assurance. “See, we named him right, Jokshan, fowler,” she would say. “He will never go hungry.”
Abraham was well aware of her strategies as she pushed forward her other sons in the same way, but he never minded. He admired the boys and loved their brash assurance. Isaac had never managed such an air of confidence.
However, there was one area in which he was always disappointed. He had a habit of asking these sons to come and sit with him, anticipating a lively conversation. “Have you ever wondered how a bird can fly?” he might ask, expecting some interesting conjecture. Instead the boy would look at him with wide, puzzled eyes and frown slightly.
“It’s not such useless puzzles he’s concerned with,” Keturah would explain after he had gone. “He doesn’t waste time dreaming about things that don’t matter.”
Abraham had to conclude that all of Keturah’s sons were of the same practical bent. They excelled at doing and producing visible results and had no time for what seemed to Keturah “idle talk.” He realized that Isaac of all his sons was of the most thoughtful disposition. He always enjoyed a good discussion, and Jacob was the same, while Esau was more like the sons of Keturah. It surprised Abraham to see such differences in his own family.
* * *
On a night in early spring, Abraham was gradually wakened by the creaking of the tent poles as they tugged against the tethers. A cool breeze had sprung up. The moon was full, and outside the tent were whole splashes of light. The stillness was broken only by the bleating of some of the young lambs separated from their mothers. He rose with difficulty, realizing how feeble he had become. He unfolded his shawl that had served as a pillow, wrapped it around his shoulders, and went to the tent door. It was a rare time that he was ever alone, and he knew that one needed to be alone at times to unravel some of life’s mysteries.
He had much to ponder. The time was fast approaching that he must make a decision; he must do something about Keturah and her sons. He could remember how excited he had been when Keturah seemed to be able to produce sons one after the other with no trouble. After Sarah’s long time of barrenness, he had viewed this as something wonderful and even mysterious.
Now he saw things differently. He knew he would not live much longer, and after he was gone, where would this struggle and competition lead them? There were six sons of Keturah and Isaac only had two. Keturah was encouraging her sons to edge out those of Isaac, if not for the blessing then for the birthright. He had even known instances where the sons of a concubine had murdered the sons of the legitimate wife just for the advantage.
It was evident he must move quickly, make some hard decisions. Isaac was the immediate concern. He must not be displaced, but after him what would happen? Esau, Isaac’s firstborn, seemed only concerned with practical matters, while Jacob was just the opposite. Why hadn’t there been just one son for Isaac with these two qualities perfectly blended, he wondered.
He held tightly to the tent pole as he lowered himself to the sandy floor. He must settle this in his mind before daylight, and then he must act. He could already feel his strength ebbing, his voice getting softer, and his eyes dimming. Who could guess how long he had before he would be gathered to his people in the great and strange land of the dead.
He tried to go back over the years that had gone so quickly. He wanted to remember each of the sons of Keturah so he could deal justly with them. He realized that as he had grown older they all tended to blur together without separate identities.
There was Zimran, meaning celebrated. Abraham was always embarrassed to think how he had almost forgotten Isaac in his joy at this son’s birth. During the twenty years that Rebekah had been barren, Keturah had been having children. Jokshan, the fowler, came next then Medan, judgment. Keturah had insisted on the name because she had pressed him to make a judgment in favor of her son as opposed to Isaac’s claim on the birthright.
Some time had passed after that before she had presented him with Midian and then Ishbak. The last son she had named Shuah, depression, because he had been born at the same time as Isaac’s twins. With Isaac’s twins everything changed. He had heirs and her sons could no longer be considered. Keturah had grown depressed and even bitter.