Would Elohim act in time? Or would she be stuck with the distasteful, ugly old man?
At this same time, down in the Negev just outside the small town of Gerar, Nahor’s brother Abraham sat alone outside his tent mulling over a recurring concern. It had been three years since Abraham’s beloved wife, Sarah, had died. As she lay dying he promised her that he would move with all haste and diligence to find their son Isaac a wife. However, after all this time, he had found no one.
Since Isaac was to have the birthright and the blessing, he must marry someone suitable. It couldn’t just be one of the local women who believed in omens, charms, and idols. It must be someone like Sarah who understood why they lived apart from the cities and worshiped the creator God. So far he had found no one, but he had consoled himself with the thought that in time Elohim would guide him to the right person.
The irony in the situation was that while he had not found a proper bride for his son, he had taken a concubine for himself. Her name was Keturah and she was from one of the desert tribes friendly to Abraham.
Now as he sat alone, mulling over the past, he found himself remembering all that had taken place since Sarah’s death, all that led up to his taking Keturah as his concubine.
It had been one full year after Sarah’s death and he had been still groping through abysmal depths of despair. He had taken no interest in his food, friends, or the usually joyful festivals and celebrations. He no longer spent any time in his town house in Gerar, nor did he visit his flocks and shepherds. Worst of all, Sarah’s tent remained empty and lifeless as a constant reminder of his loss.
He remembered vividly the evening when all this had changed. It had been just at dusk before the evening star shone in the sky or the moon had risen above the distant palms. His old friend and chief steward, Eleazar, came to him with a suggestion. “The time of grieving is long past,” he said. “It’s time you picked up the pieces of your life and returned to us. We miss you, old friend. More than that, we’re in great need of your good judgment.”
Abraham answered, “The world holds no luster for me now. All things seem dull. I care for nothing. This is no easy sickness. No special herbs can cure it and no prayers can add days to my life or bring back the past. It’s all gone.”
Eleazar did not answer but, instead, idly poked at the small fire in front of them until the thorn branches crackled and snapped and burned more brightly. At just the right moment he reached out and carefully added a pinch of precious incense taken from the leather pouch at his belt. Then he leaned back and waited. Almost immediately a pleasant odor, reminiscent of weddings and happy times, rose from the fire.
Abraham smiled remembering. “And what is the occasion,” he asked, “that you are burning such costly incense?”
“Perhaps you have forgotten,” Eleazar said, “your good friend who visits you from the wilderness of Paran has hinted that he has a marriageable daughter.”
“Have I ever seen her?” Abraham asked, thinking he was suggesting someone for Isaac.
“Perhaps. When she was very small she used to come with her mother, and they would visit Sarah while you talked with your friend.”
“Yes, yes I remember,” Abraham said. “Such a special little person. When she would get bored with the women and their conversation, I would see her peeping around the qatah dividing my tent, and I would invite her to come sit with her father and me. She would always come quickly and seat herself on a cushion beside us and listen quietly to our discussions. Then she became too old for such things and I didn’t see her anymore.”
“She’s no longer a little girl,” Eleazar said. “In fact she is quite a lovely young woman. Not beautiful like Sarah but quite charming.”
“You have seen her then?” Abraham asked.
“Yes, she is here with her father. He says he knows you cannot forget your wife, Sarah, but it is time you at least took a concubine. He has brought you his daughter.”
“He has brought his daughter for me?” Abraham’s eyebrows rose just in the remembering.
“She’s too old for Isaac, though she’s still of a childbearing age. To take her as a concubine, as her father suggests, would not be so strange. It’s often been the custom for a young woman to marry or become the concubine of an older man. It’s always been a way of easing the hardship of old age.”
Abraham shook his head sadly. “I’m not only old but my best years are over. I’ve little to give someone like Keturah.”
Eleazar laughed. “It’s not that you are old; the problem is that you are bored and lonely. Keturah is just the medicine you need.”