Weak Eyes, Big Heart

Jacob paced back and forth outside the tent. He stopped in his tracks and his shoulders went up to his ears when I let out a loud groan from the labor pains. This was my fourth child. Seeing him tense and worried during my labor actually gave me comfort. Perhaps he really did love me more than I realized. Maybe, just maybe, he was concerned for my well-being and his pacing was about ensuring I’m healthy and not just if I give him another son.

I recall when I first laid eyes on him. I didn’t trust him. His eyes were shifty. Rachel swooned over him. He was the first real man she encountered. Being younger, her experiences were limited.

As the older sister, I was around Father’s acquaintances and saw them come and go. I was normally in charge of serving them lamb, bread and tea. It was his way of parading me in front of potential suitors, hoping to swindle some man out of his goods in exchange for his eldest, less-attractive daughter.

I never considered myself beautiful, but I didn’t think I was ugly, per se. I had what was known as “weak eyes” back then. I was given this undesirable moniker partly because my eyes were a lighter brown versus the coveted dark brown that populated our area. My chin wasn’t as prominent and my nose and eyes were a bit smaller. I liked my strong toothy smile but noticed the wide eyes and slack jaws from onlookers when I grinned or laughed. I had a habit of covering my mouth with my hand when I laughed or saw something smile-worthy.

Rachel was beautiful and what other women described as shapely. Perfectly proportioned nose with thick, plump lips, she had long lush lashes and a dimple that was more pronounced when she pursed her lips when deep in thought. She had this magnetic personality that drew people in and a loving smile that made them feel special. She could always make me laugh. She would often imitate Father when he wasn’t looking and we would fall out in a fit of giggles. Since she was old enough to walk, we roamed the fields together and played in the caves after finishing our daily chores.

As Rachel grew older, I noticed a differentiation between how people looked at her versus how they looked at me, especially the men.  Father began to keep Rachel in a different area when he had visitors. She was responsible for brushing and braiding my hair prior to me serving his guests. Once, she asked him why she couldn’t help serve and he just responded that it’s our custom that the older sister goes first. Before I would start to serve, he would sometimes look at me and shake his head with a sigh.

In serving the men, I learned who had integrity, who was a man of his word, and who was not to be trusted. It was all in their eyes. Those who looked me directly in my eyes were normally better businessmen than those whose eyes always shifted back and forth or avoided direct eye contact altogether.

When Jacob came around and practically looked through me without acknowledging my presence, I knew he wasn’t to be trusted. His very name proved there was treachery in his character. Rachel and I were normally together and where Rachel was, Jacob made a point to be in the same vicinity. She talked about him nonstop. It was “Jacob said this” and, “Jacob said that.” I heard about his every move, but I wasn’t interested. Neither was he.

One morning, about seven years after he had lived amongst us and served my father, Rachel was out feeding the sheep and Jacob approached me to ask if I knew of my father’s whereabouts. Surprised he even knew I existed; I jutted my chin towards the fields.

Father returned soon thereafter with a smile on his face and called me into the tent.

“It’s time Leah.”

“For what, Father?”

“You will make a loyal wife.”

Father avoided my eyes.

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Pain shot up my spine and sweat dripped down the bridge of my nose. Zilpah dabbed at my face with a towel and whispered encouragement into my ear. She gripped my hand and kept me abreast of the baby’s emergence.

“It’s starting to crown!”

Zilpah has always held my hand and whispered words of encouragement. I remember the morning of the ceremony and she brushed and braided my hair instead of Rachel who was nowhere to be found. When I inquired of her, Father patted my shoulder and told me not to bother myself with the details of the day. He instructed me to leave on my face covering until the morning or at least until after our arrangement was consummated. Zilpah held my hand until it was time for me to leave the tent.

I chewed on ginger root most of the day because my stomach was upset from nerves and fear. I had no idea what to expect. Jacob was strong with his broad shoulders and callused hands. His wisdom was beginning to show in the crinkle of his eyes and the wiry hairs of his beard. But I wondered what we would talk about. We had barely exchanged two words and here we were about to be joined for life. Would we learn to laugh and be comfortable in one another’s presence? What would our rhythm be in the day-to-day duties?

As he entered the room that night, I could smell the wine on his breath. He stumbled into the tent. He reached for my face covering but I shifted backward. He nodded and took my hand instead, guiding me towards the wedding bed. I’ll never forget the tenderness of his touch.

That tenderness disappeared the following morning when he looked into my eyes. I was reminded of the looks from the so-called suitors with their wide eyes and slack jaws. He scrambled out of the bed and distanced himself from me as if I was leprous. Anger and bewilderment pulsed through his veins. No words escaped him but the look – that look – has forever been seared into my memory. He had served my father for seven years to earn the hand of his beloved Rachel . . . but got me instead.

The trickster had been tricked.

I’ve prayed repeatedly for Jacob to love me and forgive me ever since that night. Tears have stained my face as I asked God to erase my memory from that morning and the hole that was seared into my self-esteem ever since. My knees have bled with the time I’ve knelt to pray, yearning for there to be an overflow of love from each newborn son to me. Or at least enough affection to fill the hole of rejection that has only widened and deepened over the years as I watch him look at Rachel.

His love for Rachel has always been palpable. She joined as his wife only a week after we were wed. I’ve seen how he holds her hand or reclines gently on her bosom after dinner. They laugh and talk as if their conversation is endless. The brightness in his eyes illuminates the area when she is around.

Yet, even in this, I continued to hope and wait for love with every child that has come into this world. Reuben was a gift because God had seen my afflictions and blessed me with Jacob’s heir. I really thought I was sure to receive his love then, especially since Rachel remained barren.

As the sun dawned on a new day, I eventually bore Jacob another son, Simeon, and thought, today will be the day that he loves me. Today will be the day he sees my value.

When that didn’t happen, I held out hope that he would become attached to me after bearing his third son, Levi. I remember awakening with sharp pains and thinking with a hopefulness that my pain would bring deep joy. He would finally look into my eyes and see strength, loyalty, and devotion.

That day has not yet come but when I heard the cry of our fourth child and Zilpah exclaimed, “it’s a boy!” I felt the hole in my heart begin to close. The emptiness from the deferred hope of romance was gone and instead I had praise in my heart and gladness in my soul. A warm sensation covered me from head to toe and I smiled brightly as my dear baby boy looked up at me. I traced his lips with my finger and kissed his hands and toes. I knew this one was different.

“What will you name him?” Zilpah said as she rubbed my back and caressed the top of his head.

I stared at his deep brown eyes and richly hued skin. His head was covered in coarse curls that were slick and wet. He nestled into my chest so sweetly that tears pricked the corners of my eyes. There was a sweetness, a royalty in him that I knew was a gift from God who would use him mightily for God’s purpose.

“This time I will praise the Lord. He shall be called Judah.”

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