Slumping down beside the spring, she dropped her face to her hands and rubbed her tired eyes. She hadn’t been planning to make this journey. Not now. Not alone. Not in her condition. Of course, she hadn’t planned to be in this condition, either. It was the disheartening story of her life. Not once had she been given choices, options, or a voice in how her life would go. She hadn’t eagerly waved her hand to volunteer when the opening for a traveling maid came along. She wasn’t even interested. At all. She had no desire to leave Egypt and traipse around the country with no map, no destination, no endgame in mind. She didn’t want to move a dozen times, never settling down. Given the choice, Hagar would have stayed in Egypt forever. Except she hadn’t had a choice.
As much as Hagar would not have chosen to be a maid, she was even less likely to willingly bear a child to an octogenarian. Not one part of her found Abram attractive. Seriously. Eww! Weathered, wrinkled skin darkened from long hours in the sun held no appeal. His penchant for wandering all over creation did not enhance her interest. She certainly wouldn’t fight Sarai for him! He didn’t appear to be attracted to her, either. Thank goodness!! He didn’t seem delighted with gazing at her. Never tried to engage her in conversation. She wasn’t even positive he remembered she was part of his encampment. She’d absolutely never have chosen to enter his tent or let him enter hers. Except she hadn’t been given the choice.
Desperate to actuate God’s promise to Abram and grant her own heart’s desire, Sarai took matters into her own hands. They needed an heir. Now. And it clearly wasn’t coming from her. Well beyond her childbearing years, Sarai wasn’t lying to herself. Having a baby of her own was impossible. She’d failed. Or maybe God had. Either way, her barrenness stung. It broke her heart. Wearied her soul. Troubled her mind. So she fixed it. On her own, with no guidance from God, no pushback from Abram, no feedback from Hagar, Sarai found a way to have a child, forcing her servant to become her surrogate.
Entering Hagar’s tent, her arms full of supplies, Sarai got to work setting the stage for success. She dressed her maid in the best garments they had. Adorned her hands, arms and ears with jewels. Fetchingly arranged her hair. Dabbed expensive perfume on her neck and wrists. Laying out an array of embroidered silk bed pillows, she seated Hagar in the center and stood back to survey her work. Very nice! It would surely do the trick. All they needed now was Abram.
It didn’t take much to get him in there. With little to no hesitation, Abram capitulated to Sarai’s bazaar idea. He offered no other options. Didn’t back up God’s “wait” with one of his own. Didn’t even argue. Not vehemently, for sure, but not even weakly. Abram puts up no fight whatsoever to Sarai’s efforts to manipulate the timing of God’s plan and promise. Either in an attempt to appease his wife or out of real attraction to the maid, Abram enters Hagar’s tent. The rest, as they say, is history.
Forced into a pregnancy she never wanted, Hagar’s abused, broken heart stored up the injustices. Torn from her home. Pressed into slavery. Compelled into surrogacy. Never had anyone seen her. Never had anyone cared for her. Never had she been more than a bargaining chip in someone else’s life. The overwhelming bitterness built from watching her dreams die at the hands of another’s desires erupted from Hagar’s core. She snipped at Sarai. Treated her badly. Disrespected her. Perhaps the hormones played a part. Maybe the insecurity of her situation overtook her. Perhaps she developed an unexpected attraction to Abram and wanted to keep him for herself. Maybe she’s always blamed Sarai for her unceremonious exit from Egypt and used this situation to act out her anger. We really don’t know the entire impetus behind Hagar’s actions. We do, however, know the outcome. After all her machinations appeared to be coming to fruition, Sarai found she didn’t like the results. She felt insecure. She felt replaceable. She threw a tantrum.
Angered both by her maid’s quick pregnancy and impudent attitude, Sarai casts herself as the victim and runs to Abram, demanding something be done. Now. The other woman needs to be put in her place, pregnant or not. Disappointingly, Abram seems to still be missing his spine. Abandoning the woman carrying his child, he tosses the situation back on Sarai. He simply doesn’t care. She can do whatever she chooses with Hagar. He’ll back her up. It’s exactly what Sarai wants to hear.
It’s the exact situation Hagar must have feared all along. Sarai became an unbearable taskmaster. Her treatment cruel. Her words cutting. After being offered as a type of sacrifice to the head of the house, Hagar is despised, rejected, abused, and helpless. There was no one in her corner. No friends. No family. Not even that colossal jerk Abram protects her! Knowing she is carrying his child, he still abandons her to Sarai’s wrath. The situation is untenable. The options are scarce. The idea of staying, toughing it out, is unpalatable. At the end of her rope, Hagar is forced to choose what she believes is safest for herself and her child. Weighing the dubious security of the encampment against the obvious uncertainty of the desert, Hagar chose the desert.
No one followed her. Sarai did not go to Abram, wringing her hands, concerned that the maid was missing. Abram did not assemble a search party to look for the mother of his child. Not one soul seems to notice Hagar is no longer with them. No one but God. Because God notices everything. Indeed, He’s been watching from the beginning. Not one hellacious moment of Hagar’s existence is lost on Him. Nor are the feelings raging in her soul. The hurt and betrayal of forced servitude. The torment of abuse. The ache of dismissal. The agony of abandonment. Sitting there by the well, rejected and alone, the whirling eddy of emotions tugging her soul in every direction, Hagar hears a voice she never thought she’d hear. The voice of an angel speaking words from God. Words she never thought a worthless slave girl would hear.
He sees her. He knows her name. He is aware of her situation. He comprehends every nuance of her unenviable circumstances. God knows exactly where Hagar has come from and where she is intending to go. He knows why, too. He’s heard it all. Seen the whole sordid affair. He knows none of it has been her own choosing. The great God of the universe looked down from His heavenly throne and saw the misery of a helpless, abused servant girl. He felt the weight of her circumstances, the hopelessness tearing at her soul. His great heart of love ached at the sight of Hagar bent in despair beside that desert spring, and, although we have no indication they were on speaking terms before, the God who sees it all, speaks. (Genesis 16)
It wouldn’t be the last time God found Hagar sitting in the desert mired in despair. Fourteen years later, God would once again find her there with the child she’d born to Abram. Sarah’s rage had sent her running. Again. Certain they would both die, Hagar leaves her son and sits down a distance away, not willing to watch his demise. Tears fall. Sobs shake her body. Her son cries, too. And, once again, God sees. God hears. God speaks. It is the redeeming story of the inexcusable offenses in Hagar’s life. God sees her when no one else does. He comes to her when no one else will. He speaks her name when everyone else forgets it. He does the same for you. (Genesis 21:8-20)
Whether your story is riddled with abandonment and abuse, darkened by browbeating and bullying, or a veritable wasteland of consequences for one poor choice after another, know this. God sees you. All of you. Every. Single. Part. Your circumstances. Your pain. Your fear. He sees exactly where you are. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. The God who sees it all has come to redeem it all. Every single horror of your life. No matter where you are, where you’ve been, or what’s been done to you, the great God of the universe has seen it all, yet still He calls you. By name. Not the ugly things people call you, the mean words hurled at your head, the vicious names whispered on the wings of darkness. No. The God who sees you when no one else does and comes when no one else will, is calling your actual name. He’ll never forget it. It’s the one He gave you. The one engraved on His hand. The one that echoes through the desert of your life to say you are not alone, worthless, hopeless or useless. The name by which you are known to Him. Precious. Priceless. Beloved. Friend. (John 15:15; Isaiah 43:1, 4; Job 34:21; Hebrews 4:13; Proverbs 15:3; Psalm 34:18; Psalm 103:2-5; Psalm 91:15; Isaiah 49:15-16; Zephaniah 3:17; I John 3:1)
Awesome as usual!! Thank you Naomi.