Dear diary,
Now, roughly thirteen years after the birth of Sarah’s child, on the day when all the herdwomen of Abram’s acres are celebrating their president’s 99th birthday at the Meridian Bar, Jehovah steps out from an alcove and grabs Sarah by her arm, to get her attention; and he turns her around so that she is facing him, and he sez:
“Remember me? I am the one who predicted that all this would happen.”
And Sarah sez:
“How could I forget you, Mr. Jehovah! Greetings, and welcome. Yes, you were the one who gave me the confidence to approach my true love, Hagar, at the office in our law firm, & to ask her out on a date, and to square all this with my longtime travelmate; and you urged me to bring my infatuation to fruition, and I did so: so we became playmates, Hagar & I; then we conceived our child Ishmael, after I had assumed that motherhood was just not in the cards for me. You changed my life, and much for the better. Can I get you a drink, some hors d’oeuvres, or any other refreshments? We’re celebrating Abram’s 99th birthday.”
“I know,” declares Jehovah; “and I am very happy for Abram — ” here, Jehovah puffs into his party pipe, proving his mirth (a “party pipe” is a paper tube that is flattened and coiled up, which unrolls when blown into, producing the noise of a ram-horn). “But I am here to talk about our son, Ishmael, the special seed. He recently became a teenager — am I correct?”
“That’s right,” sez Sarah.
“Great; cuz the teens are the age where I start to take an interest. Then the soul is developed. Up to the twelfth year, most human people are just children and babies — they don’t know what they want from life, they have no real personality, no confidence; some infants can’t even speak English. I mean, they’re intriguing, but only in the way that this party pipe is intriguing.” Here Jehovah blows into it again. “But after twelve, the bad attitude sets in. Not bad meaning bad but bad meaning good, you understand. I mean, those years from thirteen onward, especially fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. Those are my favorite years, next to one’s early twenties. At this point, the mind-fire is ablaze.”
Now Abram approaches. “Hello, friends!”
“Hi Abram,” sez Jehovah. Sarah bows slightly and smiles.
Abram places his hand on Jehovah’s shoulder and sez, “Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you.”
Jehovah sez, “Likewise.”
Then, after a pause, “Now pardon me,” sez Abram; “I better go mingle with the rest of the guests.”
“Happy 99th, Abe,” sez Jehovah. “Stay honest.”
Abram shuffles away, raising his hand in thanks.
“Abram’s a good egg,” sighs Jehovah, as he turns back toward Sarah; “But you are perfect. And so is your son. Now, like I said before…”
“I know,” interjects Sarah; “you drew up a contract — we’ve been thru this before; it’s OK: I believe you — you promised to make a great nation of Ishmael. I appreciate it. So does he.”
“Yes, but I will also multiply his seed exceedingly…”
“Yes, many descendants. Understood. It sounds superb. He’s really looking forward to it. Seriously, thanks!”
“Yes, but...” Jehovah begins to redden. He then kneels down and lifts his arms in supplication to Sarah: “I don’t think you’re grasping the full implications of my statements. I’m saying much more than just that I’ll bless you and our son; I’m saying that I want to stand in relation to your family’s lineage as tho I’m their personal travelmate. That’s a much bigger commitment than I’ve previously been willing to offer.”
“No, I understand,” sez Sarah, “really! I just don’t know what more to do or say, to prove to you that I’m grateful. Also, consider that none of this nation-building and personal travelmate-hood has actually happened yet — I mean, in reality — so it’s hard to fabricate a response emotionally sufficient to reciprocate your generosity. I’m sorta stuck just fancying how things’ll come to pass once the ball gets rolling.”
“KINGS will issue from your line!” Jehovah cries, while still on one knee.
“Oh!” recollecting that the word King is a synonym for Christ, Sarah finally notices the ring being offered, pinched between the God’s upheld hands. “Sorry: I didn’t see it till now! It’s SO chic! Thank you! — Here, I’ll slide it on. Yes, it fits perfectly! — Aw, that’s very thoughtful of you!”
Jehovah rises to his feet. “Now you shall take my surname: El. That means ‘God’. Henceforward, your name shall no longer be called Sarah, but your name shall be SARAH-EL, for I have made you a Mother of Gods.”
(Here she gives Jehovah a hug.)
“Be careful with that ring, now,” Jehovah continues; “for it contains special powers. Pass it down from generation to generation. Whoever you bequeath it to, that soul shall be inundated with luck; so choose your successor wisely — everything they touch shall turn to gold.”
“Wow,” sez Sarah. “Sure, I’ll be careful.”
“Also,” Jehovah God concludes, “I would like to alter the title of your travelmate; but I do not wish to give him my own surname, so I will simply add one syllable, ‘HA!’, right in the midst of his current name, so that he shall no longer be called Abram but AbraHAm. This I do for no reason whatsoever — it’s just a whim. And I’ll try to remember to still refer to your old travelmate as Abram, cuz that’s easier to say; but if I forget and end up using his new trisyllabic title, then let this decision serve as the solemn precedent to justify all future errors.”
“Sounds good to me,” sez Sarah, still admiring her ring.
“And I’ll make sure that Abram’s business continues to be profitable. And I’ll protect him from evil; because, in our dealings, he’s always treated me fairly. I haven’t heard him complain much. We keep our distance from each other and maintain a mutual respect: That’s what I call a decent neighbor.”
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