Abram’s Journey

by Desi Ana Sartini

I. UR OF THE CHALDEES

A glory wrapped me all about,

said, “Leave your country, kindred, house,

and follow to the land I’ll show.”

Without delay I prepped to go.

Then Father, moved, declared to me,

“I’ve never seen such certainty.

I will not lose another son;

if you must leave, then I will come.”

He set about to make a plan

and found a scheduled caravan.

’Twas bound for Canaan, forty days.

And thus my father chose our way.

II. ON THE ROAD

We packed our lives onto a cart—

my father, me, my wife, and Lot—

and left behind our settled world,

the great metropolis of Ur.

We headed up Euphrates’ bank,

that lifeblood of both crops and trade.

Our pace was set (and often slowed)

by human feet and donkey loads,

but songs and stories filled the air

and eagerly my father shared:

He boasted of my sacred quest

and those who listened let it rest.

III. BABYLON

A week and half were underway

when into Babylon we came.

Impressive buildings, art galore,

yet all of this my father scorned.

“Collectors only, makers none.

Yet sadly, they’ve the battle won.

Ur’s glory fades in Babel’s wake.

What’s happened to the world today?”

“I know!” declared another man.

“That’s why I’m headed for Haran.”

His next words went to Father’s heart:

“It’s there, they say, that art’s still art.”

IV. MARI

The stranger now had Father’s ear—

they traded stories, aired their fears,

and soon they turned to making plans

for lives they’d build once in Haran.

By then we’d traveled twelve more days

to Mari, where our choice we’d make:

to caravan the desert’s end,

or stay the river with Dad’s friend.

I felt the desert tugging west,

but knew my father’s mind was set.

I could not let him go alone;

Haran would be our newfound home.

V. HARAN

Just two more weeks and we arrived.

We settled down and quickly thrived.

Then Nahor came, our clan complete.

Though barren still, we were at peace.

“He’s blessed me rich and I’m content

so surely this is what He meant.”

With this I stilled the silent drive

and stayed in place ’til Father died.

Then Yahweh came to claim my all

and resurrect my buried call:

“Come follow ’til I tell you where,

and all My blessings you will bear.”

VI. CANAAN

A month upon the road we were

when into Canaan’s land we turned.

We passed by Hermon’s snowy peak—

that sentry of the northern reach.

Across the Jordan, round the Lake,

but still no word from Yahweh came.

Our caravan was travel-keen

to take the highway to the sea,

so leaving them at Chenneroth1

we turned instead to Canaan’s heart:

We took the highlands’ eastern rim

to Shechem of the mountain twins.

VII. THE OAK OF MOREH

There in the heart, a sacred oak—

“The Teacher,” so the people spoke.

We marveled at its bursting life—

fertility itself enshrined.

And then the gardener came near,

and how like Yahweh he appeared!

“Your seed I’ll plant here in this land,

and fruitful you’ll be by My hand.”

He gestured wide and then was gone,

but there, a song of hope was dawned.

I piled stones beside the tree—

an altar to the memory.

VIII. BETHEL

We traveled south another day

while searching for a place to stay.

We found the city “House of God,”

then settled in and waited long.

I built an altar, called the Name,

but we were barren just the same.

He’d promised us fertility,

but still no son had come to me.

And now the land was drying up;

our cup had filled with naught but dust.

“Let’s travel south toward the Negev

and see if something changes then.”

IX. EGYPT

But all the land was breadless rock,

and so on Egypt’s door we knocked.

But Sarai’s beauty made me fear.

“Tell suitors I’m your brother here.

We’ll take the gifts, forestall requests,

and prosper while avoiding threats!”

But not all men can be denied,

and Pharoah came to claim my wife.

And thus my brilliance was reversed—

my family shamed and Pharoah’s cursed.

For Yahweh plagued the royal house

’til Pharoah knew and cast us out.

X. RETURN

Escorted to the border, shamed,

we headed back the way we came.

Enriched by Pharoah’s bridal gifts,

the herds and flocks slowed down our trip.

But gradually we made our way

back to the land from which I’d strayed.

For once, I knew just where to go:

to Bethel, where I’d lost my hope.

I sought the altar I had made;

with lifted hands, I called the Name:

“Your path I take; Your plans, embrace.

Here in Your land, I plant my stakes.”

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Desi Ana Sartini writes from SE Asia, where she has immersed herself in language. She studies Malay literature by day, Hebrew poetry by night, and cake-making on the weekends. Her work has appeared in Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, Foreshadow Magazine, The Habit podcast, and her writing blog at www.breathanddust.com