Genesis 27:41-28:5; 33:18-20

Jacob, smiling, came out of his father’s tent. He shed his brother’s clothing and the goat kid skins on his arms before returning to his waiting mother. Three words told her all she needed to know: “I have it.”

Even as Rebekah breathed a sigh of relief, her butterfly warned her of Esau’ return to receive the blessing he expected. The first part of the plan had succeeded, but fulfillment required more. The blessing would have no effect if Esau killed Jacob as he would threaten to do.

If she sent Jacob off to her brother Laban, would he ever return? How would the older serve the younger if they were so far apart? How could the prophecy come to pass?

No matter, it had to be done. Jacob had to be saved from his twin brother’s anger. Abraham had sent the servant to bring her back as a wife for Isaac; now she must send Jacob back to her family. To get himself a wife from people who worshiped God was a good pretext, and it might happen that way, but she was more concerned about his safety.

Her butterfly communicated nothing, sitting outside on a branch.

Later, she used the wife explanation to encourage Isaac to send Jacob back to her people. Not angry at being tricked, he agreed and repeated the blessing for Jacob.

In the morning, she watched her son leave. Did he know she and her butterfly followed him at a distance as far as she dared? He never turned around to look. She followed him until the sun reached its peak. Before returning to the camp, she stood and watched until he was not even a dot on the horizon.

“Will he return?” she asked her butterfly. Again, the winged insect remained silent.

Would she ever see him again? Would he be safe with her brother? Might he find a wife and have children? Would he ever return?

Every morning and every night, she prayed for her younger son. “Keep him safe, God. He is your Son of the Promise, the fulfillment of your promise to Abraham.”

She apologized for taking matters into her own hands. “I didn’t know what else to do, God. You hadn’t done anything, and if Esau received the blessing, your prophecy would have been a lie.”

Had God set it up this way? Had God created the circumstances so that Jacob would always have to fight for what she believed was his right to be the Son of the Promise? Why had Jacob not been the firstborn? Why had Isaac always favored Esau? Didn’t God know that the firstborn could not serve the younger? Didn’t God know about the order of things?

Her butterfly had no answers.

Days passed, then months, then years, carrying with them multiple butterfly generations. Blessing or not, Esau, with his line of butterflies, managed their flocks, cared for both his parents, made the decisions. He did well, and they prospered.

Rebekah grew old and frail. She no longer supervised the meals, swept the floor, shook out the sleeping blankets. When the weather permitted, Esau gently carried her outside every morning to sit in the sun, to feel its rays warming her body. Often, Isaac, older and frailer but still alive, sat with her. Their butterflies sometimes flittered around, but often they simply rested on a tent peg.

In the evening, Esau took them back into the tent, helped them eat, wrapped them in the blankets. For a while, the three would talk, discussing the events of the day or simply making small talk.

Neither Isaac nor Esau ever mentioned Jacob, ever spoke about the stolen blessing, the stolen birthright. Had they forgotten? Or maybe it didn’t matter because Esau had inherited his father’s flocks, his father’s possessions. He was healthy and wealthy, blessed by God, even without Isaac’s blessing. Rebekah wondered, but she never asked if the blessing mattered. It had not made any difference to Esau.

Late one afternoon, a stranger arrived. Of course, he did not speak to a woman, but the servants fetched Esau in from the field. The stranger spoke to her son in front of Esau’s tent, but inside her own, Rebekah made out some words. When the stranger said he had come from Jacob, she strained to hear more.

Not successful, she called a servant and sent him over to listen. “Report back to me everything he says,” she demanded.

She need not have worried. As soon as the stranger left, Esau came to her, his butterfly flying back and forth between the two.

“Jacob is coming,” he told her. “He has been very successful, even more flocks than we have.” He paused, and his eyes sparkled. “And he has two wives and eleven sons!¹ Eleven! And a daughter. Can you imagine? You have twelve more grandchildren!” Then he added, “He is well.”

Rebekah sighed with relief. “Will he come here?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go meet him. He’s camped on the other side of the river. It’s too far for you or Father to travel, but I’ll try to convince him to come. I’ll leave in the morning to meet him.”

Esau left early in the morning with a large group of his men. “Why did he take so many?” she asked Isaac. “He has a small army with him!”

Isaac patted her leg. “Don’t worry,” he replied. “Esau is no longer angry with him. He has the results of the blessing, even if he did not receive it himself.”

The sun seemed to Rebekah to plod across the sky. No matter how long she waited to see a change, it had barely moved.

Would he come? Would she get to see him again? Eleven grandchildren! She could not wait to hold her son once more.

Esau returned without Jacob or his wives or children, but with additional animals—goats, sheep, camels, cows, and donkeys, all a gift from Jacob. The reunion had gone well. Jacob and his family were coming, but more slowly.

“Children don’t travel as fast as adults,” he reminded his anxious parents. “And he has young livestock, sheep with their lambs, goats and kids, donkeys and colts, and camels and calves. Slowly, but they’re coming.”

Basking in the sun, Rebekah closed her eyes and envisioned how it would be when he came home, how she wanted it to be, how she had dreamed it over all these years.

A cloud of dust arises in the distance. “They’re coming,” she whispers to Isaac, who has fallen asleep.

Isaac’s sightless eyes open wide. “Where? How long will it be? How far away are they?”

“Off there,” his wife tells him, pointing out of long-held-and-continued habit. “They’re just coming past the lone tree.”

Sometime later, too long for Rebekah, but she manages to wait, Jacob strides into the camp. He leads a small group of camels carrying two women and numerous children. Rebekah counts them aloud to Isaac. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, … ah, there are two there! Nine, ten.” She pauses, looking for the last son. “Oh, there he is! Eleven!” she adds triumphantly. “And the girl!” She raises an arm in celebration.

The butterflies accompanying the newcomers swarmed around for a few minutes, introducing themselves to Isaac and Rebekah’s two.

Jacob greets his father first, according to custom. He bows before him. “Your servant hopes his father is well.”

Isaac reaches out and touches the man standing before him. “I am.”

Jacob kneels in front of his father. The old man’s fingers stroke the face of his younger son. “It’s been a long time,” he says. “Your mother has waited anxiously for you to return,” he adds with a smile.

At the suggestion, Jacob turns to his mother. She has not stood unaided for some months now, but she grabs his hand and pulls herself to her feet. Her eyes water as she embraces the son who left so long ago.

“God is good,” she whispers.

“Can you see them coming?” Isaac asked. “How much longer do we wait?”

He heard Rebekah whisper, “God is good,” just before her head fell forward, and she took her last breath.²

Jacob did not return to his family as expected. Instead, he went to Shechem and then to Bethel. He never saw his mother again after that day he left with the stolen blessing.

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1 Benjamin, the twelfth son, was not born until later (Genesis 35:16-18).

2 There is no biblical account of Rebekah’s death, when or where.