Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Hezi opened the door wide and swept his hand inside. “You might as well come in now. Yaira, you and Eliakim too. We can all talk about the plans Eli has drawn up for the palace dovecote with which I’d hoped to surprise my wife after our Passover celebra—”

  I jumped into his arms and smothered him with kisses, completely unqueenlike. He carried me into the chamber, laughing. Yaira and Eliakim didn’t follow us. The guards closed the door. We’d talk about the dovecote later.

  36

  A very large crowd of people assembled in Jerusalem to celebrate the Festival of Unleavened Bread….

  They slaughtered the Passover lamb on the fourteenth day of the second month….

  When all this had ended, the Israelites who were there went out to the towns of Judah, smashed the sacred stones and cut down the Asherah poles.

  —2 Chronicles 30:13, 15; 31:1

  Hezekiah became vaguely aware of a rooster’s crow in the distance. Dawn’s glow split the tapestries, demanding he rise, but he was king, was he not? On this cool morning, the warmth of his wife molded to his back both soothed and saddened him. Even in her sleep, she clung to him. He turned and slid his arm beneath her, pulling her closer to nuzzle her neck. The scent of nard and saffron. This was his wife. These, his favorite moments of each day.

  Her eyelids fluttered but stayed closed. “A few more moments before we have to begin another day,” she whispered.

  “Look at me, my delight.”

  Slowly, almost painfully, she opened her eyes, and he looked deeply into them. He saw longing, pleading, but for more than he could give. Insatiable fear now tortured her. Her lion’s heart had become a lamb’s.

  “Tell me what I can do to make you feel safe again.”

  She turned away, shutting him out.

  He tamped down his anger. Took a deep breath. I must try to understand. A few weeks ago, he’d imagined seeing his brother Bocheru as the sacrificial lamb at the Temple consecration. Were his fears rational? It had been seventeen years since Bocheru’s death and since Zibah lost her parents. How long would both he and his bride be marred by their past?

  Forgiveness wasn’t easy. Forgetting was impossible. But they were trying.

  Zibah had made a valiant effort to overcome her lingering bitterness and dread during the traditional seven days of Passover. She’d even been supportive when Hezi extended the celebration another seven days. His queen stood shoulder to shoulder with men and women from Israel, the nation whose troops killed thousands of Judeans and marched her and Yaira to Samaria as captives. He loved her strength.

  Hezi pressed his lips against her ear. “You roared like a lion at your fear during the feast.”

  “And now I’ve become a mewing kitten.”

  He kept her sheltered under his arm. “I know you’re frightened because the Israelites acted violently when they left Jerusalem after Passover, but they didn’t harm people. Nor did they attempt to. They smashed pagan altars and destroyed high places in our northern villages. They were fueled by their renewed commitment to Yahweh. It was a good thing, my love.”

  She began to tremble but remained silent.

  Hezi buried his head in the pile of dark brown curls, feeling helpless. Yahweh, how can I comfort my wife?

  Pray. The answer was like a trumpet though the word came silently in his spirit. He rested his head on his arm and obeyed.

  Dawn stretched into morning, and Zibah’s trembling ceased. Hezi peered over her shoulder again to see if she slept. She was awake, quiet. He lay back down beside her and continued his prayer vigil.

  Yaira knocked on the door, opened it, and closed it hurriedly when she saw them still in bed. Zibah didn’t move.

  Finally, when a sliver of light peeked through their balcony tapestry, she said, “You’re late for court.”

  Hezi leaned up on his elbow. “I’m not going to court. My wife needs me.”

  She covered her face. He resumed his place, willing to wait as long as needed for her to open her heart.

  Releasing a frustrated sigh, she said, “You can’t stay here all day.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re the king of Judah.”

  He didn’t speak. More prayer was needed.

  “Hezi.” She turned toward him, their faces less than a handbreadth away. “You can’t be nursemaid to your wife and tend a whole nation too.”

  “Then tell me how to help you.”

  Fresh tears came, but this time she reached out and stroked his cheek. “Why are you so wonderful?”

  He captured her hand and kissed her palm. “Talk to me, Zibah, my delight.” She tried to turn away, but he captured her again. “If angry tears were red, and sad tears were blue, and frightened tears were green, what color would your tears be?”

  She lay still for a long moment, staring at him. He’d almost resigned himself to more prayer when she answered in barely a whisper. “What color would confused tears be?”

  It was a start. “Perhaps they would be brown,” he offered, “mixing anger, sadness, and fear together.”

  She scooted closer and nodded against his chest.

  “Can you describe the colors one at a time for me, or are the emotions too murky?”

  She paused, and he waited. “I think it’s all too murky. The emotions, the arguments, even Abba’s prophecies. Everything is jumbled up in my head and making me feel more afraid because I can’t sort it out.”

  “It’s easy to feel afraid in the confusion, isn’t it?”

  She nodded again.

  “Let’s see if we can sort it out together.” He began gently with the event that happened Passover night. “When your abba rebuked me publicly for allowing unconsecrated Israelites to eat the Passover meal, his proclamation sounded like a message from Yahweh, even though it was merely his opinion.”

  Zibah was quiet for several heartbeats. “I’m not sure it was simply his opinion, Hezi. The Law is plain. The unconsecrated must not eat the Passover meal.”

  Hezi tried not to bristle. “I prayed before the meal that all those who set their hearts on truly seeking Yahweh would be pardoned. Yahweh blessed this situation much as He did the Temple consecration ceremony when the Levites stepped in—against the Law—to help with sacrifices because the priests had not consecrated themselves for service.” He stroked her hair, hoping his words penetrated her already turbulent emotions. “I believe Yahweh forgives our imperfect attempts at obedience when we act in sincere faith to live out His commands.”

  “You should never have invited the Israelites to the Passover in the first place.” Her tone was harsh, commanding. He’d never heard her so defiant.

  He uttered a silent prayer before saying the hard truth. “If I hadn’t invited the Israelites, a portion of God’s chosen people wouldn’t have heard the Levites’ teaching. They wouldn’t have experienced fourteen days of worship in Yahweh’s holy Temple. And they wouldn’t have enjoyed the restored fellowship of their Judean brethren. Would you deny Yahweh’s people—”

  “Yes!” she cried. “I would deny them as they denied me my family, my home, my peace.” She curled into a ball and wept, this time deep, racking sobs that shook her.

  Startled, Hezi lay beside her, staring at the ceiling, utterly defeated. Yahweh, I don’t know what else to do. Only You can help my Zibah. Perhaps it would be best for him to give her time alone—or with Yaira. He drew close to tell her he was going.

  “Go,” she shrugged him off, her tone lifeless. “Please go.”

  Hezi left their bed, splashed his face, and dressed quickly, without opening the balcony tapestries or lighting a lamp. He entered his courtroom with a heavy heart, carrying with him the darkness of his chamber.

  37

  See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone,

  a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation.

  —Isaiah 28:16

  The same anger and fear Zibah expressed in tears was vented with shouting by Hezi’s royal council. The Israelites’ inglo
rious departure from Jerusalem had provoked enough debate fodder for weeks. His advisors had been yelling at each other—and him—all afternoon. He rested his elbow on the armrest of his throne and cradled his chin. Was Zibah all right?

  When Shebna called one of the royal secretaries a reckless Philistine, Hezi had heard enough. He signaled Samuel, who slammed his spear to the marble floor with a thunderous slap! The noise startled the council into silence.

  Hezi rose from his throne and descended the dais, approaching the gallery of advisors. “We will not second-guess our decision to invite the Israelites to the Passover feast. God honored the celebration, and He used our northern brothers to eradicate even more idolatry from Judah. Let that be the end of it.”

  Commander Jokim’s anger had rendered his face the shade of ripe grapes. “They raided and destroyed Judean property on their way back to Israel. We cannot let that go unpunished.”

  “No, Jokim,” Hezi said. “They destroyed Judah’s high places, the job you and your troops were supposed to do two months ago.” Commander Jokim offered no reply, and the near-empty courtroom throbbed with silence. “We spent fourteen days worshiping Yahweh in His Temple—a celebration unlike any since the days of Solomon—and you will rejoice, brothers, or I will find new advisors who will!”

  Fifteen men avoided his gaze, but Hezi continued. “The question is, What now? For three months, my reign has been about smashing idols and refurbishing the Temple. We’ve successfully restored Yahweh worship in Judah. Now we must maintain it, and that means caring for the Temple’s servants—the priests and Levites.” Nervous glances said the advisors had not yet considered these economics. “For now, I will continue to contribute from my own possessions the morning and evening burnt offerings and the burnt offerings on Sabbaths, new moons, and the appointed feasts. The priests and their families will take their appropriate portions from each sacrifice as described in the Law.”

  Joah, the recorder, interrupted. “My lord, you already provided a thousand bulls and seven thousand sheep for the second week of Passover. Are you sure—”

  Hezi waved off his concern. “My personal wealth will be replenished when I return to the battlefield and take my share of soldiers’ plunder.”

  “Your generosity supplies the priests’ needs, but who will provide for the Levites?” Shebna was quick to defend his ancestral tribe. “They aren’t allowed a portion from the sacrifices.”

  Leveling a warning stare at his old classmate, Hezi said, “You know the Law, Shebna. You’ve taught it to your students for years. Why don’t you enlighten the rest of the council?”

  Frustration tinged his tone. “The Law requires every family in Judah to bring the best one-tenth of every harvest—both grain and vine—to the Temple as a tithe. That is to be the Levites’ portion.”

  “Thank you, Sheb—”

  “Then the Levites must offer a tenth of what they receive to the priests. And how many Judeans will actually bring a tithe?”

  Hezi scanned the gallery of advisors. “If the people of Judah see us, the leaders of this nation, following God’s laws with a spirit of generosity, I believe they will care well for the Levites and priests.” Hezi raised both brows, impressing his will on the men under his authority.

  Surprisingly, every man answered with an affirming nod. Shebna, seeing no one else joining his cause, said, “I hope you’re right, my king.”

  Perhaps the next item of business would encourage them all. “Eliakim, what are the building updates on our fortified cities?”

  Eliakim gave a quick report, including the good news that their troops had recaptured more cities from the Philistines.

  “Thank you, Eli,” Hezi said, pleased with the report. “Commander Jokim, where should we place our efforts to regain ground lost during Abba’s reign? What territory is most susceptible to attack?”

  A little spark lit in the commander’s eye. “We should continue the campaign in Philistine territory, my king. I believe we can regain our towns and villages all the way to Gaza if we strike now.”

  Anxious faces looked to Hezi for a response. Was Judah ready to go on the offensive to grow the nation? Hezi had led on the field of battle but never managed a kingdom while battles raged all around.

  His eyes lingered on Isaiah, who had appeared wearing a sackcloth robe instead of his fine linen. He wore sackcloth only when he planned to deliver a prophecy. Hezi’s stomach clenched like a fist. Micah wore linen. Only Isaiah was dressed to prophesy.

  Hezi’s sudden unease made further deliberation impossible. “We are adjourned for now. Please pray for Yahweh’s clear direction on the Philistine campaign, and we’ll make the decision tomorrow. Isaiah, please remain. The rest of you may go.”

  The advisors filed out, and Isaiah’s eyes locked onto Hezi. When the last counselor had gone and the heavy cedar door slammed shut, Isaiah’s words echoed in the grand hall. “So this is what the Sovereign LORD says: ‘See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation; the one who relies on it will never be stricken with panic. I will make justice the measuring line and righteousness the plumb line; hail will sweep away your refuge, the lie, and water will overflow your hiding place.’ ”

  Hezi wasn’t sure whether he should run away or fall to his knees in worship. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Nor do I,” said Isaiah. “But I can assure you the words are the Lord’s.”

  “Not your opinion like the Passover criticism?”

  Isaiah’s eyes narrowed. “The anointed King will fulfill every letter of the Law.”

  “Will the anointed King feel utterly terrified at the daunting task of ruling Judah?”

  Surprise softened Isaiah’s features, and the beginnings of a smile touched his lips. “I think every good king fears and then trusts in Yahweh for answers. King Solomon said, ‘The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.’ ”

  Hezi sobered. “Why did the Lord send you to speak a prophecy to me that neither of us understands?”

  “I believe you asked me a similar question when you were a prince of fifteen on the night Assyria began its siege on Samaria. I told you then, ‘Prophecy—even when we don’t fully understand it—is given so we can recognize God’s sovereignty and power when it unfolds.’ ”

  Hezi didn’t like his vague answer now any better than he did when he was fifteen.

  He studied his teacher, and his teacher studied him in return. “You were distracted today during the council meeting.”

  Instantly uneasy, Hezi didn’t want Isaiah to know about Zibah. Isaiah’s marriage seemed so perfect. “Distracted? How so?” The king leaned against the gallery rail, hoping to appear relaxed.

  Isaiah lifted a brow. “Is my daughter all right?”

  Hezi straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because asking about my daughter has suddenly made you nervous.”

  “She’s a little upset since hearing of the Israelites’ violence in the north.” Hezi shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “That’s not all, or your neck wouldn’t be splotching with red patches.”

  Hezi dropped his head, sighing his defeat. “When I left her in our chamber this morning, she was inconsolable, Isaiah. I don’t know what to do. She won’t eat. She cries uncontrollably.” He dragged his hand through his hair and lifted his eyes.

  Instead of the judgment Hezi expected, he saw compassion in Isaiah’s face. “Change has always been difficult for Zibah. Even though your marriage and Judah’s cleansing has been exciting, it’s also displaced her from her family, from her home.”

  “She said as much, right before I left the chamber this morning—that the Israelites had taken her family and home and peace.” Now that Hezi knew the problem was Zibah’s aversion to change, he could work toward fixing it. “Eliakim and I will begin building a new dovecote in the royal courtyard tomorrow. Perhaps her own flock here at the palace will give her more of a sen
se of home and—”

  Isaiah had already begun shaking his head.

  “What?” Hezi said, annoyed.

  “Today’s prophecy wasn’t for you, Hezekiah.” His eye misted. An abba’s tender smile graced his lips. “Yahweh’s words, of course, are meant for Judah and will be recorded on a scroll, but I believe they also have meaning for my Zibah. Listen again. This time, as if you’re a woman searching for security and safety.

  So this is what the Sovereign LORD says: “See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation; the one who relies on it will never be stricken with panic. I will make justice the measuring line and righteousness the plumb line; hail will sweep away your refuge, the lie, and water will overflow your hiding place.”

  Hezi was startled by the sudden and gentle revelation. Awed, he interpreted for his teacher, “Whatever refuge, lie, or hiding place Zibah has believed to be her security will be taken from her, and Yahweh will prove Himself the only sure foundation—a tested stone, a precious cornerstone. And she will never be panic-stricken again.”

  “Yes.” Isaiah gripped the king’s shoulder. “My daughter believes home and family—even her doves—give her peace, Hezekiah, but Yahweh is about to prove that He is her only sure foundation.” He paused, seeming hesitant to continue.

  “What, Isaiah? Is there more to the prophecy?”

  His hand dropped from Hezi’s shoulder and he stepped back. “No, what I was about to say is simply my opinion.”

  The stab hit its mark. “This time I’d like to hear it.”

  Isaiah inhaled a labored breath and forced it out. “Why would Yahweh speak to you a message that was meant for Zibah? Unless whatever he pries from Zibah’s hands will also be pulled from your grasp.”

  38

  In the year that the supreme commander, sent by Sargon king of Assyria, came to Ashdod and attacked and captured it—at that time the LORD spoke through Isaiah son of Amoz.

  —Isaiah 20:1–2