Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  The royal messenger arrived yesterday with news that King Hezekiah and his troops would return today from their year-long campaign against the Philistines. I felt the same rush of emotion surge through me that I experienced more than two years ago, when I waited for Hezi’s processional to enter the city after King Ahaz’s death. Except this time my arms ached to hold the husband who was part of me.

  Yaira stood with me and other anxious noblemen’s wives on the top palace step. As the highest platform in the city, it was our best chance to capture a glimpse of the troops as they entered the Upper City.

  “Do you see him yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” I shouted over the blaring trumpets and cheering crowd. “They must be entering the western gate if the trumpets are sounding.”

  I’d battled fear after last year’s Passover—and had nearly overcome it—until Hezi’s departure with the troops sent me reeling. He’d honored the law in Deuteronomy which stated that newly-wed husbands must remain with their wives for the first year of marriage. Hezi’s sense of duty, however, called him to war only days after our first-year anniversary. I couldn’t forbid him to leave, but I tried mightily to reason him out of it.

  “Why not wait until I conceive your heir before running away to fight Philistines?” I pretended a playful calm as we walked in the orchards on a cool winter night.

  He lifted my hand to his lips, kissed it, and seemed truly at peace. “We’ll have a son when Yahweh wills it.”

  The Gevirah was not so patient. Abijah stoked my fear of barrenness every time I visited the harem. “If I hadn’t born Bocheru in our first year of marriage, King Ahaz would have set me aside.”

  One more of a thousand reasons I thanked Yahweh Hezi was not like his abba.

  When my husband left to fight Philistines, I cried for a month in our chamber. Immune to Yaira’s consolations, my self-pity was ultimately defeated when Ima brought noblemen’s wives to my chamber for a visit—women whose husbands fought alongside mine. Her plan worked. I joined the sisterhood of those who waited, yearning for and yet dreading news from the battlefield. Finally, something I could share with noblemen’s wives. I now had friends waiting just as anxiously as I on these palace steps.

  “There!” Yaira pointed to the single street leading to the Upper Gate. “See him?”

  I lifted my hand over my eyes to shade the sun’s glare. Yes. The glint of gold from my husband’s crown captured my attention. I could barely see him, but the sounds of tambourines and lyres grew louder as the procession drew nearer.

  Led by dancing young maidens and Yahweh’s rejoicing Levites and priests, Judah’s king returned a conquering hero. All praise to Yahweh, Judah had seen victory in every battle and gained territory stretching to Solomon’s ancient borders.

  Hezi’s white stallion passed under the archway separating the Upper and Lower City. There, on his magnificent steed, was Judah’s king—my husband and beloved. His gold crown rested at a slight angle across his brow, and he cradled Solomon’s scepter in the bend of his right arm. The chill in the air demanded he wear his fox-collared purple cape. But when I saw his left thigh was bandaged, a slight bloodstain showing through, I thought my heart might fail.

  I ran down the palace steps and into the street, fighting any guard who at first thought me a crazed spectator. Hezi saw the commotion and slid off his horse, limping as he ran to meet me. “I’m all right. I’m all right.” I fell into his arms weeping. He pressed his lips against my ear. “It’s nothing, really. You can kiss it and make it better.”

  I laughed and cried, clutching his robe in both hands. “Why didn’t you send a messenger with news that you’d been injured?”

  “It’s a small cut by a Philistine blade.” He kissed me, and the crowd roared its approval. I’d nearly forgotten they were watching. We ducked our heads, and he tossed his horse’s reins to the stable boy. “See that he’s fed and groomed, will you?” The boy nodded, and we began our walk toward the palace, Hezi leaning heavily on my shoulder as we climbed the stairs to the palace entrance. We turned and waved to the crowd, smiling. Hezi spoke without moving his lips. “I hope you realize you’re not leaving my bed for the next week.”

  I spoke with the same feigned smile. “I hope you realize you’re not leaving Jerusalem again—ever.”

  The applause ebbed, and we escaped into our semiprivate world. Guards, servants, and noblemen scurried around us with a barrage of greetings and questions. Hezi treated each one with a measure of grace and kindness beyond my patience.

  Finally, we arrived at our private chamber. The guards broke protocol and offered their king a smile. “Welcome home, my king.”

  “Thank you, men.” Hezi winced.

  I’d seen him injured a dozen times while training, and he never acknowledged pain. “Call for the physicians immediately.” My tone brooked no argument. One guard obeyed immediately, and the other guard opened the door. Yaira waited with a basin of warm water, towels, and scented oils.

  She was as worried as I about his leg. “What happened?”

  “Philistine sword,” I said. “Physician is on the way.” Yaira supported his other arm, and we walked him to the bed.

  Hezi rolled his eyes. “Truly, ladies, I’m fine.”

  After settling him with cushions behind his back, Yaira grinned. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” She was gone before we could thank her.

  Hezi lunged, pulled me into his arms, and pushed off my head covering. “Tell me about your dovecote. Only two pairs of turtle doves had nested when I left last spring. Did more come?”

  I loved that he cared. “Every niche was filled by the end of mating season. We had fourteen pairs, and the courtyard palm trees were full of palm doves. One of them even lit on my arm—the first summer!” He threw back his head and laughed, sending his deep, resonant voice through me. I nestled into his chest and breathed in his scent, musky cinnamon with a hint of aloe. “My world is right when you are in it.”

  He laid his cheek on my head. “Your world must be right with or without me here, Zibah.”

  I sat up, startled by his foreboding tone. “What do you mean?” His brow knitted with concern, and I could tell something weighed heavily. “Tell me.”

  “Lie down and let’s talk about your doves.”

  “No, Hezi, please. I’d rather be prepared if something is wrong. Tell me.”

  Hezi pulled me to his chest. I could hear his heart beating like chariot horses in a race. “We returned to Jerusalem because our scouts warned that Assyria was on the move against the Philistines. Anytime Assyria moves this far south, Judah is in danger.” He fell silent, no doubt waiting for my response.

  “I know,” I said. “Abba told me.”

  His breathing quickened. His chest muscles tightened. I could tell he was angry.

  I sat up, measuring the severity in his eyes. “Abba knows that I don’t respond well to surprises. So he told me Assyria would no doubt see we’ve taken back Philistine territory and demand higher tribute.”

  “Did your abba also put on his sackcloth and then offer his opinion about paying that higher tribute?”

  His sarcasm stirred my ire. “He need not give an opinion when the answer is plain. You must meet Assyria’s demands.”

  His silence said no.

  “Give it to them, Hezi.”

  “I have sent Shebna to talk with Egypt and Cush about forming a coalition.”

  “No! No one can stop Assyria.”

  “Zibah, even your abba’s prophecies say that someday Assyria will fall. What if I am the anointed King who will unite the nations and bring about Assyria’s annihilation?” His eyes sparked with excitement. Excitement!

  “You aren’t thinking clearly. You’ve let bloodlust cloud your judgment. Send messengers to call Shebna back.” Suddenly, the contradiction in that statement dawned. “Abba is your foreign minister. Why did you send Shebna to negotiate?”

  He looked away, his jaw muscle dancing to an impatie
nt tune. “Please don’t tell your abba, Zibah. Shebna’s mission to Egypt must remain a secret between you and me alone. I haven’t even told Eliakim.”

  What had happened during his time away that had made Abba an enemy, Shebna a friend, and Eliakim an outsider? I gently cupped his chin and pulled his attention back to me. “You didn’t answer my question. Why did you send Shebna to Egypt instead of Abba?”

  He closed his eyes and released a weary sigh. “Your abba has sent me multiple scrolls filled with prophecy while I’ve been away. According to him, every nation on earth will perish—including Judah—and somehow Jerusalem will rise like a glittering jewel.” When he opened his eyes, the lines on his face became hard, all tenderness evaporated. “I think your abba has lost his faculties, Zibah. His correspondence has become increasingly nonsensical. One sentence portends doom. The next assures redemption.”

  My emotions reeled, and my mind scattered in a thousand directions. Why hadn’t Abba mentioned these new prophecies? “Abba’s prophecies have always been difficult to understand, Hezi. Perhaps we need to sit down with him and talk through them. Like we used to.”

  “This is different, Zibah. Every prophecy talks about the anointed King…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted his eyes. “And makes it very clear that if I fall short, Assyria is waiting to pounce.”

  Would Assyria attack Jerusalem? Was Hezi leaving to fight again? How could I give him an heir if he was never home? Paralyzed by questions, I could do nothing but stare.

  In the stillness, Hezi opened his eyes, and his expression softened. “Zibah.” He scrubbed his face and growled. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ve been talking to soldiers for a year. Please, please”—he opened his arms and beckoned me close—“let’s talk about something else. Do I need to build another dovecote? We could fill the courtyard with them.”

  His feigned smile couldn’t erase what I’d just heard. A new dovecote couldn’t heal the wound on his thigh or stop an Assyrian invasion or reverse my abba’s demotion. I placed my hand on his chest. “I love my doves, and, yes, another dovecote would be nice, but that’s not enough. I—”

  Tears threatened, and Hezi’s instant concern nearly broke me. But I couldn’t ask what I was about to request through a shade of tears. I exhaled a steadying breath, then started again. “When Yaira and I were freed from captivity, she said Yahweh surely had a special purpose for my life, and I believed her.”

  Hezi brushed my arm. “And here you are. Queen of Judah.”

  “Yes, but what do I do as queen, Hezi? With the knowledge I gained as Abba’s student, as his fellow teacher, and now as a friend to noblemen’s wives—what do I do where Yahweh has placed me?” I shook my head and dashed away tears. “I think I must do more than coo at doves.”

  My husband stopped looking at me as if I were a wounded sparrow. “So, what is it you wish to do?”

  I swiped at a few more tears and chuckled. “I’m still not sure, but I know it involves arguing with you.” He laughed with me. “Like stonechats, I think you’ll be stronger if we pair up, my love. If we’re to face an Assyrian invasion—”

  Hezi suddenly covered my mouth, looking over my shoulder. “Come in. Come in.”

  I turned and found the palace physician, mouth gaping. “Uh, I…uh, please forgive me. Your guards told me it was urgent and sent me in. I can…uh…did you say invasion?”

  I hurried off the bed, wiping my face, and stopped the physician on his way to the patient. “Thank you for coming so promptly. Let me assure you, there is no impending invasion.” He appeared relieved. “But let me also remind you, anything you hear in the king’s chamber is private, and it would be an act of treason to repeat it.” He nodded politely and followed me to my husband.

  Hezi chuckled as did the physician. The elderly man greeted the king. “I see your wife is already a fine queen, my lord.” He unwrapped the bandages on my husband’s thigh to inspect the wound, and I had to look away. The smell alone nearly made me retch.

  “The infection is severe, my queen, but I believe we can manage it. I brought henna, turmeric, and honey. He’ll be fine.”

  Hezi’s color waned when the doctor began cleaning the wound, so I called for Yaira to bring cool cloths for his head. When the doctor finished his ministrations, he left poppy-seed tea to help Hezi rest. I sang to my patient until his deep, steady breaths proved he slept soundly, and then I retreated to our balcony, my sanctuary under the stars.

  After a year apart, Hezi was still gentle and tender with me; however, he had no patience for Abba and seemed suspicious of my relationship with him. My husband’s personal confidence had been honed by his recent successes. Was it wise to replace Abba as foreign minister? Had his prophecies truly become unreliable?

  My heart ached at the thought. I heard Hezi groan, toss and turn on our bed, and wondered if my tumultuous thoughts somehow unsettled him. Dare I question him about replacing Abba? Had my husband considered how our teacher might respond to another royal demotion? Isaiah, servant of Yahweh, was faithful to a fault—but his pride might be bruised. Yahweh, prepare Abba’s heart for the news. Assure him of his worth in Your eyes regardless of an earthly title.

  An earthly title. What did my earthly title mean—Queen of Judah? I’d valiantly declared I was ready to help in every aspect of kingdom rule. Did the husband who knew me realize how terrified I was? Did he know that talk of tribute and Egypt and Assyria made my skin crawl? Yet something deep inside heightened my desire to be more involved in the coming decisions. How can it be, Yahweh, when I am such a frightened lamb?

  “Not the reunion you’d hoped for, I suspect.” Hezi planted gentle kisses in the curve of my neck.

  I drank in the feel of his arms around me. “Nor you, I suspect.” We swayed together to a silent tune—until I remembered. “Oh! Your leg!” I whirled and held out my arms to steady him.

  He shook his head. “Zibah, relax. Didn’t you hear the physician? I’ll be fine.” He drew me into a tight hug. “If you are to rule beside me, you can’t project the worst possible outcome. We must believe in Yahweh’s best and let His good plan unfold.”

  I closed my eyes. “You must teach me that talent.”

  “We are stonechats, my love. We may flap at each other from time to time, but we learn from each other.”

  I didn’t respond, hoping the silence would become my assent.

  “I’ll send word to cancel tomorrow’s court sessions,” he whispered against my hair. “We’ll spend the whole day together. How does that sound?”

  I looked up in the moonlight and saw the face I’d loved for nearly all my life. “It sounds like the best day I’ve had all year. You may get an heir after all.”

  39

  [Yahweh said to Isaiah], “Take off the sackcloth from your body and the sandals from your feet.” And he did so, going around stripped and barefoot.

  —Isaiah 20:2

  Isaiah spent the morning in the prophets’ caves. It felt like holy ground as he peered through torchlight at abandoned tents and the ashes of cook fires. Yahweh had hidden his friends here for almost twenty years. Isaiah needed the assurance of that miracle-working God after the message Yahweh delivered during the night.

  Yahweh revealed that Hezekiah had sent Shebna instead of Isaiah as Judah’s foreign minister to Egypt and Cush. Of course, Isaiah’s pride was stung, but beyond his hurt pride, the prophet’s heart was broken. Hezekiah had pursued an alliance with Egypt’s Cushite pharaoh to fight Judah’s enemy—just as King Ahaz had turned to Assyria—rather than trust in God to save their nation.

  “Yahweh, forgive him.” Isaiah rubbed tears from his eyes as the whisper passed his lips. The remainder of last night’s message had been just as disturbing. Isaiah must be sure he’d heard God’s voice and wasn’t responding out of personal angst or wounded pride. Isaiah had questioned his calling more than once since Hezekiah began regularly accusing him of speaking his opinion. Of last night’s unusual message, Isaiah must be certain.


  Isaiah ran his hand along the walls of the cave, reminding himself of Yahweh’s faithfulness to his family. The Lord had protected them the whole time as they delivered food and supplies to God’s faithful prophets. Judean troops never detected them, and provisions never ran out. “If you can protect thirty prophets for almost twenty years, surely you can protect one naked prophet for three years.” Even saying it out loud made Isaiah’s cheeks flush.

  He cried out in the depths of the cave, “How will you provide for my family this time, Yahweh?” Racking sobs shook him, and he fell to his knees. Was it pride that made the coming task so frightening? “Please, send someone else to do this.” But the heaviness remained. He was the one Yahweh chose to walk barefoot and naked through Jerusalem’s streets for three years—Isaiah ben Amoz, cousin to kings.

  He’d been humbled when King Ahaz demoted him from foreign minister to royal tutor. Yet teaching young minds had become his richest blessing. “Will I ever look back on my three-year nakedness and call it a blessing?” He laughed through tears, aching at the shame Aya would endure. How could she bear it?

  Tekoa. He would send her to the prophets’ camp. They would care for her tenderly while Isaiah destroyed their life in Jerusalem. At least she wouldn’t see his shame.

  Surely, people in Jerusalem would get used to his wandering. At first, imas would hide their children’s eyes, and women would turn away. Eventually, they’d ignore him. Wouldn’t they?

  Everyone would think him mad. Perhaps he was mad. Yahweh, am I? The gentle flutter in his spirit assured Isaiah his mind was meant for heavenly matters, so yes, indeed. He was a little mad—and had been ever since he saw the Lord seated on a throne.

  The train of Yahweh’s robe filled the heavenly Temple, and Isaiah saw the indescribable creatures with six wings flying around God’s throne, calling, “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty.” How did he know they were called seraphim? Had anyone ever described them to him? No. Yet he knew what they were called as surely as he heard God’s voice saying, “Whom shall I send?”