Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  Isaiah dropped his face into his hands. Weeping, he repeated his answer—as true now as it was then. “Send me, Lord. Send me. I will go wherever You lead and say whatever You speak.” The tears washed him, soothed him. Though he didn’t bear the blisters on his lips, as he had after the original vision, the fire in his soul burned as bright as the torch in his hand. “I trust You, Yahweh, to accomplish that which You have promised.” He began his journey home—clothed, for the final time in three years.

  He noticed the birds. A snake slithered across his path. The breeze lifted his beard, and he pondered just how chilly his next three years would be.

  Too soon, he pushed open his squeaky courtyard gate and found his beautiful wife bent over her embroidery. She looked up and immediately grew pale. “What is it this time?”

  He couldn’t help but grin. She knew her husband and their God too well. “I want you to take Leah and Dinah to Tekoa for a while. Maher can choose whether he stays or goes after he hears the Lord’s command.”

  “How long will we be gone?”

  “Three years.”

  She looked as if she’d swallowed an egg sideways. How would she react to the real news? “I’m not leaving you,” she said.

  “Yes, Aya. You are.”

  She set aside her embroidery and stood, hands on hips. “Tell me why.”

  That stopped him. His cheeks warmed, and the words stuck in his throat. He must be able to tell his wife before he could obey the command. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes. “I am to walk barefoot and naked for three years proclaiming both Lower and Upper Egypt’s eventual captivity to Assyria.” He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. The horror on Aya’s face was worse than he’d expected. He closed his eyes again. Lord, please send someone else.

  He waited to hear her footsteps retreating. Surely, she’d run as fast and far from Isaiah as possible. Instead, she embraced him, resting her head against his chest. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll send Leah and Dinah to Tekoa right away.”

  Emotion washed over him like a flood, and he enfolded this woman, this part of his heart. “I can’t let you see my shame.” They wept together, grieving the losses that were sure to come.

  Finally, she dried her eyes against his robe and stepped back. “You said from the beginning that God called you to proclaim His message to a people ever hearing but never understanding, ever seeing but never perceiving. As long as you’re obedient to Yahweh, my love, there is no shame.” She swallowed more tears. “I’ll prepare Leah and Dinah for the journey. Can you find someone to escort them to Tekoa?”

  Isaiah nodded. “I’m sure Jashub would be willing.” She turned toward the house, but he caught her arm. “As soon as they leave, I must obey the call.”

  She pressed her lips and tried to smile. “I’d better stoke the fire then. You’ll get chilly.”

  40

  Woe to those who go down to Egypt for help…

  but do not look to the Holy One of Israel,

  or seek help from the LORD.

  —Isaiah 31:1

  I was up early with Hezi to help him dress before his first day back in the Throne Hall. Yesterday, we played our favorite childhood game—the two wooden triangles with pegs—and I beat him seven out of thirteen times. He slept some, and I lay beside him, watching the love of my life breathe in and breathe out.

  When he woke, we talked of my life in Judah while he was gone. “I visit your ima in the harem each day. She still hates me.” I smiled, but I knew he believed me. “Rizpah also hates me.”

  “She hates everyone.”

  I agreed. “Selah, the youngest wife, has been very kind. We’ve gone to the market together a few times, and she’s even helped make sure the other wives and children go to all the Temple services.”

  “That’s an improvement.” Hezi rubbed a circle on the back of my hand, thinking before he spoke. “Does Ima attend Temple services with you?”

  “Not yet.” My heart broke for him. “I continue to tell her about the wonderful worship, and I think she’s softening.”

  He offered a forced smile, and I was determined to change the subject. “Ima introduced me to several of the younger noblewomen after your first month away, and we’ve become good friends.” His genuine surprise urged me on. “Penina was the first nobleman’s wife to invite me to her home. A group of almost twenty soldiers’ wives began meeting weekly. We’ve become quite close.”

  He drew his finger from my shoulder to my wrist. “I’m proud of you. You seem stronger. Happier. More settled in our home.”

  “I am. It just took me a while to adapt.”

  The day sped by too quickly. A few of Hezi’s advisors visited and welcomed him home. The physician came to change his bandage twice. Before I was ready for the day to end, my exhausted husband fell into a sound sleep without any help from poppy-seed tea. He woke this morning seeming refreshed. The doctor insisted on another bandage change before the king left for court. Hezi’s leg was tender after having the wound cleaned again, but the infection had lost its rancid smell and appeared to be healing well.

  Now, sitting on the balcony with Yaira, I watched as she dipped a stylus into the henna pot, working more detail into the intricate design on my right foot. She stuck out her tongue while drawing an especially delicate part, perfectly matching the lovely swirls and florals on my left foot. “How did you learn to do this, Yaira?”

  “The harem maids taught me. Some of them served royalty in Egypt, so they know all sorts of beauty secrets.” She added a small set of dots on the side of each big toe, then sat back to inspect her work. “There. Finished.”

  My feet looked like a garden. I lifted my robe to my knees and danced into our chamber to Yaira’s rhythmic clapping.

  “Hezi will love it,” I called out to her. “I hope he doesn’t have too many disputes in court today so he can—”

  A man’s shouting stole our attention. Directly outside the palace, under my balcony. Yaira and I exchanged a puzzled glance and both hurried to investigate. We leaned over to see the street below. Yaira saw him first, squeaked, and backed away. Her cheeks bloomed like roses.

  “What?” I leaned over again, searching the street for what she’d seen. “Oh!” I backed away and covered my eyes. But some things can’t be unseen. Sliding to the marble tiles, I covered my face in shame. What was Abba doing?

  His voice echoed off the palace walls. “Why make a treaty with Egypt to save us from Assyria? Are not the Egyptians mere mortals? Their horses flesh and not spirit? When the Lord stretches out His hand, those who help will stumble, those who are helped will fall, and all will perish together.”

  Egypt? Who told him Hezi sent Shebna to Egypt? And why, oh why, was he naked? Had he truly lost his mind as Hezi feared?

  “Hephzibah!” Hezi’s angry voice called from our chamber. “Hephzibah!”

  I felt like a boulder had landed in my stomach. Pushing myself to my feet, I made it to the archway of the balcony. Hezi came storming through the chamber and nearly knocked me over.

  He held a carved Asherah in one hand and shook a scrap of parchment in the other. “Do you know what this says?”

  That was an odd question. “How could I know?”

  He shoved it into my hand. “Read it.”

  I’d never seen him so angry. The small parchment read: Ask your wife about her friend. The note was written in Rizpah’s hand.

  “Who wrote this?” he asked. “And why are there still idols in my palace? Who would dare accuse my wife of condoning—”

  Hezi was interrupted by the deep voice from below our balcony repeating the words, “Why make a treaty with Egypt to save us from Assyria? Are not the Egyptians mere mortals? Their horses flesh…”

  Hezi stepped around me to look over the edge of our balcony. The Asherah in his hand forgotten, he turned to face me, trembling with rage. “Explain, if you dare, why your abba is naked in the street, telling the whole city about a treaty with Egypt that not even my private council know
s about yet.”

  His last words came in a roar, and I stood shaking in the wake of his fury. “I don’t know why he’s naked, and I didn’t tell him about sending Shebna to Egypt.”

  “No one else knew, Zibah!” He threw the idol, and it shattered on the floor, revealing a gold ring among the shards. I didn’t dare move, but Hezi picked up the ring and read the engraving. “To my rock, Selah.” His eyes narrowed, and through gritted teeth he said, “Yaira, leave us.”

  She drew me into her arms. “I’m sorry, my king, but I won’t. Not until you’ve calmed down and I’m sure Zibah is safe.”

  He marched past us through the archway and into the chamber. “Naam!” he shouted. The chamber guard entered immediately. Hezi pointed to where we stood, still on the balcony. “Remove Yaira and her belongings from my chamber immediately. She can return later to collect the queen’s personal items. Both women will move to the harem as their permanent residence.”

  I felt Yaira tense as Naam drew nearer. “Go, Yaira. I’ll be all right.”

  She screamed as Naam pulled her from me and fought as he dragged her out the door. I covered my ears and closed my eyes but saw only an image of flapping stonechats in my mind. Hezi and I would wound each other deeply if I stayed any longer. Why had I imagined I could find a peaceful nest?

  When I heard the chamber door slam, I opened my eyes and saw hatred consume my husband’s expression. He was a man I didn’t know. “I can’t trust you, Zibah.” His words were clipped. Spoken through lips drawn tight in a scowl. “If you were a man in my regiment, you would be arrested for treason.”

  “Without even a fair hearing?” Tears threatened, so I turned away to hide my weakness.

  “Look at me, Hephzibah.” His voice, quieter now, was still as hard as granite. With a deep breath, I faced him, and he continued, “There will be a full investigation of the harem. Any woman found with idols or pagan engravings of any kind will be stoned.”

  “As the Law dictates, and as you have warned. It is a fair and just ruling, King Hezekiah.” I bowed.

  “Now you mock me?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and swallowed a caustic reply. “I was not mocking.” Opening my eyes, I met his gaze. “I’m telling you I don’t condone idolatry, and I believe you’re right to deal with it quickly and harshly.” Stubborn tears betrayed me, but I dared not turn away again.

  A moment of sadness invaded his anger. “I never thought you and your abba would conspire against me, Zibah. I guess no one is completely trustworthy.”

  “I hope someday you realize how wrong you are.”

  He glared at me, and I had to turn away, unable to bear the disdain any longer. I scanned the chamber I’d lived in for two years. The tapestries, the carpets, the fine furniture. It was more fragile than a dove’s nest. As easily destroyed as random twigs and garbage gathered hurriedly by wild birds. None of it brought peace. My henna-covered feet poked out from beneath my silk robe to mock me. How ridiculous they looked. Lifting my gaze to the angry king before me, I remembered the boy I first met on the litter. Lifeless and empty. Then tender and delightful. He’d given me life. He’d given me words. He’d given me love.

  “I will miss you, Hezi.” I started for the door, stepping over the shattered Asherah.

  “Stop, Hephzibah. We’re not finished talking.”

  “We didn’t talk, Hezi. You passed judgment, and I was condemned.”

  I walked by him, but he grabbed my arm. “You tell Isaiah to put on a robe or I’ll throw him in the dungeon to rot.”

  I looked down at his fingers digging into my arm and then into his blazing anger. “I haven’t talked to Abba in three weeks. Perhaps you should tell him.”

  He released me, and I left the chamber to the tune of his angry cry. “Then how does Isaiah know about Egypt?”

  41

  “How can we know when a message has not been spoken by the LORD?”

  If what a prophet proclaims in the name of the LORD does not take place…, that is a message the LORD has not spoken.

  —Deuteronomy 18:21–22

  Isaiah bore his humiliation with courage while proclaiming God’s message in the street, but when Judean soldiers covered him with a blanket and marched him into the palace, he thought he might die of shame. Whispers and sneers ushered him down the long hallways as two of the king’s guards escorted Isaiah into Hezekiah’s private chamber.

  Eliakim waited in the audience chamber, somber and silent, but Hezekiah met Yahweh’s prophet at the doorway. “Who told you I sent Shebna to Egypt?”

  Startled, Isaiah had expected to answer for his nakedness and hesitated.

  The king bristled. “Don’t lie to save your daughter. I’ve already banished her to the harem.”

  Isaiah shifted from angry prophet to irate parent. “Then you’ve wounded your innocent wife, and you’re more of a fool than I imagined.”

  “Careful, prophet. I’m your king, not your student, and I will only abide messages directly from Yahweh.” Hezekiah moved closer, grinding out the words. “Who told you about Shebna?”

  “Yahweh.” With Isaiah’s single word, all color drained from Hezekiah’s face. Isaiah almost felt sorry for the young king. Almost. “Why, Hezekiah? Why would you send anyone to Egypt for help against Assyria rather than trusting Yahweh for our protection? How many times did we study Yahweh’s prophecy to King Ahaz, when the Lord promised to protect us from Israel and Aram if your abba would simply trust God fully? But what did he do? King Ahaz stripped the Temple and sent gifts to Assyria, begging them for protection. Now we find ourselves indebted to Assyria under imminent threat.”

  Hezekiah’s face turned crimson. “I am not my abba.”

  The simple yet venomous words were true, but his need to say them revealed his own doubts. “No, son. You’re not your abba. Neither are you the anointed King of my prophecies.”

  The young king staggered back, mouth gaping. Sound escaped but no words. Finally, gathering his wits, the king’s eyes grew pleading. “Would Yahweh have me sit on my hands and do nothing to protect the people of Judah? Should I wait for Him to rain down gold from the heavens to fill our treasury? What is the responsibility of a king if not to forge peaceful alliances with the nations around him?”

  “Then why not send me, Hez?” Eliakim moved closer. “Shebna has as much tact as a mad dog in a sheepfold.”

  Hezekiah turned on him. “I’ve already told you—we need you here to construct a tunnel, to bring water from the Gihon spring into Jerusalem.”

  “No!” Isaiah’s heart nearly failed him. “You can’t alter the Gihon. It’s the holy place where Judah’s righteous kings have been crowned for centuries.”

  Hezekiah pulled at his hair and shouted, “Is that another word from the Lord, Isaiah? Did Yahweh tell you we shouldn’t bring water into the city through a tunnel in case of an Assyrian siege? Or did you just speak another opinion?” The king fell silent, measuring the length of Isaiah, wrapped in his woolen blanket. “Please tell me you aren’t walking around naked to get people’s attention because they’ve stopped listening to your prophecies.”

  Isaiah’s neck and cheeks flamed. “How dare you! I’m risking my home, my reputation, my wife’s shame to obey the word of the Lord.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Hezekiah glared, challenging. “Is your warning about the tunnel a mere opinion or a message from Yahweh?”

  Isaiah ground his teeth. “Must I be mute in your presence unless speaking God’s words?”

  Hezekiah dropped his gaze and shook his head. “So condemning the tunnel was your opinion—as was your belief all these years that I was the anointed King.” He returned sad eyes to his teacher. “You know my heart, Isaiah. Why can’t you trust that Yahweh is working through me to make these decisions?”

  “Why can’t you trust that Yahweh is working through me to speak to His people?” Isaiah dropped his blanket, exposing his nakedness.

  “Cover yourself!” Hezekiah’s face flamed,
and Eliakim rushed to wrap Isaiah in the blanket.

  Isaiah bowed his head, wishing for Aya’s arms. “Trust is not so simple when human decisions are required.”

  Hezekiah took a deep breath and blew it out. Then with a gentle voice he asked, “Why are you walking around naked, Isaiah?”

  “Because Yahweh commanded it—yes, a direct command.” Isaiah held the king’s gaze. “And it was a direct command to rebuke you for seeking a treaty with Egypt.”

  Hezekiah studied him for a long while. “You have sent scroll after scroll of so-called words from the Lord, none of which have come to pass, Isaiah. What am I to believe? You’re the one who pressed the words of the Torah into my heart and mind, ‘If what a prophet proclaims in the name of the LORD does not take place or come true, that is a message the LORD has not spoken….Do not be alarmed.’ How can I take any of your words seriously when none of these recent prophecies have come true? When you offer both Yahweh’s words and your own opinions with equal zeal?”

  Isaiah felt a slight prick of conscience but dared not agree lest the young king disregard all he’d said and written. “I also taught you that prophecy may have many fulfillments. Some in the present—in contexts both personal and corporate—while other fulfilments occur well into the future. Some even so distant that none of us will see them fulfilled. I cannot control God’s ways or His timing, but I must speak when He gives me words, Hezekiah.”

  The king exchanged a dubious look with Eliakim and whispered something Isaiah couldn’t hear. Eliakim hurried out of the chamber, and Hezekiah suddenly changed into the gracious host.

  “Come, Isaiah. Let’s sit down and have a cup of sweet wine.” He rang a bell for the servants and invited Isaiah to his audience chamber, making an awkward attempt at small talk. Isaiah played along, uncertain if he was waiting on soldiers or Aya to take him away, but it was obvious the king had called for reinforcements.

  When the knock sounded, Hezekiah called out, “Come!” and two sets of sandals slapped the floor. Eliakim was surely one, but who else?