by Mesu Andrews
In my spirit, I knew this prophecy and its interpretation were the verses to our song that had been so long unsung. I’d known for years that Hezi’s righteousness was but a foretaste of the anointed One’s perfection. Now, with bittersweet understanding, I knew his suffering was also a sign of the coming King.
Abba framed my cheeks. “There’s more, Daughter: ‘Though it was Yahweh’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer, and though he has become a sin offering, Yahweh will give him offspring and prolong his days.’ ” He searched my eyes. “Yahweh gave Hezekiah fifteen more years so you could bear a son, Zibah, an heir to King David’s throne.”
I stood, knocking over the stool, and turned away. I didn’t want Abba to see the doubt streaming down my cheeks. I could believe many things—but not this.
Abba’s hands rested on my shoulders. “May I tell you the rest?” Unable to speak, I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut. “After he has suffered, he will see the light of life and be satisfied.”
Sobs broke loose, and Abba turned me into his arms. “Shh, my girl. You have waited years to bear a son. Yahweh has now promised one and given your husband fifteen years to enjoy him.”
I wanted to believe, but a son seemed more impossible than dead Assyrians or Hezi’s healing. I was approaching the change of women. I was at peace with the God I’d found in the harem—in His words, in His presence. I had truly become Hephzibah in so many ways, yet my womb was still Desolation.
“You are Hephzibah,” Abba said, as if reading my thoughts. “Delight of the Lord, and He has promised.”
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Go and tell Hezekiah, “This is what the LORD, the God of your father David, says: I have heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will add fifteen years to your life.”
—Isaiah 38:5
Amram followed at a distance as Jashub and I took our time walking back to the palace. Jashub took my hand, perhaps sensing my churning thoughts. The tender gesture tightened my throat, but I hoped distraction would staunch my tears. “I forgot to give Abba the message that Hezi would see him at the Temple in two days.”
Jashub’s brows rose. “Has Hezi improved since last night?”
I shook my head, stubborn tears betraying lingering doubt. Perhaps I’d try a happier topic. “Hezi sent a message for you too. He’ll be honored to be Friend of the Bridegroom. Yaira made him agree before she would allow you to spy on the Assyrians—that was before Abba said they were dead Assyrians.”
He chuckled and squeezed my hand. “I would be honored to have Hezekiah as my Friend.”
I heard a dove’s coo and closed my eyes for a moment, blocking out everything else. The sound drew me. I would visit the dovecote today. Pray. Ask Yahweh why we suffer in this life. Then refocus on eternity—for the hundredth time. Jashub pulled me to his side, and I saw a stray stone that I’d almost stumbled over.
“You should pray with your eyes open, little sister.” I nudged him with my shoulder, reveling in our ease. We walked the rest of the way in silence. Jashub, likely dreaming of his wedding. Me, pondering the impossible promises of a miracle-working God.
When we arrived at my chamber door, the guards exchanged nervous glances. I looked over my shoulder to see if Amram had noticed.
He had. “Naam, what’s going on?”
The guard threw open the double doors. “See for yourselves.”
I saw Abijah first—beaming—and then my husband sitting up in our bed, clothed in a loose-fitting robe and eating broth. Holding his spoon in strong, flesh-colored hands.
I ran to the side of the bed, staring. I wanted to jump into his lap and hug him, but I was afraid I’d spill his broth. He looked absolutely normal except for those silly flea bites on his chest. Even the putrefied skin had been replaced with his beautiful tanned skin tone. “Your nose!”
He paused his slurping. “I’ve been told it’s a little big for my face, but it appears to be attached for the foreseeable future.”
“Oooh! Yaira, take this broth!” I grabbed the tray, handed it to my friend, and prepared to assault my husband with a thousand kisses—when a thought occurred to me. I peeked under the covers to see if the terrible boil had been leached out by the fig poultice.
“Zibah! Stop that!” The king of Judah blushed the color of ripe grapes, and the whole room erupted in laughter. I caught a glimpse of the fig poultice still in place. He chuckled. “Not everything is completely healed, my love, but I expect to worship in Yahweh’s Temple in two days.”
“Oh, Hezi. I’m sorry. I forgot to tell Abba your message.” Then I remembered Abba’s report and glanced at Amram. “Would one of you like to tell him about the Assyrians, or should I?”
Both men bowed, offering me the honor. “The Assyrians are dead, Hezi.”
He glanced at Jashub. “Have you already checked the camp?”
“No, but Abba was waiting for Zibah when she arrived early this morning. Yahweh had already told him about the Assyrians, and”—his brows rose as he saw the warning in my glare—“we’ll still need to check of course,” he said. Was he about to tell Hezi that Abba had prophesied an heir?
Hoping to distract Hezi from Jashub’s ill-spoken words, I turned to my husband’s guard. “Samuel, could you summon the commander and work with him to supervise the plunder and burial of the Assyrians?”
While Amram gave more detail to the king, Jashub took my arm and pulled me close, keeping his voice low. “Hezi deserves to know the full prophecy, Zibah. By bearing this illness, he saved the whole city. Yahweh will reward Hezekiah with a son and fifteen years to enjoy him. Tell him, Zibah. Rejoice in God’s promise and watch it unfold.”
Watch it unfold. Wasn’t that what Abba always told us when we didn’t understand a prophecy—watch it unfold and then praise Yahweh for His sovereign power? I turned to my husband. He finished the briefing with Amram and held out his hand to me. Beckoning. Jashub was right. He deserved the truth.
“Please, everyone, clear the chamber.” I raised my voice, startling even myself. “I’d like a few moments alone with my husband.” Bowing my head, I couldn’t look at him. I stood rooted to the floor until the door clicked and we were alone.
“Come,” he said. “Sit with me.”
I obeyed, my head still bowed.
“Tell me. Your abba must have said something else. It’s the only thing that could have upset you this much.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
My emotions raw, I needed to say it without his compassion. “The fifteen years you were given…”
I paused, and he asked, “Have they been taken away?”
“No. No!” I looked up and saw his relief. “It’s just that…”
“Zibah, tell me. It can’t be worse than what we’ve already endured.”
I laughed, frustration and fear warring within. “I thought I was finished enduring the struggle for this promise. Now, I must war with my faith again.”
“Faith is a battle we fight every day, my love.” He opened his arms. “Come, tell me the promise so I can pick up my sword and battle with you.”
I surrendered to the familiar curve of his arms. “The first part of the prophecy explains your illness.” I recounted how Hezi foreshadowed the coming King and His redemption. We wept together at both the honor and burden placed on my husband.
“Is that why you’re upset?” he asked.
“No.” I rested my head on his chest, unable to look at him. “These were Abba’s final words of prophecy: ‘Though he has become a sin offering, Yahweh will give him offspring and prolong his days.’ ”
Hezi was silent, but I heard his heart pound faster.
“Abba believes it means you and I will have a son during these last years of your life.” I paused, waiting for him to respond.
Silence.
I didn’t dare look up. My heart was too fragile. “Maybe it refers to the anointed King rather than—”
My husband’s body shook with sobs. I cradled his face and drew near. “What? What i
s it? I’m sorry. What did I say?”
“Yahweh has answered my prayer.”
Which prayer? Confused, I affirmed what I thought he meant. “Yes, He is so good to heal you and extend your life.”
“No, no,” he said. “When I was dying, I told Him that I could look forward to paradise if only we had a son who could take care of you when I was gone.” He wrapped me in his arms and wept grateful tears.
I wept too, but my heart was torn. Would I have the son I’d longed for—only to lose the husband I’d loved so long? Why was life so fragile and faith so hard? Why not trust, believe, and be done with it? Yahweh, give me the will to trust when my faith fails so I can lean into You till the answer comes.
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When the people got up the next morning—there were all the dead bodies! So Sennacherib king of Assyria broke camp and withdrew. He returned to Nineveh and stayed there.
—2 Kings 19:35–36
Three days ago, Hezi was a dead man. This evening, he stood with his wife and family on the eastern portico of the Temple. The priests had inspected him from head to toe. He was clean. Every skin lesion gone. Not even a lingering flea bite. Now the meticulous Law keepers were busy with this evening’s offerings. The lamb, the grain, the drink. According to Isaiah, Hezi himself had been made a sin offering—and he’d never felt more blessed in his life.
Surrounded by Judeans from as far away as Ziph and Timnah, Hezi lifted his voice in praise with the faithful who had been freed from Assyria’s iron grasp. His brother Mattaniah had sent a message early this morning that Sennacherib broke camp in Lachish and drove his troops northeast as if the spirits of Sheol were chasing them. Hezi prayed the Assyrians were caught and tormented as they’d so inhumanly tortured others.
Mattaniah had quarantined himself in the Lachish palace and was one of the few who had escaped the plague. Perhaps someday he would return to Jerusalem—and to Yahweh.
Zibah slipped her hand into Hezi’s, veiling the sign of affection between the folds of their robes. He wanted nothing more than to hide in their chamber for the next week, but it was Jashub and Yaira’s turn. They were long overdue for marital delight.
Hezi whispered against his wife’s head covering. “Are tonight’s wedding plans finished?”
She nodded, keeping her voice low amidst the singing. “After the private ceremony, they’ll stay in one of the harem chambers—at the far end, away from Rizpah’s helpful intrusions. One serving girl will attend them, and Samuel assigned two chamber guards. Everything’s ready.”
Satisfied, Hezi rejoined the praise, looking over the sea of faces. Behind him, around him, and in the streets beyond, people worshiped even though they couldn’t see the sacrifice. Yahweh’s presence had overflowed the walls of His Temple and was shining from every Judean’s face. Only the Passover crowd at the beginning of his reign had been larger, but the worship had never been sweeter.
Hezi noticed the stolen glances between Yaira and Jashub, their long wait nearly over. What better way to crescendo Yahweh’s praise than to unite these precious friends in marriage. When the sacrifices at the Temple ended, the high priest met family and friends in the royal courtyard at the moon’s zenith. Yaira had planned for a wedding under the stars—appropriate for a couple in their twilight years. She was forty-three yet as giddy as a maiden and Jashub much the same.
After the ceremony, Hezi quieted the celebrating guests. “As a token of my gratitude, I appoint Jashub to my royal council and”—he produced a scroll from his pocket—“you now own a private estate in Jerusalem’s western hills.”
The newlyweds exchanged an awkward glance, and Yaira inspected her sandals. Jashub bowed. “We’re grateful, my king.” But his tone sounded like Hezi had just handed them rotten dates.
The king looked from one to the other. “Why the long faces?”
Yaira’s cheeks pinked. “Your gifts are more than generous, King Hezekiah, but we enjoy our lives and would rather stay close to our family.”
Hezi was grateful for her honesty. “Then you shall have your pick of chambers in the palace.”
Zibah laced her arm in his. “With the exception of Hezi’s and mine.”
Yaira’s laughter was like the patter of rain on pottery. Soft. Gentle. Cleansing.
Jashub couldn’t take his eyes from her. “Can we choose the chamber after the wedding week?” The anxious groom then whisked his bride away amid cheers and well wishes.
Hezi leaned heavily on his bride. “I’m exhausted. How about you?” She nodded, and they began their short walk to their chamber.
His wife had been joyful and pleasant during the wedding, but he sensed an underlying sorrow. He suspected Isaiah’s prophecy still weighed heavily on her heart. She’d been pensive and withdrawn since hearing it. Hezi wasn’t offended. He trusted Yahweh now more than ever. And he trusted his wife’s commitment to find Yahweh amid her pain.
He kissed the top of her head as they neared their chamber.
She looked up. “What was that for?”
“Because you were the most beautiful woman at the wedding.” She smiled, but the joy didn’t reach her eyes. His heart ached for her. Yahweh, please bless us with a child soon.
Guards opened the double doors of their chamber, welcoming them into the low-lit peace of their private world. Yaira had chosen a new chamber maid, who had done her job well. Hezi walked straight to the bed, sat down, and began removing his sandals.
Zibah had stopped halfway across the room. “I’ll still be all right if I don’t have a baby, Hezi. Yahweh has given me family to care for me after you’re gone.” She rushed to him, kneeling at his feet. “I want our last years to be happy ones, not waiting on a pregnancy that may never come. Can’t we go on living as if Abba never spoke the prophecy?”
Weariness crushed his bones, but the burden his wife carried seemed even heavier. He kicked his sandals aside and drew her into his lap. “When one of God’s prophecies doesn’t come to pass, it’s not because He failed; it’s because we misunderstood it.” Her features softened, giving him permission to continue. “Your abba believes you and I will have a child—perhaps several children. But remember what he said about interpretation? It’s God directed but susceptible to his—and our—human fallibility. If Yahweh’s intention is different than Isaiah’s interpretation, we’ll praise God for the miraculous ways He’s already blessed us, and we’ll watch for His alternative fulfillment.”
She blew out a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, blinking back tears. Tricks she’d learned through the years to control her emotions.
Hezi drew a single finger from her cheek down the length of her neck and kissed where it landed. He’d regained her attention. “Zibah, we’re married. That’s a miracle. Judah worships Yahweh. That’s a miracle. I’m alive. That’s a miracle.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. “You and abba talked the whole night without arguing. Now that’s a miracle.”
He laughed. “You see? Yahweh does great and marvelous things.” Their teasing ebbed to silence, and he pulled her arms from his neck and looked into her eyes. “It’s hard to trust God when reality drains our hope, but God must be our hope for a new reality.”
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Hezekiah had very great wealth and honor, and he made treasuries for his silver and gold and for his precious stones, spices, shields and all kinds of valuables. He also made buildings to store the harvest of grain, new wine and olive oil; and he made stalls for various kinds of cattle, and pens for the flocks. He built villages and acquired great numbers of flocks and herds, for God had given him very great riches.
—2 Chronicles 32:27–29
Yaira braided my hair into an intricate weave, wrapping strings of gems around the ever-encroaching gray streaks in my dark curly locks. Two-year-old Kenaz toddled around, finding every forbidden trinket in Auntie Zibah’s chamber. He was the joy of my life. Ellah, now eight, considered herself his second ima, and he was the reason his wet nurse always
looked exhausted.
“Yaira,” I said, “let me tend Ellah and Kenaz this morning and give you and his maid a little respite.”
I studied her reflection in my bronze mirror, a habit I’d established when we ourselves were still girls.
She whispered like a conspirator. “Why don’t the children and I stay for the morning? I need no respite from God’s miracles. I’m not sure Kenaz’s maid feels that way. I’ll feed him yogurt and give her a break.”
Yaira’s perfect work on my braids complete, my maid held up the new robe Hezi had given me last week, made with silk from Persia. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and shivered at the softness.
Yaira whistled through her teeth. “That’s the most beautiful robe I’ve ever seen.”
I smiled, inspecting the sleeves and the design. “Do you ever remember our first days in Jerusalem and then consider where we are now and wonder, Why me, Yahweh? Why have You blessed me so?”
Yaira snagged little Kenaz as he ran past her. “I think it nearly every day, my friend.” She tickled her son’s tummy to hear him giggle. “Why are you dressing so regal today? Are more foreign guests coming to pay honor to the miracle king of Judah?”
I struggled to cinch my belt and motioned for my maid to help. “Yes, I believe he said something about more Cushite ambassadors from Egypt this week. I’ve lost track. Hilkiah says Judah’s treasury hasn’t been so full since the days of Solomon.”
The maid kept pulling and pulling to get my robe together, but either I’d grown larger or the keeper of the wardrobe had made serious miscalculations. “Yaira, look how small they’ve made this robe.”
“Zibah, your tummy!”
My cheeks warmed. I knew I’d put on weight around my middle, which Ima said happened with women as they approach forty. “I’ve tried to cut down on fruit.”
