Daniel in the Hands of Babylonians

Smash! The door of the neighbor’s house shattered into a thousand splinters. Soldiers of Babylon’s notorious army had come at last into the city to gather plunder after a long siege. They were drunk with the thrill of victory. After months of privation and fervent prayers of the captive Jerusalemites, the siege had defeated the city. Prophets declared that God was fulfilling His promised judgment on His unfaithful people. Some prophets, that is. Actually, a majority of Daniel’s people had turned to listen to the prophets whose words flattered and provided false hope. Their messages ranged from, “Give allegiance to the gods who will protect you,” and, “The king should seek help from Egypt,” to, “Plead with the Eternal that He would turn from His wrath. Always before, God has delivered His people.” But Daniel had studied at the feet of the old rabbis and the prophets who spoke the word of the LORD. When the Israelites had complained in the desert southwest of Judah, God had judged them. He was merciful and slow to anger, but Judah had deserved this for a long time.

Mama cried in the corner, as every breathing woman in Jerusalem did tonight. The presence of the soldiers meant that their husbands, the last defense, had perished. No time for traditional mourning of sack-cloth and ashes: soon the soldiers would simply kill them all. So Mama knelt in the corner, saying kaddish and gasping out prayers that the remnant would mourn their deaths forever.

If Daniel, a sturdy 15, had known any battle songs, he would have been chanting them. However, the laws and songs of his God were seldom violent. When Daniel studied the law, he saw that every law – even every judgment – was evidence of God’s mercy. Instead, he quoted the most fundamental truth of his faith: “The Lord our God, the Lord, is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” In Daniel’s current mood, it sounded something like a call to rally. Every mother in Judah hoped her son would survive as part of the remnant that would always remain in fulfillment of God’s promises to Abraham and David. Out of such a hope Mama shushed her only remaining son. If he were not so defiant, maybe he would be favored and spared.

Ashpenaz strode into the plundering band of troops, and a hush followed. Keeping a level head amidst such circumstances could mean a promotion. Besides, he had orders from the king. Nebuchadnezzar did not want gold or jewels as much as he wanted converts to witness his kingly prestige. That would show the world that Babylon’s might was in the mind as well as the sword. So the king himself had deployed his highest court official to choose very healthy, extremely teachable young men from each conquered nation.

All the men groaned at the reread of the edict. Ashpenaz was to enter each building, accompanied by his personal guard, first. If and when he found good subjects, nothing should be done in front of them to scar their impression of Babylon’s armies. Once the captive was escorted away, then the sack of the city could continue. At the completion of this sentence, an unstoppable roar resumed.

Next door, Daniel gripped his knife tighter as the noise grew. Fear must not show. The soldiers would be merciless if they thought there would be sport. A doubt crept into his mind, and breached the dam of doubts that now flooded his young thoughts. “Could I run? My life is in ruins. How could the Eternal do this to us, the faithful? To prevent the torment, why not turn the blade on himself?” The door to their own house swung open. An arrogant, unscathed officer strode in. Daniel thrust the doubts aside, replacing them with strategies for his fury.

Daniel stepped one brave, threatening step toward the official. He gave them a defiant look, as though he and his little knife could stand between them and his mother, and prevent them most of all from reaching his temple. They would desecrate it. Ashpenaz smiled Daniel whispered again his creed, expecting his death. Scanning Daniel, Ashpenaz decided the boy looked healthy, had obvious spirit, and the words he was muttering sounded poetic, as only learned men spoke. Yes, a fine example.

“Take him,” he nodded towards Daniel. At first he struggled, but, seeing a glimmer of her faintest hopes, Mama called him down. For a moment, Daniel hesitated, and considered defying Mama. But that would defy his God, all for which he was trying to stand. He would be no better than the soldiers taking him. Nothing and no one was harmed as Daniel was marched through the house, but the moment he passed the threshold, the destruction inside began.

This street boasted the houses of the wealthiest families in Judah, most of them members of the royal clan. Down the road, Ashpenaz selected several more young men: Azariah the nephew of one of the queens, Hananiah a son of a successful wine merchang, and Mishael the only child of a Levite who oversaw temple donations.

The morning arrived, leaving the prisoners shackled, but together, in a tent outside the city. Very few Hebrews were left alive inside the walls. Rumors claimed that their weak king, Jehoiakim, had been captured and would go to Babylon to betray his people as a vassal of the emperor. At least, that was how Daniel and his fellows interpreted the news.

Eventually, as the smoke thinned over Jerusalem, the boys began to share their stories. Before, they had seen each other in the streets, even played together, but now, after on enight, they were new people. What had been was entirely erased. This new life was marked by the events of the previous night.

Hananiah’s older sister had been taken as wife for one of the higher-ranking officers. Mishael spat, because such a marriage was against their law. As a Levite, Mishael was an expert. His father had died a swift death before his eyes, protecting some sacred scroll from defamation. Azariah, the oldest of the group, had been home alone.

Throughout the hours, the four pondered and discussed last night, their current situation, and what to do next. “We should make a resolve,” said Daniel, by far the most passionate in the group, “to keep the Law. We have seen the fruits of disobedience. Since you are the Levite, Mishael, we will ask for your expertise. In memory of our home, our God, and what happened here, we will pray towards this place every day. Mama’s last prayers were that the remnant would not forget. I will remember the prayer of King Solomon, ‘And if they turn back to You with all their heart and soul in the land of their captivity where they were taken, and pray toward the land You gave their fathers, toward the city You have chosen and toward the temple I have built for Your name; then from heaven, Your dwelling place, hear their prayer and their pleas and uphold their cause. And forgive Your people, who have sinned against you.’ Surely the Eternal will remember the prayer of Solomon, even from long ago.” All four of them agreed to uphold the standards of the Law to their deaths, and to pray daily to the One God.

As their trek northward began, whispers told that they were being withdrawn early. Some rumored that the sack of Jerusalem had not been completed. Had God spared them? Then, when they reached Syria, the messages were undeniable: a vassal-king had been set up in Judah, a relative of Jehoachim. They boys’ eyes glimmered as they received the news. Perhaps there were enough fiery young men left to fuel a rebellion.

The ecstasy of the thought dwindled with every step further from their homes. What good would a rebellion do them? While the captives were treated well, the desert sun and weary miles depressed the whole camp. Daniel was also aware that they were passing through relatively hostile territory. Nebuchadnezzar’s armies were hated in many lands.

Babylon was a land hovering just inside their maps. None of the young men knew how long the journey would take; they estimated several months at least. In their Torah, Eden had been near or surrounding Babylon, before the flood of Noah. Nimrod, the great king, had set up his throne near there. Abraham had grown up in Ur, a now desolate city in the in the southeast of the Chaldean empire. Judah’s brethren had been taken decades ago by the Assyrians. Tales told that the Babylonians had extended their empire to include Assyria under the rule of Nabopolassar and his general-son, Nebuchadnezzar. The whole area seemed to be prone to vicious turmoil and violent conquests.

Nebuchadnezzar was famous for many things: his ruthless armies, brilliant strategies, lovely palace, dependence on mysticism, and arrogance not the least. His official, Ashpenaz, followed suit in at least two of those ways. The first was obviously his arrogance. When he walked your way, something about the look in his eyes, or perhaps his gait, made you feel incredibly small. Less obvious at first, but more deadly, were his strategies. In his camp, everything was ordered, clean, and polished. He was strict on behavior, but he let his men have their fun whenever there was a chance. Loyalty and friendship were gained by brilliant tactics. Ashpenaz would make a man feel it was an honor to do some menial task, or that he was merciful to ask only this much. Were it not for Ashpenaz’s own devotion to Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel would have thought he was preparing to supplant him – or his heir.

Strategies were not for soldiers only. Already the captives’ conversion was beginning. They were given new, Babylonian style clothes and haircuts. A bit of a skirmish arose when one of the young men refused to cut his hair, for he had made a Nazarite vow. Despite his protests, Ashpenaz saw that every curly lock was trimmed. Also, Hebrew was forbidden in the camp. In this way, the boys were forced to learn the tongue of the Chaldeans quickly, and they were all much quieter; Ashpenaz had disenabled their ability to organize and communicate a revolt.

As they neared Babylon, the young men were offered dainties and pleasures forbidden by the Law. Daniel and his friends stood resolutely apart from those who gave in, shaking their heads at one who looked to them for guidance. In some ways they had become leaders of the group. More and more as the language became easier, the other boys would come to the four friends with their problems and questions. On the other hand, they were outsiders to the half of the group who gave in to the guards.

“Daniel? Daniel, I would like to speak with you,” called Josiah. His parents had named him that in memory of the faithful king, but Josiah had turned traitor. Inside his tent, Daniel was surprised to hear Josiah’s voice. They had been friends in the other world, in Jerusalem. He saw and felt the pressures Josiah had. Many times, even Daniel thought he would give in himself. Daniel could not be angry with Josiah. Rather, he pitied him.

“Come.” Both boys were in the top five in fluent speech. The other three proficients were also “traitors.” Daniel was a quick learner. “What is it, Josiah?”

“I had to talk. Daniel, this won’t be easy if you resist.”

“It will be impossible if I don’t.”

“We have no hope of returning to our old way of life,” continued Josiah. “Our God did not save us. There is no point in continuing to serve Him.”

“Right and wrong have not changed.”

“Lots of the boys look up to you. They follow your lead. The guards told me that once we get to Babylon – start the real training – there will be punishment for resistance. By your example, the others will be hurt.”

“I won’t change.”

“But don’t you see? That is the point. We will change. The question is how: with pain or without?”

“Then they will have to decide; I cannot give or withhold pain. From what you have said, I think their choice for me will be pain.”

“They are saying that if we cooperate, we get an audience with the king.”

“I don’t care.”

“Daniel, we could ask to return, for the lives of our people!” Josiah pleaded.

“Nebuchadnezzar doesn’t give favors, and if you asked, you would probably get your head chopped off.”

“Yours will be chopped off if you don’t do what they say!”

“If my life matters so little to them, I’ll live it how I like.”

“There is no purpose,” Josiah argued.

“There is every purpose!” For the first time, Daniel raised his voice. “God is still there. Right is still right. If He wants to use me, I want to be ready.”

“Whether He’s there or not, he isn’t powerful enough. I’m on the winning side.”

“For what? To be paraded around like plunder? Some life!”

“Positions are being offered under Ashpenaz in the court of the king for those who finish training best.”

“No, Josiah. I have seen what disobedience to God costs. The sight wasn’t pretty. Jerusalem burned. My family died. Mighty Jerusalem gave herself finally standing for right. If necessary, I will follow.”

Josiah ducked out of the tent. Soldiers called the thoughts now invading his mind ‘doubts.’ But weren’t they convictions? For once, he saw everything from Daniel’s perspective: Josiah was a traitor, God was just, and Jerusalem was noble even though she had been wrong. And this perspective would not be shaken off.

After Josiah had returned to the other side of the camp, Daniel knelt. The effort of the debate had drained him. Scarcely 16, his fists flew like a boy, and the passion that drove him was the same fire from his boyhood, but something was different – in the way he looked at life and the way he addressed his God. Through either the tragic captivity or some natural process of growing up, God had become personal to him. Daniel turned back towards Jerusalem. “Have mercy on Your people…” he began.

A little later, Daniel and Hananiah made their rounds of the camp, encouraging their side to remain true. As they neared the unmarked line between their sides, they heard a raucous in one of the tents. Technically, they weren’t supposed to cross the line, but who would know? Daniel movied in closer to hear. The Babylonian words he picked up he recognized as curses, but as of yet, their group hadn’t interpreted the meaning. None of them were brave enough to ask.

Hananiah was ever the most mischievous. He could manipulate his voice to sound like almost anything. After listening for a while, he pulled up a weed, set it on his head, and marched to the front of the tent. “What on earth?” thought Daniel. Then, putting on his gruffest imitation of Ashpenaz’s voice, thickly laden with a Babylonian accent, Hananiah demanded to know what was going on. The soldiers snapped to attention inside the tent, silenced by their commander.

Daniel watched the scene from behind a crate. This stack had been lugged there by Daniel and a few of the strongest faithful that afternoon. He laughed. The silhouette shadowed on the pale goat-skin tent looked exactly like Ashpenaz in his officer’s cap. The ear-to-ear grin on Hananiah’s face was not noticeable in the shadow. If Hananiah was caught with that ridiculous clump of weeds on his head, he’d be done for.

“We were just persuading a captive not to defect back to the other side, sir.” Despite their fear of the officer, the soldiers believed he would understand the fun.

Continuing the charade, Hananiah tried to conceal the concern he felt, “Yes? Which one? Is he hurt?”

“Yes, sir. Josiah, sir. We sent him on a debate mission as you ordered, but it had the opposite effect. He said, when he came to me, he said that no matter what we offered, he wanted back into the other side of the camp. So I told him there’s no going back. But he picked up his things and walked out, so we dragged him back. He gave us a struggle, but we won quickly enough, sir.” As if to punctuate the actual meaning, Josiah moaned from the corner. Daniel flinched. By your example, others will be hurt. Others? Even Josiah? It had started with him.

“Our policy is not force!” snapped Hananiah, half enjoying the game, half angry. “Let him go back if he chooses. Offer gifts, honors, and ease, but no threats! That is not your job.” How often did Hananiah sneak over to spy out their policies, Daniel wondered. But Hananiah had made a mistake; the soldiers were letting Josiah go, and leaving the tent themselves. Hananiah looked around like a cornered jackal.

“Hey, what?” the first soldier looked confused. The shadow had dwindled to an ornery boy, weed tipped over atop his head. “Where is Ashpenaz?” they demanded. Lying wasn’t allowed.

“He isn’t here. He had business to attend to.” Hananiah returned to halting Babylonian. “Excuse me.” Hananiah scurried away, back to his tent.

Daniel was forced to remain in his hiding place until the guards were gone. While he waited, he listened to the defeated sobs and occasional moans from Josiah. Was doing right really worth the cost? What if everyone suffered like this? But amidst the sobs, Daniel thought he faintly caught the words, “Love the LORD your God…” That passage was sung over cradles, cheered at feasts, quoted on Sabbath, cried in battle, and wept at death. Which was it now? Read more!

A Memorial Day Tribute

Today, I am supposed to remember – remember the sacrifice men gave to keep me free. But most of these heroes are numbers: a few names, still fewer stories. What are the stories of those who really fought, not for honor or reward, but for love of family, friend, and neighbor? Those whose stories are told did the exceptionally great, were given one great choice – a chance to be remembered forever. Because their stories bring greatness, they are so much less.

The report was in: America was going to war. All was excitement for the young man and his brother. It was entertainment – far away and unreal. Mother stopped still several months later. She couldn’t breathe or talk or move. Fear forced tears into her eyes. And memories came back. Memories of losing her own father screamed at her. She walked over and dropped the notice, a draft notice, in the lap of her scarcely eighteen year old son. She had made her choice.

Matthew picked up the notice and opened it. He sighed as he read the details. Childish excitement was left behind. Standing, he reached to comfort his mother, and reached for his life which was racing away from his grasp even as the reality of war drew nearer.

The following day he waited in line with many others his age. He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice as he answered the enlistment officer’s questions. The form was filled out. With his signature he sealed his doom, whatever that may be.

Orders came for his assignment and training within the week. A tearful farewell was given. His father and brother were proud, his mother terrified and sad, and Matt was already lonely, his spirit oppressed by the uncertainty of his future.

He reported as ordered and trained well. Full effort was put into doing his best. All he had, he devoted to his task.

Every decision brought him nearer to death, yet at any one of them he could have turned back. Soon, Matt was out on the high seas, manning a lookout post for on his ship. Other sailors seemed confident that they would see their families again. Some didn’t care; they’d rather not see them again regardless. Matt served on board, sacrificing time that could now never be spent with those he loved.

The young soldier survived many battles and hope crept into his heart. Friends were wounded, and acquaintances killed, but Matt went on. Hope could be dangerous in war. Hopelessness could be fatal.

His captain informed the men of the next attack. It would be an important encounter in the Navy’s strategy. If they failed this mission, home could be a thing of the past. Matt remembered the people of home, almost a sacred word now. Men spoke it in whispers. His work was for them. He cared enough for those at home to do anything in order to keep them safe.

All men took their positions. Matt passed a door. This door led to a corridor and, more importantly, to a small, secret room where he could sit out the battle unnoticed. A chance to be safe! He walked past the door, faithful to his responsibilities.

The fighting began. A bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into his friend. His friend perished. Matt looked one grief-stricken moment at his comrade lying defeated on the deck. As an explosion in the water rocked the ship, Matt looked around, resumed firing, and spoke aloud the names of those on his ship whom he remembered. None of them paid any attention to him, but he continued.

A bomb split the ship at last, and sent the entire crew to their grave. No one would tell their story. No one knew it. They died the way they lived, not sure. Not sure of who would win, of whether their deaths meant anything. Hundreds of men were buried in the sea by an enemy who couldn’t even see the faces – an enemy who wouldn’t pay for his crime. These men weren’t given one great, definite choice; they made many little decisions, and ultimately, they chose to be brave.

Word came home of the deaths. Only names. No record of noble last moments or bravery or daring conquests. Families grieved. Then they chose. They chose to remember.

To be honest, I don’t know their stories or their names. Some died willingly, some reluctantly. Without their sacrifice the life I know could not exist. The real heroes we celebrate are those whose deeds were no less honorable because they were unknown. Those who were unable to receive glory for their choices gave us cause to spend a long weekend with the truly valuable, and to pause to remember.

To God be all glory. Read more!

Titleless Poem (like Emily Dickinson's)

(by Michael)

There once was an old man,
Tender and grey,
Who looked out his window
One cold winter’s day,

His old eyes were open
Not looking around.
Beside his squeaky rocking chair
Nothing made a sound,

As he sat there rocking,
He remembered days gone by.
Suddenly the rocking stopped
And a tear formed in his eye.

The old man’s face grew tired
As he remembered his past pain.
The feelings from that awful day,
Like an old knife wound they came.

As the tear ran slowly down
The tired man’s dear face
He remembered her love and tenderness
And the warmth of her embrace.

Once he had started rocking again
He asked, “God why did she leave?
Am I to live in agony
Only living to grieve?”

After asking his heart felt question
His tears swelled up once more,
And as he dosed off his glasses
Dropped silently on the floor.

While he slept he dreamt of things
He never thought in this life he’d see.
He saw her face and held her close.
He was a bundle of jubilee.

Laughing a laugh the likes of which
His body had never known,
In his dreams and in her arms
He felt like he was home.

The man’s cat came up purring
Awaking him from sleep.
When the man realized where he was,
It made him begin to weep,

Now a cry of anguish
From losing her again
Filled his little, drafty house
With the sound of immense pain.

How could he bear it,
With dreams such as that,
Who had awakened him?
Oh, that stupid cat.

Had he been close to dying
Was he really almost home
Only to return, to his lonely life
With all the pain which it had known?

With a bitter heart he sat there
Wishing it were not so.
Why was she the one taken
Could he not also go?

With these thoughts he fell yet again
Into an uneasy sleep,
But the dream he dreamt this time ‘round
Was truly an occasion to weep.

For all around him were thousands
Wailing and shouting in pain.
The sound was the same as that
Which from himself once came.

But there was no end to their weeping.
No silence was ever found.
In his dream he found himself weeping
As he fell to the cold hard ground.

When suddenly he looked up
And there before his eyes
The darkness broke, the wailing ceased,
As he beheld the blazing skies.

From within the fiery sight
A figure familiar and strong
Held out its hand and helped him up
While singing a strange new song.

What a song, a wild, beautiful song,
The sweetest ever heard,
And as it faded, and the brightness waned,
He softly heard these words,

“Son, why do you grieve?
When so long ago
I chose the time
For her to go.

She is with me.
I’ll never leave you.
I’ve told you as much,
And I know you knew.

My child, do not greive.
Your time has been set,
But it cannot be now.
Trust me, not yet.”

And as he awoke
Before dreaming more
Two Jehovah’s Witness’
Approached his old wooden door.

Looking toward heaven
He whispered now silently,
“Ah, yes, dear Lord,
I think… yes, now I think I see.”

Read more!

Abigail

Abigail sat under a lonely tree at her home in the desert near Carmel. Her stack of scrolls that she was supposed to study lay, unopened, a few feet away. She simply could not focus today. King Saul was away at battle – her two brothers and father with him. Rumors had reported that the Philistines held the upper hand with their unchallenged giant from Gath.

“Giant?” she had questioned. “There are no more giants. They all died with the rest of the Anakim.” That’s what her father said, at least. All accounts seemed to agree, though, that a man nearly as tall as the tree she sat under had the whole Israelite army terrified. Maybe her father was wrong.

That was all quite far away, though. Abigail had to worry about her studies and chores. “It isn’t fair,” she though, “I’m the only girl in the whole Maon region that has to study. Even all the boys, the usual victims of schooling, get a break for the excitement of far away places and legendary giants. Why am I stuck with boring scrolls and chores?”

There was no time to ponder this question; however, because just then her mother called up the hill, “Abigail! Chores!”

Abigail was no ordinary girl. Ever since she was little, it had been evident that she was beautiful, and not only that – she was smart, too. She had long, dark curls that flowed down her back and big, blue eyes that twinkled in the morning sunlight. Born during the rule of Samuel, the last judge, she didn’t seem to fit in with the evil society that was rampant in Israel. She longed for times of glory such as she read about: with Moses and Pharaoh in Egypt.

The house of Abigail’s father was one of the few that had remained faithful to Jehovah, the God of her people. Now, in their desire to become more like the nations around them, the people had chosen a king. At first, he had seemed perfect: tall, handsome, and a strong leader. But when faced with real danger, Saul had proved a coward greatly lacking in faith.

As unusual as it seemed to all of her friends, Abigail’s father had decided that she, too, must study and become wise in the fear of the Lord. “She will make some man a wonderful wife someday,” he said, but that was just what Abigail was afraid of.

When the floor was swept, she took the laundry down to the little brook to wash. She had this terrible sense of foreboding that something, something was happening. Abigail glanced at all of the surrounding hills worriedly. No, it was safe; no raiders were coming, and no messengers had yet appeared over the horizon.

The setting sun cast long shadows all around as Abigail made her way back to the little house where dinner was waiting. The harsh desert wind blew strong in her face. She looked up just in time to see a cloud of dust rolling toward her. There was no more time for thinking. Abigail lifted up her long skirt and bolted for the house. “Dust storm, Mama!” she called, slamming the door behind her. Her mama appeared around the corner, tying on a scarf. “I’m going to get the goats in the barn. You cover the windows.” Mama was always calm. Abigail would rather scream and hide in her room.

After the windows were shut, Abigail sat down at the dinner table. Her sense of foreboding was not gone, but now, at least, she was hopeful. Mama came in, took off her scarf, smoothed back her hair, and dipped her hands in the wash-bowl. They both bowed their heads in silent prayer, pleading for the safe return of their family and thanking the Almighty for the day’s bread.

The desert wind blew so hard, it shook the house so it rattled, but Abigail thought she heard a faint knock on the front door. The three men didn’t wait for the door to open, but burst in quickly. Abigail’s brothers together picked her up and danced and sang around the little room. Her father laughed merrily and his eyes shone.

Later, the two bewildered women got the rest of the family to sit down and tell them what happened.

“We all thought it was just going to be another uneventful day,” Abigail’s father reported. “There had been no word from King Saul, so we all sat down to talk. Maybe there was an extra bit of noise in the next tent, but none of us thought anything of it. Suddenly, the battle trumpets blew. We all sprang up to collect our helmets and swords, then ran out to the lines.

“The giant – yes, he was a real giant – stomped down into the valley between our camps. ‘Where’s he going?’ we all wondered. Just then, a short little boy ran down from our camp yelling and swinging his slingshot. All of us men lined up were asking ourselves what on earth that kid was doing. After all, he was only a little older than you, Abigail.

“Well, the giant took one look at him (turns out his name is David) and roared with laughter. He had barely gotten ten words out, though, when the stone hit him right between the eyes. Speaking of eyes, none of us men could believe our own. That big man: helmet, sword, and all, fell straight to the ground so hard that the little kid running towards him nearly fell over.

“What do you think David did next? He grabbed that big Philistine’s sword and hefting it with both hands, dropped it right down on the giant’s neck!” Abigail closed her eyes and shuddered, trying to block out the gruesome image. “We rushed the Philistines and defeated them with David at the head and King Saul at the rear.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mama. “Saul has his thousands, but David his ten-thousands!”

“That isn’t all, either,” declared Joshua, smiling at his big brother. “David and Saul are coming through here – this very town – on their way home!”

“What a day you’ve had! Thank the Lord you are safe! Praise Him for sending a little boy to give you victory and teach King Saul a lesson! But you have come a long way. Go to bed, all of you. Get some sleep!”

As Abigail slipped into bed, she silently disagreed with her parents. David was not little if he was older than her; she certainly wasn’t little. She thanked God, all the same, for bringing her father and brothers safely home.


“Wake up, Sunshine!” called her father early the next morning. “David will be here soon!” Abigail rolled over and groaned. The sun wasn’t even up yet! Neither was “Sunshine.” She dressed quickly, though, and right after a quick breakfast, she received the order to “Go pick some flowers!” Fearing to miss David and Saul’s visit, Abigail wasted no time.


Soon, the whole town was out along the main road, dancing, singing, and chanting, “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands.” When King Saul, Abner (the commander of the army), Prince Jonathan, and David approached, music played and flowers flew. Saul did not look up or smile, but just glowered back at David.

After they had passed, and the crowd was thinning, Nabal, the son of a rich, proud man from the country, made his way to Abigail’s father. “A job well done,” he commended the soldiers as if it was his right. (Nabal and his father had not gone to fight, but had sent servants in their places.) “I wanted to speak with you, now that you’re back,” he stated, turning towards Abigail’s father and glancing her way.

As he took her father’s arm and stepped away, Abigail felt her stomach tighten and her head grow light. She knew her parents approved of Nabal and his money, but something in that glance made her cringe.

“Steady, Abigail,” said Joshua, putting out his arm to catch her fall. “A little too much excitement, maybe?” Seeing the look on her face, he changed his mind. With one, meaningful look, he seemed to say, “I understand. Don’t worry. Let’s just get you home.”

Ever since they were little, Abigail and Joshua had been close. They seemed to be on the same caravan of thought. Although Joshua was sometimes a pain and Abigail had seen less of him recently, they always listened to and understood each other. That’s why, right then, on the walk home, Joshua also felt a twinge of fear.

In some of their talks, Joshua and Abigail had agreed that Nabal was an arrogant manipulator with only his own self to care about and look after. He was definitely not their favorite person. Now, Joshua was sure, Nabal would get his way.

“Any better?” he asked. The look on her face said no. “Are you sure that’s what he wanted?”

“What else would he want from Father?” she threw back. “And you know him: always getting what he wants. But… Joshua, I-I couldn’t stand it. What shall I do?”

“You could be very rude to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to marry someone who would make his life miserable.”
“Brilliant. Then not only he, but also everyone else would hate me. That’s wrong. Besides, by then it would be too late. It is probably too late already.” Abigail objected.

“Maybe you could run away. Go… to Egypt? The Philistine camps?” She frowned. “I know, King Saul’s palace.”

“By appointment only,” she quoted the king’s decree. “Just give up. There isn’t any other way.”

“But you’d be miserable.”

“I’d have plenty of money.” Abigail seemed to end the conversation. Maybe she was just imagining it.


“Morning!” Mama’s voice betrayed her excitement. “Your father went out early. He should be back soon.” If Mama said one more word…

“I have chores. I’ll be back for lunch,” Abigail called, leaving the house with an armload of laundry brought home from the battle.

Down at the creek, she met Miriam. Their brothers were talking a ways off. Neither girl said anything as Abigail set to work. After a while, she noticed Miriam was watching her. “Anything wrong?” asked Abigail.

“I thought you would tell me. Everyone in town is talking. You see, Nabal told the Levite who will be performing the ceremony, and he told his sons who told my brothers who told me. I think that is what they’re talking about over there. At least they were. You are so lucky!” Miriam could talk sheep up a mountain. “Well, aren’t you excited?”

“Excited? No. Nervous? Yes.” Answered Abigail. It seemed like a reasonable reply. She hoped Miriam wouldn’t ask any more questions. The tears were already threatening to burst out. But she had no such luck.

“Understandable. Mama says every bride gets nervous. How did you accomplish such a thing?” Miriam had pushed it too far.

“Accomplish such a thing?” Abigail burst out crying and screaming. “Accomplish? Me? I didn’t accomplish anything! Just because Nabal is a descendant of Caleb and has lots of money, he thinks he can do whatever he wants.” By now Joshua and Miriam’s brother were there, trying to calm Abigail down. “Now he decided that what he wants is to ruin my life. No problem.” She broke into sobs.

“Umm,” said Joshua, “I think we’ll take a walk.” Then to Abigail, “Come on; it’s going to be ok. You hear Mama and Father talking last night, too?” It wasn’t a question. He already knew. “When Father comes back, you’re going to have to try to be happy and surprised. Do you want to practice?” His forced smile was so terrible; she couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s better,” he laughed. “Since we can’t change it, we might as well laugh at it.”

Joshua and Miriam helped Abigail with the laundry. Everything Joshua folded looked like someone sat on it, but it made Abigail laugh. Abigail carried the pile home. She laughed, talked, and smiled all the way. Joshua seemed to have the magic touch.


Abigail’s father was home for dinner, but he didn’t seem excited or anything. All evening, Abigail watched him, looking for some sign, but it didn’t help. Finally, the time came to go to bed. “See you with the sunrise, Sunshine!” her father called. Everything was the same.

She lay awake in bed, too worried to sleep. Soon, she could hear quiet whispers in her parents’ room. “That’s wonderful,” her mother said. “When shall we tell her?”

“Shhh. You’ll wake them. We will tell her tomorrow after it has been finalized with his father and the elders.”

“She will be so happy. I can hardly wait.”

“I hope so,” came her father’s reply. Abigail didn’t sleep all night.


“Sunshine, I have some news for you,” started her father. Joshua watched her closely from the corner, praying. “You and Nabal the Calebite are to be married!”

No one in such circumstances could have been a better actress. Abigail was excited and eager, her father confident and pleased, her mother joyfully wistful, and her oldest brother calmly happy. Joshua sat apart, still in his corner, looking relieved and laughing at his wild, beloved sister.

In a few months, after making a new dress and informing all of the family, everything was finally ready. Abigail was excited. Maybe he would be better once she got to know him. When everything around her was rejoicing, it was hard not to be happy. Only Joshua looked distressed, but he tried to be cheerful around her. She needed it, even if he was the only one who knew that.

When the evening of the ceremony came, Joshua thought she nearly glowed. Nabal actually smiled at her. Joshua toasted their happiness with all his heart, danced as little as possible, and left for home.

The quiet walk away from the party was almost a relief. Joshua prayed as he walked that God would make her happy and give her the chance to show the greatness and beauty she was born with. His heart told him she would stand out.


Years passed and Nabal’s wealth grew. His home in Maon was one of the finest in Israel or Judah. When his father died, he left him all of his property, including one thousand goats and three thousand sheep. Nabal did not change his ways, however, and he became surly and mean in all his dealings.

To everyone but Joshua, Abigail appeared happy. She hosted banquets and parties without limit. Abigail also grew in beauty and intelligence, often counseling Nabal in the difficulties of the day.


This morning, the event being discussed by everyone from elders to servants was the death of Samuel. She had felt a strange love for the wise old man, and she went with Nabal to mourn his death. David was there in the company of his mighty men, looking very distressed, much older than when she had seen him before. He and Samuel had been close friends.

Soon after their return home, the announcement was made that David and his men, who had protected their borders for some time, were coming to live in Maon. He had been in and out of the gossip often in the years since his victory over Goliath, but Abigail had not seen him before the funeral service since the victory parade.

Nabal began, soon after, the busy task of shearing his many sheep. One morning, a few days into the task, Abigail awoke with a sense of foreboding. She passed it off as worry over the selling price of wool. Abigail went down to visit her mother and spent the better part of the day with her. When Abigail returned, however, the foreboding was stronger, so she asked a servant about the events of the day.

“Yes, Miss Abigail, something rather strange did happen today. David sent messengers from the desert to give our master his greetings, but Nabal hurled insults at them. Yet these men were very good to us. They did not mistreat us, and the whole time we were out in the pastures near them, nothing was missing. Night and day they were a wall around us all the time we were herding our sheep. Now think it over and see what you can do, because disaster is hanging over our master and his whole household. He is such a wicked man that no one can talk to him.”

Though Abigail knew her servant was right, she scolded him for his disrespect. After he had gone, she sighed, wondering what to do. When Nabal was angry, it was true: no one could talk to him. So, without speaking to him, she gathered a great supply of fine food from her pantry and sent it with her personal servants to David. Then she quickly changed into a fresh dress and followed them on her donkey.

She reached David’s men in a narrow mountain ravine. They were armed and headed for a night raid on Nabal’s home. “Stop! Who are you?” they demanded, drawing their swords. “What brings you here?” Her thoughts at that moment almost made her laugh. She realized that she had rather expected them to be raising slings and loading them with rocks.

When Abigail had picked out David from among the troops, she dismounted, stepped forward into the light of his torches, and bowed before David with her face to the ground. For a breathless moment she wondered if they would even listen to her, a stray woman in the wilderness at night.

David was a just man. He heard her story and accepted her gift. Nabal was forgiven, and all David’s men praised her bravery. Then the famous warrior told her to go home in peace. Abigail and her servants rode home quietly and without fear.

She rejoiced in David’s kindness. Through her years with Nabal, she had come to doubt whether anyone was good, or if all men, deep inside, were like Nabal. This had hardened her and made her almost bitter, but David’s mercy had begun to soften her heart.

With this newfound hope, Abigail thought she could face anything – almost anything, that is. Returning home, she found Nabal in the middle of a drunken banquet. Disgusted, she left the dining room and fled for privacy.


The bright desert sun shone through the window onto the bed. Nabal groaned and pressed his eyes tighter shut. What a headache! Presently, he heard Abigail’s sweet voice singing and her footsteps flitting around the room.

He opened one eye, then another. What happened to his room? It was so clean and, “Ouch!” so bright. Abigail seemed happy like he’d never seen her before.

“You’re awake,” she declared,” but are you sober?” Abigail smiled reproachfully. “Drinking all night again?” she teased. Nabal wondered what was going on. Abigail was always angry when he got drunk.

“What happened to you?” he questioned. The calm little Abigail suddenly disappeared.

“I saved your life; that’s what!” she yelled. Nabal looked confused. He couldn’t remember anything life-threatening that had taken place. Abigail went on, telling the story from the beginning. “You risked all of us by your – your arrogance! What were you thinking?” She asked, but she was never to receive a reply.

Nabal’s heart failed him at that moment, but he was still alive. Abigail’s parents came to help, but she sat with him all day long. Joshua didn’t come.

Those were the worst ten days of her life. Abigail feared Nabal would continue like this forever, trapping her in a marriage that meant nothing. Would the elders and priests take pity on her and let her leave Nabal to his miserable fate? Gifts were sent from neighbors. Rumors were started. Nabal? He just lay there, not doing anything.

Her fears were finally ended when after ten days Nabal finally died. Abigail went into mourning. A faint, unheard sigh went through the land as the news spread. “Nabal the Calebite has passed away. Not to speak ill of the dead…” So it went.

When the news reached David, he sent his condolences. A startling message was sent along with his sympathy, though. He asked Nabal’s widow to marry him! Abigail was amazed and thrilled to the depths of her soul. Could she have made such an impression in so short a time? She knew she had stuttered, terrified for her life and the lives of her servants when she met David. Yet this – he wanted to marry her?


After the days of mourning, Abigail put up her hair, dressed in her favorite dress, and with five of her maids, rode out to meet David. She left a steward in charge of Nabal’s land and property.

Joshua appeared for her wedding with David, smiling happily. Abigail truly shone this time – and continued to shine for the rest of her life. When she gave birth to their son, Daniel; when David was crowned king; and when the Ark of the Covenant returned to its rightful place, Abigail was there, smiling adoringly at David.

“God blessed Abigail. She was born for such greatness,” thought Joshua. “Now she is the queen of the greatest nation on earth!” He recorded this and many other stories of the first kings of Israel. Joshua became David’s chief historian, who carefully left a record of Israel for all people, for all time.

To God be all glory.
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Becca's Story

Becca sat in church for the first time in her life. She was feeling very uncomfortable. The pastor – she assumed he was the pastor as one of the only men in a suit – knelt, his forehead resting against his folded hands, near the front of the church. Was he praying? The couple in the row behind her whispered. Were they talking about her? She shifted self-consciously and scanned the paper in her hands. What would you call it: a bulletin, or a program, or just a flyer?

“Glad to see you, Becca.” Nathan, the friend who had invited her to come today, was dressed better than she had ever seen him. He smiled and conversed with her as though her presence at a church service was a weekly occurrence. Becca thought back to a day near the beginning of the school year.

“Hey! David!” she remembered Nathan yelling to his best friend. “I want to talk to you. I was up all night.”

“Man, you’re gonna flunk the algebra exam. Are you crazy?” David laughed.

“I was praying,” Nathan stated, as if that explained everything. He took a deep breath. “I need to tell you about how God changed my life – how He can change your life…”

Two guitarists began to play. Another man in a looser suit, the worship leader, invited everyone to stand and clap. As Becca caught the beat, she looked over and saw Cassie singing and smiling at her. Cassie didn’t go to Becca’s school. Her family began homeschooling when Cassie entered junior high. Becca still saw her around sometimes, like once in the mall.

Cassie balanced an ice cream cone in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. Her step was light and joyful coming out of the food court. A group of kids from school recognized her and began to tease her about being too good for them: a mommy’s girl. To Becca’s surprise, Cassie knelt right there in the middle of the mall and quoted, “Be still and know that I am God.”

“God,” the preacher prayed, “help our hearts to be open to receive Your Word this morning. I thank You for blessing us with the ability to give…” After the prayer, Joe sang a solo about the wonders of God while offering plates were passed around. Joe had always been into the arts.

“You can’t submit that painting,” said John, obviously disappointed. “What about the eagle painting instead?”

“I want to send a message,” answered Joe. “This is my favorite. It reminds me of Mom praying for me.”

Becca ran up. “Oh, are you entering a painting in the contest? Let me see.” Joe eagerly held up his canvas, and Becca knew why his friend was concerned. The picture was of a woman kneeling, bowing, weeping at the feet of three scenes. On the left was a first-century teacher sitting on a chair, using gestures to communicate his message. The second figure was apalling. A man, bruised and bloodied, hung by his wrists, which were nailed to a rough wooden cross. Quickly, she turned to the third figure. Joe’s inspired brush had painted a glorious king on a high yet somehow approachable throne. All three figures looked down on the woman with intensely compassionate eyes.

Becca sat, holding a hymnal filled with strange words and unfamiliar tunes. What did “interposed His precious blood” mean, anyway? What was so important that made these people so different? What were they singing about? She listened to the voices around her blend in harmony. Jenny sat with her sister and a group of youth a few rows ahead. One day with Emily, Jenny’s younger sister, Becca had listened in on Jenny’s phone call.

Jenny came home from school, dropped her backpack, and picked up the phone. As she caught her breath, she waited for her friend to pick up. “Hi. Amy? Are you doing anything tonight?” Becca was curious which movie Jenny wanted to see with her friend. “Can you come over? Yeah, I wondered if you would pray with me about some things I’m struggling with.” Becca and Emily hung up the phone in stunned silence.

The sermon was about a shepherd searching for one lost sheep. “Strange,” Becca thought, “Why doesn’t he talk about something we can understand, like looking for the lost keys to my SUV?” Pastor Jacobs described the unconditional love of the shepherd, who gives everything to save one lost lamb. He explained that “everything” included giving even his own life. “Die?” thought Becca in horror. “How could anyone die to save a lamb that ran away? Surely he has other, more obedient sheep.”

The pastor continued by comparing the shepherd to Jesus. He described the terrible way Jesus died, and Joe’s picture came vividly back to mind. “Jesus died for one lost, lonely person,” the pastor said.

While the choir sang an invitation, the emptiness that had invaded her whole life turned into a longing for something. Becca wanted to know this love. She was so focused on the turmoil in her spirit that she barely realized she was walking to the front of the church. All she could think was, “I want what my friends have.”

To God be all glory.
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Inaugural

Once upon a time there was a special tribe of people. Some people have travel in their blood, and must go back to the sea, or buy a plain ticket, or move to the next town. Others have fits of inspiration to paint beautiful scenes. A few blessed people grace the world with their music. And there is this tribe, who like them gets inspired to write. The God-imitating act of creativity flows through their pen and won't stop for food or sleep until every word of the imagination is captured on the page. The result is most often a short window of a story. These are too short and incomplete to publish as books. Books are written by this tribe, but first there must be practice and feedback, refining of skill. When involved in creativity, there are wild offshoots, untamed and unpreventable, that must be expressed while the big work like composition of a book goes on. Offshoots too large for magazine publication, and too meaningful to leave unpublished are thus to be found in thick folders and well-used journals, read at times to an interested friend or reread by a discouraged or sentimental author. This blog, where I and my like-quandried friends can post these windows, enables us to share these gifts with the world, to inspire, instruct, and delight you.

Whether they be fantasy, fiction, historical fiction, dramatization of life, or even a mystery, here they will be welcome, in whole or in chapters. You may read each chapter as it arrives, all in a genre, all by an author, or whatever title catches your attention. Use the sidebar links to navigate. Don't forget to comment! Authors need feedback, especially constructive feedback, on their work!

To God be all glory, Lisse. Read more!