by Mesu Andrews
I bit off another small piece of tender pod, tasting the first fruits of our labor—my labor. Perhaps this was part of my purpose, to experience the process. In Babylon, I lived what felt like a rather fruitless routine, oblivious to plan and process. I plodded from one day to the next. I woke every morning to dress and primp. My daughters did the same. Servants tended us, and we helped with some household tasks. But where was the greater purpose—seeing a seedling from start to finish?
Yahweh’s plan for His people had seasons—sowing, growing, harvest, and rest. Had I ever pondered my relationships in the context of their seasons? I thought of our new grandson, Samuel. I had missed his birth, but Daniel and I would water and tend that little seedling from the moment we returned home to the day we left this earth. Had I ever tilled up the rotten fruit of my past to prepare for a life of healthy new growth? Could the anticipation of future seasons lift the heaviness I felt about more years in Borsippa?
I fell to my knees and dug my fingers into the rich dark soil. Yahweh, Master Gardener and Creator of all things, I plant, but You water. I hoe, but You stretch the plants tall with the warmth of the sun. I wait for harvest until You kiss each crop with perfect ripeness. Forgive me for trying to plant my life on the rotten remains of unconfessed sin. Give me a new planting, Yahweh, a new sowing, growing, reaping, and resting with my family when we return.
I lifted my face to the sun and bit off more of the tender pod. The sweet, earthy taste satisfied me completely. Standing, I inhaled a cleansing breath and set out toward the villa with new determination. I would become a student of process on this estate. I would sow seeds in the lives of my new Borsippa family and become more aware of what seeds Yahweh was sowing in me. The Master Gardener had much to teach me. Speak, Lord, Your servant is listening.
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I, Nebuchadnezzar, raised my eyes toward heaven, and my sanity was restored. Then I praised the Most High; I honored and glorified him who lives forever.
—DANIEL 4:34
Six Years Later
563 BC
Amyitis and I needed the warm spring sun to lift our spirits this morning. I woke, desperately missing my girls, and remembered the letter we received last fall about our youngest daughter’s wedding and pregnancy. “Gia has almost certainly given birth by now,” I said, my voice nasal and pathetic.
“Do you know what day this is?”
Surprised by Amyitis’s distraction, I found her staring at Neb. Had we planned a walk with him and I’d forgotten? Since our lives were dictated by weather and crops, I looked to the sky. Clear. We would undoubtedly work the fields this morning, harvesting a few early broad beans and whatever onions were ready, but we could walk this aft—
Reality struck like a bolt of lightning. “Today! Today marks the seventh year.”
“He didn’t come back to me, Belili.” She turned her head slowly, showing me the enormity of her accusation. “Yahweh changed Neb at dawn seven years ago but didn’t restore him as He promised.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but all words drowned in the depths of her despair. Wrapping my arms around her, I held her. Both of us dry eyed. Wondering in silence.
As if sensing the unease, Neb lumbered over to our shady spot and nudged Amyitis’s shoulder. He’d become as meek as a lamb under her years of love and care. Still a terrifying sight, he was now loved by us all, and my heart ached at the thought that he could remain like this forever.
Yahweh, please. Restore him—as You’ve promised.
Even as the prayer winged heavenward, peace settled in my spirit. Didn’t the prophet Isaiah say Yahweh’s thoughts and ways are higher than ours? Feeling an inner nudge to recount some of the promises Amyitis and I had discussed over the years, I pulled from her embrace. “Who can know Yahweh’s plan, Amyitis? Were God’s promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob fulfilled in ways they expected?”
Hesitating at first, she laid her hand on her husband’s elongated face and caressed his jaw. “No, I suppose Yahweh can fulfill His promise in unforeseen ways.” Pressing her forehead against Neb’s neck, she let tears fall. “Belili, do you think…I mean, when I said…”
“What?”
“When we left Babylon, I told Daniel I would never forgive Yahweh for what He’d done.” She raised her head, tears streaking the dust on her cheeks. “I didn’t know the stories of Yahweh’s love in the midst of discipline, His faithfulness to complete all He begins. I didn’t know Him then.” She covered her face. “Will He punish Neb for my—”
“No, Amyitis.” I gathered her in my arms. “Yahweh is not capricious. He knows our hearts better than we know ourselves.”
A huffing sound drew my attention, and I peered at the creature who had once been King of the Earth. Neb was growing agitated, tossing his head, no doubt sensing his beloved’s angst. Though he’d become calm and gentle under her care, he was still capable of unspeakable violence.
“Amyitis, I think Neb needs calming.”
She wiped her eyes with a sleeve, gathering her emotions like a tattered robe. “I must be patient. The seven years could mean anytime. Yahweh doesn’t use some cosmic water clock.” We both smiled at her attempted humor until a thunderous thud launched us to our feet.
“Neb!” Amyitis shouted. Her husband had collapsed on his side, panting and shaking.
“Daniel! Arioch!” I screamed, running. They came from the barn with Ezra, Samson, and Solomon. Hasina emerged from the house, and I shouted, “Bring the herb basket and honey, Hasina. Something’s wrong with Neb.” I hurried back, asking Yahweh what could have caused Neb’s collapse. A poisonous plant could have induced trembling and weakness. Had we been remiss in pruning and left a dogbane bush in his path?
The others reached me, and we must have all caught a glimpse of Amyitis at the same moment. Everyone stopped short. Rooted to the ground. The queen sat on the ground, gently stroking a man’s face.
“Nebuchadnezzar.” Daniel uttered the name on a breath. The rest of us stood in silent horror.
The misshapen face of a man we once knew protruded from the body of a creature we’d known for seven years. He lay still while his wife spoke quietly—too quietly for us to hear. When he tried to speak, we heard only a roar. His eyes grew wide with terror, but Amyitis continued stroking his overgrown beard and tangled curly hair. Calming. Soothing.
Arioch took a step toward them. “I must help him.”
“No.” Daniel stepped in front of him, meeting his stare with a gentle hand against the big man’s chest. “Remember what Yahweh said. The king will be restored only when he acknowledges that the Most High is sovereign over all kingdoms of the earth and gives them to whomever He wills.”
The eunuch glanced at his king, part beast, part man. “Nebuchadnezzar will never. He knows it is the power of Marduk and men that delivers kingdoms into our hands.”
“I believe you’re wrong, Arioch.” Daniel stepped aside, watching. “Amyitis believes Yahweh is who He says He is. If the king hears the truth from her lips, he might just believe it.”
Seven of us stood thirty paces away, gawking at the strangest sight on earth, holding our collective breath. Eavesdropping on soft whispers was excruciating, thinking I heard the grass growing or a bird’s flapping but not a word of the conversation that would determine our future. Every time the king roared, my heart fell, sensing his determination to refuse the truth.
Daniel’s arm slipped around my shoulder, and he pulled me close. “It’s because of your obedience that King Nebuchadnezzar is hearing the truth right now, my love. Because you spoke of Yahweh to your friend.”
The memory of my day in the broad-bean field came rushing back, and emotions instantly prickled my cheeks. Yahweh, how far we’ve come, You and me. Though I would never wish to relive the seven years and was anxious to leave Borsippa forever, my relationship with Yahweh—and with these people�
�had grown in ways I could never have imagined.
The king’s guttural roar startled me, a mournful cry building to an exultant “Ahhh…I…aaaacknowledge You, God Most High! Sovereign God over all the earth. Your dominion is eternal. Your kingdom endures for all generations, and I will not say to You, ‘Why have You done this thing?’ ” Curling into a ball like a newborn, the creature groaned and shrieked. He rolled to his hands and knees—yes, hands and knees.
Hasina and I turned away from his nakedness while the men covered him with one of their cloaks. Amyitis cried and rocked and sang praises to Yahweh. I hugged Hasina, joining Amyitis in the songs of David I’d taught her. Even Hasina joined us, surprising me at how much she’d picked up by quietly listening.
“My king, can you hear me?” Arioch was first to test his master.
All fell silent.
Hasina and I found the king covered and clear eyed, staring at his wife. “I hear you, Arioch, but it was Amyitis’s voice that offered the only light in my living death.” He pulled her into a fierce embrace, their weeping like a melody sung in harmony.
I knew then I was witnessing pure and unconditional love. A life lived for another without demands or regrets. Yahweh made only one Amyitis.
“Come,” I said to the six other gawkers. “Leave them to refresh their love. They deserve all this day can give them.”
Arioch returned to the barn with all three brothers to gather the things we needed for our return home. Daniel and I changed into new robes, preparing for our first visit to Babylon in seven years. We would need new clothes for the royal couple and ourselves before sailing the half day’s journey to resume our lives.
Hasina would remain at the villa for as long as she wished. Daniel had erased the three brothers’ family debt last year, but Solomon refused to leave Amyitis. I suspected Ezra had his eye on Hasina for a wife, but I couldn’t guess when he’d gather the courage to ask her.
The king and queen returned to the villa late that afternoon looking like newlyweds emerging from their wedding chamber, their countenances glowing with joy—and a little shyness at our teasing. Although the king’s raven-black hair was now streaked with gray, he was still as handsome and as imposing as ever. He kissed his wife’s forehead, and her cheeks bloomed like roses. He stood in the doorway, watching as she sat on a low stool beside Hasina and lifted a hand mill into her lap. She reached into the sack of last year’s barley and filled the small trough to begin grinding for this evening’s bread.
“What are you doing?” His loving glow turned to a glower.
“I’m grinding grain for this evening’s bread.” She met his disdain with her typical mettle. “Would you rather do it?”
His answer was a short huff before stomping through the kitchen toward the dining table, where Daniel and Arioch prepared for the imminent storm.
The king jabbed both fists at his waist and aimed his ire at my husband. “While your God made His point, you made my wife a slave?”
“While the one God revealed Himself to you, we’ve taken care of you—and each other.”
Nebuchadnezzar’s fury drained like the silent tears of a child. He noticed the trading silver and financial scrolls spread out on the dining table. “What’s this?” His fingers skimmed the columns of numbers, realization darkening his features. “This is all we have to buy our supplies to return to Babylon?”
Arioch started to answer, but Daniel lifted his hand, silencing him. “It is enough for tomorrow’s purchases in Borsippa and the following day’s journey to Babylon.” He reached up to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Yahweh said He would restore you to your kingdom. Trust Him.”
Daniel prospered during the reign of Darius and the reign of Cyrus the Persian.
—DANIEL 6:28
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Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.
—DEUTERONOMY 6:4–7
October 539 BC
My son arrived for the evening meal at dusk, escorted by twenty of General Gubaru’s men, ready to move our few personal items to the new villa on palace grounds.
I bowed and addressed the soldiers in their native tongue. “We’re honored you’ve come with Lord Allamu. Please join us for a simple meal we’ve prepared in his honor.”
Allamu marched past me through the iron gate. “My men will wait in the street until we’ve finished eating.” His personal guard followed him, and I started to apologize to the others, but they’d already formed two straight lines, a human pathway leading to two lavish palanquins. Allamu obviously hoped to avoid a leisurely evening. I was shamefully relieved.
Scooting around his guard, I caught up to him and kept my voice low. “Please don’t cause trouble tonight.”
He halted abruptly when we reached the tables where the rest of the family waited. “Why is Mert still serving after all these years?” His tone was more command than question. “She should be treated as family.” In less than five strides, he crossed the room and reached for the tray of fruit and cheese my friend was holding.
“Go sit down.” Mert slapped his hands away and nudged him toward the empty cushion between mine and Shesh’s. “Who do you think you are, walking into this house shouting orders? I’d rather slit my own throat than sit in this stuffy courtyard with the lot of you!” Mert slammed down the tray and marched back to the cooking fire.
I ducked my head and glanced at our guest. Allamu grinned at Daniel, cheeks flushed. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Yes, you did.” Daniel looked around at the family before him. “Could we all lay aside our ragged emotions and simply get to know each other this evening?” Wary nods soothed a few harsh expressions, and Allamu settled on the cushion we’d reserved for him. His bodyguard stood like a pillar behind him. “Good. Good,” Daniel said. “Belili, my love, would you begin our meal by giving Yahweh thanks for His provision?”
With a timid smile, I turned on my pillow toward Jerusalem, closed my eyes, and began the familiar refrain. “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart.” The words felt sweet on my tongue until “serve Him only and take your oaths in His name—” My breath caught, robbing my mouth of moisture. Allamu’s stare felt like a flame on my cheek.
Daniel’s hand covered mine. “What is it, love?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I—”
“Perhaps she’s forgotten the words.” Allamu’s tone was cynical. “Am I to assume it had something to do with keeping oaths?”
“I didn’t forget. I will take oaths only in Yahweh’s name.” I met his mocking smile and saw the angry boy who crept out of our villa without a goodbye. My heart constricted. I couldn’t blot out the damage I’d done in Allamu’s early years, but I could begin to change our relationship tonight—as well as the relationship I’d lost with my girls.
I offered a meaningful glance to each of my daughters before sharing a piece of my heart they’d never heard before. “When I lived with the Medes, I learned about their god Mithra. Worshippers presented oaths with their sacrifices that made the oaths binding. I stuttered over my prayer tonight because Allamu’s presence reminded me of those days in Media and how thankful I am to worship Yahweh, who is completely sufficient in all things—even oaths.”
Allamu lifted a single brow, and I waited, certain he’d reveal my darkest secret. At that moment, it barely mattered, so light was my heart at the joy I saw on Daniel’s face. My husband was proud of me, and I, too, felt as if the wind of God’s pleasure had breathed on me during my strong witness to our family. Those opportunities had been few since our retur
n from Borsippa twenty-four years ago.
Shesh broke the uncomfortable silence. “Shall we begin our meal now?” He picked up the tray Mert had deposited on the table. “Would your guard like to join us?” He turned to address him. “I’m sorry. What was your name?”
The man bowed and offered a pleasant smile. “I am Zerubbabel ben Shealtiel, grandson of Jehoiachin.”
“King Jehoiachin—my cousin?” Daniel choked on his first bite of lentil stew.
“Indeed.” Zerubbabel bowed again, a faint grin cracking his granite countenance.
“Please, join us!” Daniel wiped the stew from his beard. “I must hear how you became Allamu’s friend.”
“Forgive me, Lord Belteshazzar,” he said, “but it’s not a story worth telling. Please continue with your meal as if I’m one of the lovely trees in your courtyard.” He averted his gaze and stared straight ahead at a distant nothing, affirming his decision to end the conversation.
Shesh exchanged an intrigued smirk with Daniel and returned his attention to Allamu. “Perhaps we could speak more with your guard at a later time. Tonight, we’re anxious to know you better, Allamu, and help you know us. My wife, Kezia, is Daniel and Belili’s firstborn, and I work as a scribe at the Esagila. Please let me know if I might be of service to the new administration. I believe you’ll find most of the citizens in Babylon are relieved to see the end of Belshazzar’s reign. We’re all anxious to know more about our new ruler.”
My son-in-law had honed his gift of peacemaking to a fine tip by mediating between Kezia and me. Remarkably, the conversation turned safer when it veered into politics.
“King Cyrus has a good plan for Babylon,” my son said without hesitation. “He and the general trust each other implicitly, and you’ll find Gubaru far more reasonable than the rumors we heard of your King Belshazzar.”