by Lynn Austin
“You miss it the way it was, Joshua. But if you went back, you’d see how different it all is. You’d hate it. You have no idea what Manasseh has done. And you’ve been gone a long time. Things have probably gotten worse.”
“That’s the work I want to do. I want to change it back. I want to help cleanse it, destroy the idolatry, make Judah the way it’s supposed to be—the way it was when our fathers governed.”
In his own contentment, Amariah found it difficult to imagine Joshua’s restlessness. “Would it help if I made you my palace administrator again?” he asked.
“You don’t need a palace administrator. You can govern Elephantine alone. You’re already doing an excellent job.”
“And you’re doing an excellent job with the temple. I’m just sorry you don’t enjoy your work. When you’re finished it’s going to look as beautiful as the one in Jerusalem.”
“Hardly!” Joshua’s voice betrayed his bitterness. “I thought for a while that by recreating Jerusalem’s Temple I could recreate my old life, but I can’t. It’s not the same.” Their eyes met, and Amariah glimpsed his friend’s profound sorrow. “Do you think we’ll ever go home again, Amariah?”
“I haven’t heard a clear word from God either way.”
“But what’s your personal opinion?”
“My personal opinion?” Amariah sighed and started slowly walking again. “I can’t see myself ever living in Judah again. Maybe our sons or grandsons will return, but not us. That’s why I’m convinced that we need to work to make this our permanent home.”
“That feels like a death sentence to me. To die and be buried here? In this place? What about the Promised Land? God gave it to Abraham as our inheritance. That’s where we belong. God could root out Manasseh with a flick of His little finger. Why doesn’t He do it, Amariah? Why does He allow evil to flourish when it’s within His power to change it?”
“Only He knows the answer to that.”
Joshua exhaled in frustration, and Amariah could almost see the darkness closing in around his friend. “What can I do, Joshua? How can I help you?”
“Miriam asks me the same thing.”
“She loves you deeply. You’re blessed to have her for your wife.”
“I know. Sometimes she’s my only light, the only person who can keep the darkness away. I need her…. If anything ever happened to her …”
Amariah gripped his friend’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “And I need you, Joshua. I don’t think you realize how much. Take a good look at that temple you’ve started. Do you have any idea how important it is? How much our community depends on it for our survival? We can’t possibly preserve God’s remnant and remain faithful to His laws without it. The task God has given you is the most important one in the community. I’m just a symbol, really. But the temple is the substance of our survival as long as we’re separated from our land. It’s our link to God.”
“Do you really believe that, Amariah?”
“Yes, I do. And I think the task of building that temple is much more important to God’s plan right now than revenge. This is what He has called you to do. God says, ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay.’ All of us would like to believe that we could accomplish one brave, selfless act for God and for His kingdom. But it takes greater courage to faithfully accomplish the daily, thankless tasks of everyday life for Him—being a father to our children, a good husband to our wives, building His temple one laborious block at a time.”
As Joshua stared thoughtfully into the distance, Amariah couldn’t tell whether or not his words were doing any good. He felt as if Joshua were drowning, and in trying to rescue him, Amariah was being dragged beneath the waves, as well. He longed to abandon his friend and return to dry ground, to eat and rejoice at his son’s feast.
As if he had read Amariah’s thoughts, Joshua straightened his shoulders and smiled slightly. “Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating with your son?”
Amariah sensed how much the effort to shake off his depression was costing Joshua, and he was grateful. “Yes—my son.” He drew a quick breath at the wonder of it. “In a time of exile and uncertainty, God has given all of us new hope for the future in my son.”
16
AS DAWN LIT HIS SLEEPING CHAMBER, Joshua lay on his side, gazing at Miriam asleep beside him. He had awakened early, his mind turning with plans for the day and thoughts of the past, but as he focused on his wife’s beautiful face, the world seemed manageable once more.
Miriam’s eyes flickered open. She saw his tender gaze and smiled. “How long have you been lying there staring at me?”
“Let’s see … a little more than three years now, isn’t it? I figure since I ignored you for the first couple of years that I knew you, I need to make up for lost time.” He pulled her into his arms.
“Did you have another rough night sleeping?” she asked.
“I woke early, that’s all. I was thinking about Nathan’s thirteenth birthday today, and how we’ll be able to worship together for the first time. That started me thinking about Abba and grieving for him. So I decided to study you instead.” He kissed her neck, her forehead, and finally her mouth, but Miriam returned his kiss impatiently.
“I wish you would have awakened me sooner. I have so much to do today. I should have been up hours ago.” She freed herself from his arms and struggled to sit up, then pulled her deadened legs over the side of the bed. Joshua hurried to help her.
“Please don’t overdo it, Miriam. Let Mama and the others help you for once.”
“You fuss over me too much,” she replied.
“That’s because you never ask for anything for yourself.”
He helped Miriam put on her robe and pin up her hair, then crouched to fasten her sandals for her. When she was ready, he helped her stand, fitting the crutches beneath her arms. After three years, neither of them pretended that she would ever get stronger or walk unaided. But when Joshua had offered to hire servants to wait on her, Miriam had stubbornly refused. He had used his ingenuity, instead, to redesign their house, adding railings for support, ramps in place of stairs, wooden conduits to channel water from the cistern, and low tables with benches so Miriam could work sitting down. He assigned Nathan the heavier chores such as carrying supplies from the marketplace or hauling water and fuel.
When Miriam was ready, Joshua put on his own clothes, pulling the leather patch into place over his eye. As he inspected himself in the bronze mirror, his scarred reflection reminded him—as it did every day—of Manasseh and the great debt of justice his enemy owed him. Like the Nile River beyond his doors, Joshua’s grief and anger sometimes spilled their banks, threatening to overwhelm him. That was when Miriam became his island of refuge, the high ground to which he could cling.
“You look as handsome as ever,” Miriam said, shooing him away from the mirror. “Go wake Nathan up. This is a big day for him. For both of you.”
Joshua resisted the urge to help Miriam start breakfast, knowing it would only irritate her. He walked through their main living area to the alcove in the rear of the house where Nathan slept. As he gazed down at his son for a moment, he wished he felt the depth of love that he knew a father should feel. And he also wished for a sign of love on Nathan’s part. They were still wary of each other, as distant as two strangers, in spite of Joshua’s efforts these past three years to spend more time with him, engage him in conversation, and make a home for the three of them. Perhaps worshiping side by side today for the first time would finally knit them together.
“Nathan,” he called gently. “Nathan, it’s time to get up.”
The boy bolted upright as if ready to flee. Awake or asleep, Nathan was jumpy and on edge. Joshua thought of the unchanging peace and security of his own boyhood in Jerusalem, of the love and laughter his family had shared, and was reminded for a second time of all that Manasseh had destroyed.
“Do you remember what day it is, son? You become a man today.”
Nathan nodded and lay do
wn again, draping his arm across his face. If he was filled with joy and anticipation at his passage into manhood, he hid it well. Joshua swallowed back his anger, praying as he did every day: God, help me love him. Help me accept him the way he is. He tossed Nathan his robe.
“Let’s go, then. We don’t want to be late.”
He returned to the main room of their house, where Miriam was already hard at work, arranging food on platters for the small celebration after the sacrifice. He came up behind her as she sat slicing a melon and encircled her with his arms, bending to kiss her neck.
“I don’t want you working too hard and wearing yourself out today. Wait and let Mama and Tirza help you.”
“It’s pretty hard to do much of anything with you hanging all over me like a gourd vine.”
“Then maybe I’ll have to hang on to you all day.” Joshua smiled as he laid his hand on her stomach. “Can you feel my son kicking yet?”
“It’s still too soon, silly. No one will even know I’m pregnant for another couple of months.”
“They’ll know. One look at your face and they’ll know.” He and Miriam had waited three years for a child, neither of them daring to voice the fear that she was barren.
She smiled up at him. “The only way they’ll know is if you go spreading the news all over the island.”
“No, I promised I would wait and I’ll keep that promise. I don’t want anything to take away from Nathan’s special day.”
In fact, Joshua dreaded telling him the news, fearful of his response. Nathan had been especially close to Miriam and still seemed jealous of Joshua, resentful of sharing his sister with him. How would he react to a baby?
Joshua moved his hand in gentle circles on Miriam’s stomach. “Does every man feel this way when he finds out he’s going to be a father for the first time?”
“And how is that?” she asked, laughing.
“Proud. Content. More complete, somehow, and—” Joshua saw a flicker of movement in the doorway and stopped. Nathan stood watching them, his face stricken. He had overheard them. Joshua released Miriam and took a step toward him, struggling to find the right words. “You, um … heard us talking just now?”
Nathan nodded. He pretended indifference, but Joshua saw the pain in his eyes and realized what he had just said: a father for the first time. If only he could take back his words.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. That wasn’t how I’d planned to tell you the news, but … now you know. You’ll have a new brother or sister by next harvest.”
“Or is it a niece or nephew? I’m confused.” Nathan’s voice was cold with sarcasm.
Miriam pulled herself to her feet and hobbled toward them. “Nathan, please—”
“Congratulations. To both of you. I’m sure you’re very happy,” he said bitterly. He turned to leave, but Joshua stopped him.
“No one knows about the baby except the three of us, and it’s going to stay that way. Today is your special day.”
“Go ahead and announce it to the world. I don’t care.” Again, he turned to leave.
“Wait. We have something for you, son.” Joshua retrieved the carefully folded bundle of cloth from where he’d hidden it and presented it to Nathan. The boy stared at it for a long time before unfolding the new embroidered prayer shawl. Joshua searched for a hint of pleasure in his eyes but saw none. When he recalled the time and money he had spent shopping for the flawless white linen, bargaining for the finest blue thread for the embroidery and tassels, hiring the best craftsman to do the work, he wished Nathan would show a little gratitude. It was so hard to love this difficult child.
“Try it on, son. Let Miriam see how you look.”
“Later.” He wadded it up and shoved it under his arm. “I just remembered something,” he mumbled as he hurried away.
Joshua looked at Miriam helplessly. “I’m so sorry he overheard me.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s been contrary all his life.” She kissed his cheek. “You’d better hurry or you’ll both be late. I’ll have everything ready for the celebration when you come home.”
Joshua retrieved his own prayer shawl and put it on, then stooped to tie his sandals. “Nathan, it’s time to go,” he called. As he waited by the open front door for his son, he heard Miriam rattling dishes, but no sound came from Nathan’s room.
“Nathan, come on.” He struggled not to reveal his impatience.
“Nathan?” Silence answered him. Joshua’s stomach clenched like a fist as he went to Nathan’s room. The new shawl lay abandoned on Nathan’s sleeping mat. Joshua hurried outside to the rear courtyard where he and Nathan had set up tables last evening for the celebration, but there was no sign of him. The shofar sounded in the distance as Joshua ducked inside the house again.
“He disappeared, Miriam.”
All the joy drained from her face. Joshua remembered how she had glowed with happiness before Nathan interrupted them, and he had to swallow back his anger. “Should I go look for him?” he asked her. “Where could he be?” For a moment Miriam seemed torn between the two of them, then she shook her head.
“No, go to the sacrifice without him.”
“I don’t want you to search for him, Miriam. It’s too hard for you to get around.” He hated reminding her of her handicap, hated being reminded of it himself, but he knew how stubborn she was. “You need to be extra careful because of the baby. Promise me—”
“I’ll wait here. Nathan will come back when he’s ready. Maybe he went on ahead to the sacrifice. Go on, Joshua. And don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.”
But as Joshua hurried to morning worship, he knew that it was his fault. He stood beside the gate to the men’s courtyard as long as he dared, waiting to take his son through it for the first time, but Nathan never came. Throughout the sacrifice Joshua peered over his shoulder at the outer courtyard where Nathan usually stood beside Mattan and the other boys, but he wasn’t there. The old, familiar anger billowed inside him like the smoke from the altar fire, some directed at himself, most of it at Nathan. He didn’t hear a word of the liturgy. So much for their special day.
When the service ended, the friends who had been invited to Nathan’s feast crowded around Joshua. Only Nathan’s younger brother, Mattan, dared to ask the question Joshua saw written on all their faces.
“Where’s Nathan? Why didn’t he—”
Jerimoth cut him off. “Don’t ask rude questions, son. Run ahead and tell Mama and Aunt Miriam we’ll be along in a moment.” He shooed Mattan and the other boys away.
“Yes, please go over to the house,” Joshua told all the other guests. “Miriam and my mother have been cooking for days. I’ll explain everything when I get there in a few minutes.”
He and Jerimoth lagged behind as the courtyard cleared, walking in silence as far as the outer wall. Then Joshua stopped and leaned against it. “I can’t do it, Jerimoth. I can’t love Nathan the way I should. I’ve tried … I’ve prayed … I’ve asked God to help me love him as if he were my own son, but nothing ever changes.”
“I believe that you do love him, Joshua, or you wouldn’t keep trying so hard.”
“I think I’ve only been doing it for Miriam’s sake. I’d walk through Sheol for her, you know that. But this is just too difficult.”
They listened to the sound of oxen and carts rumbling past on the street outside the enclosure, along with the shouts of vendors hawking their wares. “Do you feel like telling me what happened?” Jerimoth asked quietly.
Joshua sighed. “Miriam is going to have a baby.”
“God of Abraham be praised! That’s an answer to many prayers.”
“We weren’t going to tell anyone yet, but Nathan overheard us talking this morning. He also heard me say something stupid about being a father ‘for the first time.’ I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I should have thought—” He stopped suddenly and looked at his brother. “That’s not true, Jerimoth; I did mean it. I feel differently about my own child than I do about Nathan
. God forgive me, but it’s true.”
“Josh, everyone sees how hard you try with Nathan.”
“Is it the same for you? Do you really feel the same love for Mattan as you do for your own children?”
Jerimoth winced at his words. He took a moment to answer, staring at his feet. “Mattan was very young when I adopted him. He still had his milk teeth, for goodness’ sake. He responded to my love like a flower to rain, and he was easy to love because he gave love in return. But even after all these years, Nathan has given nothing back to you. That’s why it’s so much harder for you.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Do you love Mattan the same as you love your own two sons and your daughter?”
“I feel no difference at all,” he answered quietly. “Unless someone reminds me, I don’t even remember that Mattan isn’t my own flesh and blood. And Mattan doesn’t think any differently, either. But Nathan has never forgotten that you aren’t his father, and he won’t let you forget. That’s his fault, not yours.”
Joshua smacked the courtyard wall with his palm, giving vent to his anger and disappointment. “I’ve waited for this day for months. I wanted everything to be perfect. I bought him a new prayer shawl, planned the feast … I couldn’t wait to stand here with my son for the first time. Remember our first time? Remember going to the Temple with Abba and Grandpa?” Joshua knew he had to stop before his well of rage and grief overflowed. “I don’t know what else to do for Nathan,” he said hoarsely.
“Just love him,” Jerimoth said.
“But what if I don’t feel any love?”
“Love isn’t a feeling; it’s an attitude, it’s actions. Like buying him the prayer shawl. Whether you feel anything or not, just do the loving thing.”
“Sometimes that’s very hard to do.”
“No, it’s impossible. At least in our own strength. Fortunately, Yahweh is the God of the impossible. He’ll answer your prayers, in time. It’s like this temple you’re building here. Everything looks like chaos now, all torn up and heaped everywhere, but it will shine with beauty when it’s finished. It’s unfair to judge a work in progress. And that’s what your relationship with Nathan is.”