The Strength of His Hand (2 page)

“Then you can come home early tomorrow, too?”

Everyone laughed, and Eliakim rumpled his son’s hair. “I’m afraid not. King Hezekiah had to send me home today because I nearly fainted when he offered me the position. But from now on, I’ll have to put in some very long hours at my new office in the palace.”

“Are you still gonna build things, Abba?” Jerimoth asked.

“Well, in a way I’ll be building our country.”

“Oh.”

Eliakim knew by Jerimoth’s expression that he had lost interest.

He turned to his wife, who had scarcely spoken a word. “And you’ll be needing some fancy gowns to accompany the new secretary to formal state dinners.”

“You mean I’ll be dining at the palace? With the king?”

“Absolutely.”

“Eliakim, I can’t! I’m not royalty!”

“That doesn’t matter; neither am I.”

“But I’m just a poor farmer’s daughter. I used to sleep in a loft above the oxen, for heaven’s sake!”

He sniffed her neck and hair mischievously. “Hmm … you smell pretty good
now
. Besides, that will make very interesting dinner conversation with the king’s wife, don’t you think? I’m sure she’d love to hear all about your bed above the barn.”

She gave him a playful shove. “Will you be serious?”

“I’m very serious. You’ll be the most beautiful woman there, Jerusha. I’ll be proud to have you accompany me anywhere in the kingdom.”

“Mama, did you really sleep with cows?” little Jerimoth asked.

They all laughed again.

A shiver of joy rushed through Eliakim until he could scarcely stay seated. He wanted to dance and leap with happiness. He gazed at his wife and children, then down at the signet ring that still felt strange on his finger.

“I think I know how King David must have felt,” he said. “‘My cup overflows.’ ”

Part One

Hezekiah … succeeded in everything he
undertook. But … God left himto test him
and to know everything that was in his heart.

_________

2 C
HRONICLES
32 : 30 – 31

1

YOU
MAY AS WELL RETURN
to your rooms, Your Majesty. Lady Hephzibah says it is her time.”

“Oh no.” The feeling of deep contentment that had filled King Hezekiah a moment ago suddenly vanished along with his hopes for an heir. He had walked the short distance to the harem, looking forward to his beautiful wife’s company and love this balmy spring evening; he hadn’t anticipated being turned away at her door with bad news.

“How is she taking it, Merab?”

“Like she always does, my lord.”

Hezekiah looked past Merab into the room and saw Hephzibah sitting before the open window, staring into the darkness. He knew from experience how deeply his wife grieved every month when she learned that she hadn’t conceived. He seldom succeeded in consoling her or soothing her bitter tears, but he remembered all the times she had cheered him with her love, her laughter, her beautiful singing, and he wanted to soothe her in return.

“Give us a few minutes alone, Merab.”

He pulled up a small footstool beside Hephzibah, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“It’s a gorgeous evening,” he said. “Would you like to come up to the rooftop with me?”

Hephzibah shook her head, still staring into the darkness.

“Hephzibah, I’m sorry you’re still not pregnant. I know how disappointed you must be.”

“Do you know how many years it has been?” she asked. Pain edged her voice.

“I know. It’s been a long time.”

“Then why do you still refuse to accept the truth?” She finally turned to him, her beautiful face slick with tears, her eyes swollen with grief. “I’m barren, Hezekiah. I’ll never give you an heir.”

“But you know that Yahweh has promised—”

“He hasn’t promised
you
an heir.”

He tried to keep his voice gentle, but he needed to convince her of his firm belief in God’s word. “Yes, Hephzibah. Yahweh promised that there would always be an heir of King David to reign on the throne of—”

“Oh, why can’t you see the truth? I’m never going to have a baby. Never!”

“Because it’s not the truth. ‘The Lord swore an oath to David,’ ” Hezekiah quoted, “ ‘a sure oath that he will not revoke—”’

“Please,” she moaned. “You’re clinging to a promise that your God never made to you.”

“But Yahweh
did
promise me.”

“No! He promised
King David
!”

“Hephzibah, it’s the same thing. God told David, ‘One of your own descendants … will sit on your throne for ever and ever.’ ”

She covered her ears, “Stop quoting that to me and listen! Your brother Gedaliah is King David’s descendant, isn’t he?”

The mention of his brother’s name made Hezekiah uneasy. “Well, yes—of course.”

“And Gedaliah has four sons, doesn’t he?”

Hezekiah’s uneasiness grew as she led him down a path he didn’t want to explore. He couldn’t remain seated. “Yes, but what difference does that—”

“Hezekiah, they’re all heirs of King David.”

“Yes! So what?”

“Don’t you see? If you never have a son, Gedaliah or one of his sons can take your place—and Yahweh has still kept His promise to King David.”

Hezekiah saw instantly that she was right. He felt like a fool for failing to recognize the truth all these years. The answer to her barrenness was so simple—and so unfair. He sank down onto the window seat beside her and groped for something to say.

“But … how can that be?” he mumbled.

“Do you want a son of your own to inherit your throne, Hezekiah? Or will you be content to let your brother or your nephew inherit it?”

The question stunned him. Of course he wanted his own son to reign after him. His brother tolerated idol worship; so might his nephews. How could he be content with that?

“If you want your own son to inherit your kingdom,” she continued, “then you’d better renounce me as your wife, because I’m barren.” She covered her face and wept, shaking with the force of her sobs.

For the first time Hezekiah understood her suffering and shared her disappointment. He, too, wanted a son. It wasn’t fair. But in spite of his inner turmoil, he knew that right now Hephzibah’s suffering exceeded his own. She needed him.

“I can’t divorce you, Hephzibah,” he said quietly.

“Why? Because Yahweh forbids it?”

“No. Because I love you.” Hezekiah gathered her in his arms, ignoring for the first time the law that forbade him to touch her. He stroked her soft hair and whispered again, “I love you, Hephzibah. You mean more to me than having an heir.”

She lifted her head, and the desolation in her eyes as she pleaded with him wrenched his heart. “But I want you to have an heir. I want the next king of Judah to be
your
son, not Gedaliah’s. I love you so much that I’m willing to give you up in order to make that possible.”

“No, Hephzibah. I won’t divorce you.”

“Then can’t you find another way? Isn’t there an exception somewhere that allows you to have a second wife if I’m barren?”

“I don’t know—I really don’t know.” He had come to Hephzibah’s room tonight filled with faith for the future. But now he felt as though God had snatched the future from his grasp and handed it to Gedaliah.

“It’s not fair that you should have to choose between staying faithful to me or having a son,” she continued. “How could a loving God demand such a choice from you?”

“There’s a lot I don’t understand …” he began, but once Hephzibah had unleashed her bitterness, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Why would Yahweh forbid you to worship Him tomorrow simply because you felt sorry for me and held me in your arms tonight?

Why is your God so unfair, Hezekiah? After everything you’ve done for Him, is this the way He repays you? By making you choose between divorcing me or giving your kingdom to Gedaliah?”

Hezekiah pressed her tightly to himself. “Shh, Hephzibah … stop.”

Her bitterness fed his own, and the force of it frightened him. He knew that God wasn’t unfair. But he didn’t know how to reconcile his confusion and disappointment with his belief in God’s goodness. He needed time alone to think everything through. He couldn’t afford to listen as Hephzibah angrily voiced her resentment and doubt.

“Hephzibah, listen to me now. A few years ago Shebna tried to talk me into forming a marriage alliance with a foreign king. He was convinced that the Law didn’t prohibit more than one wife, and he insisted that my grandfather’s interpretation of the Law was wrong. He tried to show me what the Torah said, but I wouldn’t listen to him.”

“You mean you might not have to divorce me? Maybe you can have a son, too?”

“I’m not sure. I need to find out the truth. I’ve put you through a lot of heartache over this, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

Her arms tightened around him. “It doesn’t matter—as long as you have a son.”

“The priests and Levites are experts in the Law, and if there’s a solution to this dilemma, they’ll know what it is. I can’t believe that God would be unfair to us.”

But in spite of his words of assurance, Hezekiah’s gnawing uneasiness refused to go away. Why hadn’t he realized long ago that God had promised David an heir, not him? All these years he had comforted Hephzibah through her disappointment, never doubting God’s promise. He had condemned her lack of faith, but she had been right all along. She would never give him the son he wanted.

He had believed God’s promise to provide an heir, just as Abraham had believed, but God had betrayed Hezekiah’s trust. After everything he had done for Yahweh—all the reforms, all the years of faithfulness to His Law—God could give Hezekiah’s throne to Gedaliah, an idolater. The injustice of it infuriated him.

“Don’t cry anymore; everything will work out,” he soothed. “I’ll talk to the priests and Levites tomorrow morning, and by the time I come back tomorrow night I’ll have their answer.” He held her tightly. “I could never give you up, Hephzibah. Never.”

Hephzibah remained seated before the window after Hezekiah left, unable to stop her tears. When her handmaiden returned, she rushed to Hephzibah’s side. “Ah, my poor lady. I tried to tell the king not to come here. I knew he would upset you.”

Hephzibah shook her head, smiling as she wiped her eyes. “No, Merab. I’m weeping for joy. He held me in his arms tonight. He really held me.”

“But the Law says—”

“I know! Tonight he finally realized how unfair Yahweh’s rules are. He told me that he would find a way to break the Law so he could have a son without divorcing me.”

“The king said that?”

“Yes! Merab, do you know how long I’ve prayed for this? How long I’ve been asking the goddess to change his heart?”

“A long time, my lady.”

“Well, tonight it happened. I owe Asherah everything!”

Hephzibah stood and hurried over to the wooden chest she kept beside her bed. She lifted out the golden statue of Asherah and cradled it for a moment, as a mother would a beloved child, before setting it on a small table. Then she lit the oil lamps and incense burners for the nightly ritual to the goddess. But tonight it didn’t seem like enough.

“Merab, where is the incense King Hezekiah gave me?”

“Do you think you should burn that, my lady? He wanted you to take it to Yahweh’s Temple.”

“I don’t care. Bring it to me. The goddess deserves the best I have.”

As Merab bustled off to fetch the incense, Hephzibah picked up the small funeral urn she had prepared a few years ago. The words of the vow she had made, pledging her firstborn child, were still clearly written on it in charcoal. Maybe now the goddess would answer all her other prayers, too, and finally open her womb so she could fulfill her vow.

When she finished lighting all the oil lamps and incense burners, Hephzibah bowed down with her forehead pressed to the floor and began her prayer of praise and thanksgiving to Asherah.

————

Hezekiah dug through the collection of scrolls he kept in his chambers until he found his copy of “The Instructions to the Kings.” Then he drew a lampstand close and sat down to read it carefully.

“He must not take many wives, or his heart will be led astray.”
He read the words over and over.
Many wives
. Shebna was right—the Torah didn’t say “only one.” Would two be considered
many
? And what about concubines? Legally, they weren’t wives at all. Hezekiah hadn’t called for his concubines since he had become king, and they no longer lived in the palace harem. He had moved them to a villa he had built inside Eliakim’s new city walls.

When Hezekiah had studied these instructions years ago, his grandfather had said that if he obeyed these laws, he would never succumb to a king’s three greatest temptations: power, pride, and pleasure. But Hezekiah knew that he wouldn’t be taking a second wife for selfish pleasure. He simply wanted an heir.

He laid the scroll down and stared into space while his servants moved silently around the room lighting all the remaining lamps. Taking a second wife made sense to his rational mind, yet the thought made him uneasy. Knowing he wouldn’t rest until he resolved this dilemma, he called his valet.

“Go see if Joah the Levite is still in the palace, or else Eliakim ben Hilkiah. Ask one of them to come here.”