Harvest of Gold (12 page)

“This is not all.”

His brother’s warning made the hair on Nehemiah’s arms stand on end. He untangled his legs and rose, his movements as hesitant as an old man’s. “There is more?”

“Without the walls, Jerusalem is no longer safe. They have suffered a recent famine so there is little food. The rich take advantage of the poor. Most of the residents have left the city to eke out a living from the lands beyond. There are barely a thousand people left in Jerusalem. Our enemies laugh at our disgrace, for we are hardly better than a ruin. I think God has abandoned us, after all.”

When he heard those words, Nehemiah sank to the floor. Unmindful of the men before him, some of whom he had met for the first time that evening, he began to weep. He wept like a child who had lost his mother.

For days Nehemiah mourned. He fasted. And he prayed.

He performed his duties on an empty stomach and with a broken heart. To honor royal protocol, he pasted a smile on his face and hid the misery that ate at his soul. But whenever he had a private hour, he gave it to the Lord. His prayers rent the heavens with their passion.

He asked God for favor, because he knew that he had to approach the king. Artaxerxes had interrupted the work in Jerusalem, and only Artaxerxes could start it again. Nehemiah could not change the heart of a king. But he believed that the Lord could.

For four and a half months he prayed. He sought the Lord. He asked for strength. He begged for direction. His friends joined him in the fervor of their own requests.

No doors opened. Nothing changed. The king offered no opportunity for the cupbearer to present the plight of his land.

Nehemiah prayed harder. God remained silent.

Slowly, a new voice began to seep into his thoughts.
Give up
, it goaded.
Give up!
If God had wished to move, He would have done so by now. What was the point of hours of supplication?
Forsake your prayers! Give up! Who are you to think you can make a difference?

Nehemiah dug in his heels and increased his vigilance. He did not understand why God delayed. He could not explain why his prayers were ignored, when surely the Lord Himself must desire the welfare of Jerusalem. All Nehemiah could do was persevere. So he ignored the words of discouragement in his head and persisted, even when his strength ebbed.

Hanani came to visit him late one evening. Nehemiah’s servant had just finished curling his beard and perfuming his hair.

“Mercy, brother, but you smell better than the king’s gardens,” Hanani said. “With your hair as red as Esau’s, you could pass for a flower.”

Nehemiah gave Hanani a quelling look. “It’s part of the requirements of my position. I cannot come before the king and his esteemed guests smelling like a camel.”

In truth, the discrepancy between his circumstances and those experienced by the people in Judah had begun to grate on his conscience. Day after day he prepared himself for his duties as usual. He bathed and covered his body with silks and linen, knowing his countrymen were poor and naked. He inhabited some of the most luxurious edifices the world had ever seen, aware that his fellow Jews lived with inadequate shelter, exposed to the cruel elements. As his leather-shod feet touched marble walkways and silken carpets, he was mindful that his people only had dirt to rest their feet on.

Hanani held up a hand. “I meant no disrespect. Any breakthroughs with the king?”

“None. I try to remember that walking in the will of God might mean waiting as much as it might mean moving forward.”

Hanani sighed and found a large cushion to sit on. “I’ve always admired your faith, brother. For myself, I find this delay senseless and frustrating.”

Nehemiah smoothed his wide sleeves until no ripple remained in the rich fabric. “One thing
has
changed.”

“I could use some good news.”

Nehemiah’s smile was tight. “I’m not certain you will consider this good news. The months of prayer, though seeming to reap no reward, have produced an unexpected shift in my own heart.

“When I’d first begun to pray, I had merely intended to ask Artaxerxes to reverse his decision. I believed my role was that of intercessor on behalf of the people of Jerusalem. I thought, like Esther, the Lord had planted me close to the king for this hour. I was supposed to intervene for Jerusalem and plead their cause to the king.”

Hanani shifted on his cushion to find a more comfortable spot. “That’s what we have been praying for.”

“My heart has changed, Hanani. The longer I’ve carried on with my supplications, the more I’ve become convinced that Judah needs a strong leader. If the enemies of Jerusalem have already succeeded in interrupting its restoration once, what would prevent them from doing so again? Life at court has taught me that only a faithful commander could see such a demanding task through to its completion. Jerusalem needs more than a building project; it requires a leader who knows how to overcome powerful enemies and draw our people back to the Lord.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to be that leader.”

“Lord have mercy, Nehemiah!” his brother said, his voice a squeak. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know the trouble you are asking for? This is no job for a pampered courtier, if you’ll pardon my frankness. The foes of our nation are hungry wolves who will swallow you whole. Besides, what will the king say? Would he release you from a job you perform well in order to allow you to traipse into a far-flung corner of his empire?”

“Do you think I haven’t asked myself these questions a hundred times over? I know I have no power to secure what I want. I’m helpless to change anything. Neither my talent nor my experience will prevail. God alone has the strength to provide for Jerusalem.”

Nehemiah picked up an exquisite silver goblet, a gift from the king on his last birthday. Absently, he turned it this way and that, blind to its beauty. “You must remember that the descendants of Abraham are supposed to change the world. We are supposed to bless the nations. Instead, we are practically homeless. The provision of God is faithful, Hanani. He hasn’t forgotten that promise. But He asks us to act as His hands and feet on this earth. Should I refuse the Lord’s call because the world might set itself against me? Because the cost is too high?”

Hanani stuck a finger under his high woolen collar and tugged hard. “We were talking about the king of Persia, not God.”

Nehemiah rubbed his hands together. “That is your mistake. This whole endeavor is about the Lord. And
His
path is never smooth, brother. That does not mean I can veer from it. No. I tell you, I
refuse
to give up.”

^*
446 BC

ONE MONTH AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF THE PLOT TO KILL THE KING
THE TWENTIETH YEAR OF KING ARTAXERXES’ REIGN
^*
THE MONTH OF NISAN

n

ehemiah carried the king’s golden chalice with three graceful fingers, folding the last two into his palm according to royal etiquette. When he reached the king’s side, he placed the chalice on a carved ebony table. The base of the cup made not the slightest whisper of a sound as it connected with the table. No ripple disturbed the surface of the dark liquid. Using a bejeweled ladle, Nehemiah drew a small amount of wine from the cup and drank from it.

A servant rushed to his side carrying a folded linen napkin and a bowl of water perfumed with jasmine blossoms. With practiced movements, the cupbearer dipped his hand for a thorough washing before drying it. He had performed this duty too many times to consider the danger; he was testing for poison, after all. He waited the required moments. There was no sudden, excruciating pain, no rush of nausea, no telltale signs of venom at work in his body. He offered the chalice to Artaxerxes. The queen, who was supping with her royal husband that evening, had her own cupbearer perform the same duty for her.

She tasted the wine. A deep sigh of appreciation escaped her lips. “This is from Darius’s vineyard in Persepolis if I’m not mistaken.”

“Your Majesty’s palate is discriminating as always,” Nehemiah said. “My lord Darius’s baggage train arrived last week after an unforeseeable delay. Lady Sarah sent the wine over as soon as it had settled.”

Artaxerxes gave a good-natured smile. “She is a thoughtful girl.”

Nehemiah didn’t have it in him to return the king’s smile. He was weary with a burden of sorrow that refused to be lifted no matter how he prayed. Thoughts of his shattered native land had haunted him for four and a half months. Jerusalem’s ruined walls kept him awake at night and tormented his thoughts in the daylight hours.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Turning aside, he busied himself with the practical details of his duty. In the back of his mind Nehemiah could hear Artaxerxes speaking. It must have been an amusing comment as it made Damaspia laugh. Unexpectedly, the king said, “What do you think, Nehemiah?”

Nehemiah reddened. He had been so steeped in his thoughts that he had no idea what the king had said. He looked down; without warning he felt overwhelmed by such a wave of sorrow that he could barely prevent himself from bursting into tears, an unforgivable offence during a royal audience.

The king gazed at Damaspia for a moment before returning his attention to the cupbearer. “Why are you so sad? What grieves you, Nehemiah?”

Nehemiah tried to speak. Words failed him.

Again Artaxerxes spoke. “You don’t appear sick. It must be your thoughts that trouble you.”

Cold sweat broke out over Nehemiah’s forehead. He clasped his hands together in order to hide their trembling. Intense fear made his heart race. This was the moment he had prayed for. The king had given him the opening he needed in order to make his request. Nehemiah knew that the king might be offended by what he was about to ask. After all, Artaxerxes’ own life was in danger from an unknown assassin; why should he care about a cupbearer’s troubles? Nehemiah might lose the favor of the monarch forever without gaining an advantage for Jerusalem.

“Long live the king!” he said, through dry lips, and plunged ahead. “You are right to say that I am sad, Your Majesty. How could I be anything else when the city of my ancestors lies in ruins?”

Artaxerxes leaned forward on his couch. “I see. Is it about Jerusalem that you speak? What do you want me to do, cupbearer?”

Nehemiah took a moment to send a lightning prayer to the Lord of heaven. After the months of wearing himself out with his supplications, he still felt unprepared for this conversation. “If it please the king, and if I have found favor with Your Majesty, please send me to Judah so that I can rebuild the city where my fathers are buried.”

The queen raised a delicate eyebrow. “You wish to leave us, Nehemiah?”

“Leave you? No, my lady. I only want to go for a short while to help rebuild Jerusalem.”

Artaxerxes heaved a sigh. “How long will you be gone? When do you plan to return to us?”

“As soon as the walls are completed and a semblance of order and safety is restored to the city, I shall return. I hope it will not take me overlong.”

Artaxerxes seemed to consider Nehemiah’s words. With a sharp movement, he leaned back. “Jerusalem is in the satrapy of Beyond the River, isn’t it? How far is that from Damascus?”

“The whole province of Judah is located Beyond the River, sire, or as your scholars call it, the Trans-Euphrates. I am not certain of the distance from Damascus. But it cannot be far.”

“Perhaps there is wisdom in sending you to the land of your forefathers. I do not wish for any part of my kingdom to crumble from neglect. What do you need for this journey?”

Nehemiah took a deep breath. An exuberant sense of hope filled him as he realized that the king had not only granted him permission to go to Jerusalem, but was also open to helping him.

“If it please the king, may I have letters addressed to the governors from Beyond the River? Our convoy will have to travel through their provinces to get to Judah, and a word from you would make our journey safe.”

Artaxerxes signaled for his personal scribe; the man, a reedy-looking eunuch, rushed forward and began to work on the letters immediately.

“You must need some provisions, surely,” Damaspia said.

Nehemiah turned to her, bestowing a grateful smile in her direction. “Indeed, Your Majesty. A work of construction of this magnitude will need extra lumber. If it please the king, may I have a letter to Asaph, the manager of the royal forests, instructing him to give me timber? We need beams for the gates of the Temple fortress, for the city walls, and for a house where I can reside.”

Artaxerxes did not demur. With a royal nod, he set his eunuch to write a letter to Asaph. Overwhelmed by the king’s generous consent to every request, Nehemiah felt relief flood through his limbs.
The gracious hand of God is on me
, he thought.
He has opened this door
. A new strength filled him as soon as his mind grasped hold of this realization. No matter how hard the journey ahead might prove, he knew now that it was the will of God. The Lord had called Nehemiah, and He would provide for him.