Christina Rich - The Guardian's Promise

Ari gripped the neck of his tunic in anguish and threatened to rend the garment in two. Even when Jehoiada sent word of his imminent freedom, Ari knew he could never return to the temple and the duties he’d held before Athaliah’s murderous rampage. Life as he had known it had ceased to exist when he had left the gates of Jerusalem. And as hard as it had been to abandon his beloved city with all haste in her time of trouble, it would be even more difficult to leave this village and the friends he’d made.

Blowing out a breath of air, Ari released the fabric and prayed for peace to settle his anxious heart. Although he had not forgotten even one day to meditate on the Lord’s law, at times he doubted whether God had remembered him. Had the Lord abandoned him altogether? Had the Lord forgotten Joash? Had the Lord forgotten His covenant with King David?

“Do you remember your promise to David, Lord? ‘Your house and your kingship shall ever be secure before you, your throne shall be established for evermore.’” He shook his fist at the heavens before bowing his head in remorse.

Questioning God’s faithfulness did not sit well in his soul. He knew once the questioning began, it would soon fester and eat away at his heart. Ari fought the urge to bury his face into his hands. Instead, he stared into the great void and waited for some sort of reprimand from God Himself.

The quiet was only interrupted by the bleating of a goat. Still, he waited, for God’s peace to cloak him. Just as he was about to give up and seek his sleep, a star streaked across his vision and faded into the dark night. He recalled a psalm memorized from childhood.

The Lord doth build up Jerusalem: He gathereth together the outcasts of Israel. He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He telleth the number of the stars; He calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord, and of great power: His understanding is infinite. The Lord lifteth up the meek: He casteth the wicked down to the ground.

If the Most High, in all of His greatness, cared to name even the stars and knew their number, would He not remember Ari?

“Forgive me. The unknown is like torment.” He paused. “If You hear me, O Lord—” his voice a mere whisper to his own ears “—grant me Thy guidance. Thy wisdom. Courage. I am Your servant, Most High, humbled before You.” Whether bound to another man’s house or in freedom. He inhaled the warm, henna-scented night air. An ache throbbed in his chest at the fragrance so much a part of Mira. Could he love her? Could she love him? Of course, it did not matter if God did not will it. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head. “I will go where You lead.”

Had God heard his prayer? Ari could only hope. For there was a promise in that psalm, one Ari would hold on to until Jerusalem was restored from Athaliah’s devastation.

Lying down, Ari laced his fingers to better cushion his head. Seeking to remove Mira from his thoughts, he tried to recall the faces of his brothers, and that of his sister, who had surely grown and married. He recalled the etchings in the stonework of the temple walls, many of which he’d tried to recreate in the bricks he had laid for Mira’s bridal house. Ari smiled and shook his head. No matter where his thoughts began, they always seemed to lead him back to her. Thoughts that had occupied his mind ever since his master had suggested a marriage with his beautiful daughter.

The light thrum of strings began to filter into the night. Mira often played the lyre for her father to soothe his ailing health, which always amazed Ari given the condition of her disjointed fingers. He’d never asked what had caused the scarring and curling of her fingers, but he’d heard the servants speak of an accident when she was a child, one where a wild dog had attacked her. If their stories were true, that made her rescue of him all the more courageous.

Tonight it was as if she played for him and him alone. The chords, a soft, yet whimsical tune clashed through his conscience. It spoke to the warring emotions within his soul. When he went home, would he long for this isolated place? Would he long for a glimpse of the beautiful Mira? Would he long for her scorn and her outspoken ways?

Perhaps.

* * *

Mira uncurled her legs and rose from the woven rug. She leaned her lyre against the stone wall and tiptoed from her father’s chamber. His snoring assured her he slept soundly. Entering the courtyard, she massaged the gnarled joints of her fingers on her maimed hand and recalled the incident that had altered her life. She’d been naught but a young girl with the thought to protect her father’s sheep from the wild dogs. She’d never forget the vicious attack. The way the dog clamped down on her hand, jerking, twisting all the while clawing at her flesh. How could she, the scars she bore had kept her from an appealing marriage.

“You play with sorrow, my daughter.” Her mother sat in the center of the courtyard in front of the hand mill. Several oil lamps illuminated the lines of age around her eyes.

Mira dropped her hands to her sides, hoping she had not been caught massaging her fingers. “Do you ever wonder, Ima, if God truly hears us?” she asked, sitting across from her mother. Mira scooped a handful of wheat from the pottery bowl and dropped it into the center of the mill. She gripped the wooden pin extending upward from the round stone just above her mother’s hand.

“Of course He does,” she replied tilting her head to the side. The little coins, depicting her mother’s status as wife, adorned the headdress she wore and jingled with the slight movement. Mira had done away with her own simple veil once the servants had sought their beds, and so her hair hung freely down her back. A light breeze brushed across her cheeks, lifting her hair off her neck. She liked to imagine the wind was the Lord’s way of approving her slight rebellion.

“What if we do not know our own hearts?” Using the wooden pin to turn the stone, together, they ground the grain to a fine flour.

“What is it you ask, child?”

“I desire something, here,” she said, tapping her heart with her free hand. “What if my desires are selfish? What if they go against God’s will? What if He hears my prayers and it causes another’s prayers to go unanswered?”

Her mother halted the grinding. She brushed her fingers along Mira’s jaw as she smoothed back a lock of hair. “My child, you must trust God and His infinite wisdom. Prayers never go unanswered, but if they are not answered the way we think they should be, it is because God has something better for you.”

Mira considered the wisdom of her mother’s words. She knew she was right, but at times it was difficult to trust. For years she despised Ari for making her feel weak. But today he made her feel protected, cherished. Not an object to be pitied. She’d found herself daydreaming at the well, daydreaming of a union between her an Ari. The more she considered the idea, the more she longed for a marriage with him. But it was more than just wanting Ari for her husband, and that is what she did not understand. Why would God open her eyes to a glimpse of who Ari was only for her father to demand she marry Esha?

“You should rest, Mira. It is late.” Her mother curled her hand around her fingers. The warmth and tenderness of her touch brought momentary relief to her aching joints.

“I should—”

“Rubiel will be here soon to help. Now go on.”

“Yes, Ima.” Leaning across the mill, Mira pressed her lips to her mother’s sun-kissed cheek. She rose and started for her chamber.

“And, Mira,” her mother called.

“Yes, Ima?” Hope bubbled in her chest. Would her mother tell her she didn’t have to marry at all?

“Not all is ever as it seems. That is why you must trust God. If God wills it, then it will be so. Have faith.”