Song of Redemption (Chronicles of the Kings #2) (Volume 2)
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This powerful dramatization of King Hezekiah's life and faith surges forward. Chronicles of the Kings book 2.
door open. A moment later Eliakim strode into the room. “Son!” Hilkiah cried. He leaped up to embrace him, kissing Eliakim on both cheeks. “Welcome home! Look at you! Oh, how I’ve missed you!” “Me too, Abba.” Eliakim returned the embrace warmly. He nodded politely in Jerusha’s direction but didn’t look at her. Eliakim appeared older, more mature, to Jerusha, and she saw a network of fine wrinkles around his tired eyes. But traveling had obviously agreed with him. His slim body had filled out,
firstborn of my womb.” She opened her eyes and drew the symbols in black on the urn that would hold her baby’s remains: the symbol for Asherah, the symbol for sacred vow, the symbol for firstborn, the symbol for death. Then Hephzibah covered her face with sooty hands and wept. 35 HILKIAH’S DISTRESS DEEPENED as he watched his son disappear into his room. Eliakim hovered on the verge of collapse, and Hilkiah guessed that his hands, which trembled uncontrollably, were not bruised and bloody
grumble of thunder a moment later. For his nation’s sake, he would try to appease both political factions—and both sides of himself—for as long as he possibly could. With his economy in chaos, his nobility sharply divided, and his nation in a state of turmoil, the next few months of his reign would be challenging enough. Prince Gedaliah seethed with rage as he sat through the king’s council meeting. Hezekiah had finally appointed a palace administrator—and it wasn’t him. In fact, Hezekiah
of the sanctuary with their instruments. The sound of voices and instruments in the echoing courtyard, along with the stirring melody, touched a chord in Hezekiah as ancient as his ancestry and brought back tender memories of Zechariah singing to him, comforting him when he was a child. As the music rose in the morning air, the sacrifices seemed transformed. The splattered blood and slaughtered animals faded into the background as the priests accomplished their tasks in rhythm to the music. It
gagged her, and she wondered if the child could smell it, too—if it would poison his soul, even in the womb. The sky turned black with vultures, like dark-robed pilgrims flocking to a great feast. Jerusha watched and listened all day, then the next day, and the next. The soldiers didn’t return from their sport, and she was alone. Marah hadn’t moved from her place inside the tent. The brutality and violence Jerusha witnessed reached nightmarish proportions, with every kind of inhumanity