A.D. 30(111)

“The tiger is Aretas and it is you who remind me of my fear!”

“Then you must believe the mystic with full confidence. He is truly a man who can command your troubles.”

But I wasn’t the queen Saba thought I was or could be. Truly, I despised my weakness.

“I know you mean well, Saba. But I’m forever enslaved.”

I couldn’t even see his eyes to know his reaction.

“Please… leave me.”

“As you wish.” He left me to my own torment.

Sarah was in the courtyard and must have overheard, but I wasn’t interested in her telling me that I needed to trust Yeshua. I only wanted to be alone. So I gathered my shawl and wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, then I slipped out the back.

Under a full moon, the night was still save for the chirping of insects and the distant sound of a dog barking. There was a grove of olive trees on the rise behind the house and I headed to it, knowing I would find solace there, where no man walked at night.

Alone under a tree at the center of the grove, I sank to the ground, pulled my legs up under my chin, and I let myself mourn as I had in the dungeons of Petra.

I mourned for my dead son and for Judah and for Rami. But now I mourned mostly for myself, proving the fullness of my weakness.

The burden that the world had placed on me as a daughter to the wrong mother was too great. That same burden now crushed me as Maviah, daughter of Rami, from whom far too much was expected.

For a long time, I rocked there beneath the tree, counting up all the evidence that blamed the world for my misery. Yes, I was gathering grievances, but it gave me the only meaning I could find.

I fed my self-pity with hot tears of anger.

Overcome with sorrow, I settled to my side, lay my head on my hands, and let my tears flow until merciful sleep stole my mind.


THE DREAM CAME after many other smaller dreams, each accusing me of my faults.

I was in Elias’s boat, and the dark seas raged about me like crouching jinn, snarling and foaming at the mouth. I spun around and saw that I was alone. The sky had turned black and the wind howled like rabid dogs with jagged teeth to shred the boat and rip the flesh from my bones.

Trembling, I clung to the mast with both arms, terrified for my life.

“Save me!” I cried, but the storm crushed my words with cracking thunder, denouncing me for my weakness.

Images rose up from those waves. My father, cursing my mother and throwing me to the slave traders as an infant. My master in Egypt, banishing me and sending me into the desert. Kahil, tossing my son from the window. Judah, beaten and bloody. A dungeon, imprisoning me in Petra. Sand pressed into my eyes, blinding me.

My own blood flowing, reminding me that I was only a woman.

The waves fell upon the boat and tore me from the mast, throwing me into the bottom of the boat. I gasped, gulping water. I would drown! It was too much for me. I was going to drown!

And then, in the way dreams can change, the water became my own tears, and I was drowning in wretched sorrow and self-pity. But I could not stand it, so I turned my sorrow into anger, then into such rage as I had never known.

I faced the black sky and I screamed my grievance, one arm around the mast again, one fist raised over my head. “I curse you, Rami! I curse you for throwing me away! I hate you!”

My words surprised me, for I had never allowed myself such words.

“I curse all the kingdoms who crush me! I curse the gods and the kings. I curse all men for enslaving me! I curse…”

The sea rose up beneath the boat like a mighty fist, thrusting it high, and my words caught in my throat. I could see that still larger waves were fast approaching, sure to hammer the boat to splinters.

Thunder roared. The wave fell away. The boat dropped and slammed into the sea with a shuddering blow.

And with that blow, a moment of calm came. I heard a gentle, consoling voice behind me at the bow.

“Maviah…”

I twisted to see Yeshua standing at the bow, feet planted—one upon the wooden seat, the other upon the leading tip of the boat. He was, gazing out at the horizon as if there were no storm.

Once again the wind blew, lifting his hair and tearing at his cloak. If he noticed, he showed no sign of it.

“Maviah… the one who feels so lowly among women. A slave among men. The least of all, so unworthy and afraid.”

I was too stunned to speak.

“Do you still see all of this as great trouble where I see none?” he asked, slowly turning to face me. “Only because you see with a plank of judgment in your eye.”

In that dream my vision was clear and I could see Yeshua’s eyes, wells of endless peace and power, beckoning me to enter another realm. But he was saying I still could not see.

“In these waves that threaten to crush you, you still perceive darkness, and how deep is that darkness.”