Michal (48 page)

Images passed before her thoughts, as though her life were being replayed. Father’s rage. David’s kiss. Paltiel’s arrogance. Her bitter words flung in David’s face.

She slowly unclenched her fingers as the pictures played like a terrible dream in her mind. Grief and guilt rose in her chest, filling her with deep remorse. She blinked hard and tried to look heavenward, but her knees grew weak, and heaviness fell like a hot blanket over her soul.

O Adonai!

Her heart twisted in fear and pain. She felt as though a hand pressed down on her, forcing her to her knees.

And suddenly she knew. A window to her soul opened, and Michal squirmed at the sight. What a bitter woman she’d become! She’d been so afraid Father’s demons would one day hound her steps that she never realized she’d given herself over to demons of her own.

She lowered her head to her hands, the pressure of guilt squeezing her soul. A sense of humility washed over her, and her spirit felt stripped and bare before the eyes of the One who sees all. How could she even lift her head to speak with Him? He had exposed her shame, and the scars in her cynical soul repulsed her. How could she ever face anyone again, let alone the Lord?

Come to Me with clean hands and a pure heart.

She turned her hands over, examining them. Oh, they were clean on the outside, perfectly perfumed and hennaed too. But she’d used them to seek her own way all of her life.

She lifted her gaze long enough to glance across the garden, where the teraphim sat guarding the opposite gate. She had kept them purposely, knowing David would never approve. Another stain on her hands.

O Adonai, please forgive me.

The weight of her guilt nearly leveled her to the floor, and tears blurred her vision again. She would destroy the idols first thing.

And a pure heart.

Despair slid next to the grief in her soul. How on earth could she ever have a pure heart? Hers was as black as a starless night.

Repent.

The word sang in her thoughts, as though David had strummed his lyre and sung the word in her ear. Repent? Hope filled her. Was it that easy?

Repent, beloved.

Oh, could she? Would Adonai accept her after all she’d done? She moved from her knees and prostrated her body across the smooth stones. Words formed in her thoughts, and she spoke aloud slowly, haltingly, like a baby taking his first steps.

“I have never prayed to You like this, Adonai. I’ve never come seeking Your forgiveness, never humbled myself before You, never realized my sin. I don’t know if You can forgive me for my pride or give me the pure heart You require. But I’m coming to You, and if You will have me, I will submit to You.”

Michal’s words continued in broken sobs as she named every sin that surfaced—her deceit when she had convinced Father to give Merab to Adriel, her lies when Father had questioned her about David, her angry words poured out at David’s feet, and most of all her bitterness. She grew stiff and achy until she finally pushed up to her trembling knees and gazed heavenward.

Was it possible? Her bitterness was gone, melted away like wax seeping into the soil on a hot day. Joy filled her. She was clean! Her heart felt light, and she laughed outright, almost giddy.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Keziah asked, rushing through the door of the house.

Michal could not contain her smile. “Better than I’ve ever been.”

If only she could share her news with David. The thought dampened her spirit, but the joy remained. If God willed, she would see David again to share her newfound faith.

“It’s been six months, my lord, and Rizpah still stands guard over the bodies of her sons, not allowing the carrion birds to touch their bodies.” The messenger had come from the tribe of Benjamin with a contingent of men.

David looked down at the crowd, searching for a friendly face, but saw only troubled glances. His gaze shifted to his counselors, and he motioned for them to approach his throne.

Ahithophel spoke first. “Perhaps it’s time you gave the bodies a proper burial, my lord. The famine has only partially let up. The Lord may not bless us until the bodies are no longer exposed.”

David noted the nods of Hushai and Benaiah. He glanced over at Amnon and Absalom seated to the right of the court. How would he have felt if they had been among the dead? A twinge of guilt nudged him. Perhaps that would explain Michal’s outrage when the men were killed. Had he picked her nephews out of his own private revenge? David shook away the disturbing thought. It had not been his idea to execute Saul’s family. He’d done it for the good of the people. Still, six months’ exposure to the elements was long enough.

“You’re right, Ahithophel, it is time to give the men a proper burial. We will exhume the bones of Saul and Jonathan as well and bury them in the cave of Saul’s father, Kish.”

He excused his counselors and announced his intentions to the men from Benjamin. Maybe then God would bless the land again with abundance.

A knock at the door, so unusual these days, made Michal’s heart skip. She looked up from the pillow she was embroidering with fig leaves and purple lilies and nodded to Keziah, who jumped up to open it. David’s guard stood to the side, admitting a messenger bearing the royal insignia. David had a message—for her?

The man stepped into the room, and Michal laid her stitching aside. She watched the messenger bow at her feet.

“My lady,” he said, meeting her gaze, “the king has sent word to inform you that there will be a memorial service honoring your father at the end of the week. We will be traveling to the burial cave of King Saul’s father, Kish. Do you wish to come?”

Michal’s heart leaped, hope filling her. David was going to honor her father? And he was inviting her to come? “Yes. Tell the king . . . tell my lord, King David, that I would be pleased to come.”

The guard gave her a curious look. What had the servants been saying about her? Were her words and tone so different that he actually noticed? Would David notice too?

“I will give the king your message, my lady.”

O Lord, please let David look on me with favor once again.
I don’t deserve the pleasure of his company or the status of
first wife restored to me after what I’ve said and done to Your
anointed, but please . . . if nothing else, let me share with David
what You have done for me.

She watched the messenger close the door behind him, and she picked up her stitching again. What she wouldn’t give to move freely through David’s house again. Even to interact with his bickering wives was better than this seclusion. And yet, it was nothing more than she deserved. She knew that now. If only God would be merciful . . . Dare she hope? Maybe then she would find a renewed purpose for living.

38

Michal tugged the woolen cloak over her shoulders and hunkered closer to her mule’s neck, trying to block the cool wind from seeping against her skin. The caravan traveling from Jerusalem to Zelah where her grandfather’s bones rested was filled with heads of tribes, mighty men, several of David’s family, and what looked like the entire tribe of Benjamin. Her father’s concubine, Rizpah, was given a place of honor behind the king and to the left of Mephibosheth, who followed the men carrying the bones of Saul, Jonathan, Rizpah’s sons, and Michal’s five nephews.

The wind picked up as they neared the outskirts of the town, whipping the scarf around Michal’s head. She reached one hand to pull the black sheer fabric from her eyes and scanned the crowd. David was separated from her by scores of men. Would she even be able to see the cave when they placed her father’s bones within its walls?

Pain tugged at her, and the familiar bile of bitterness rose to choke her. This was her family! She deserved to be leading the crowd, or at least given the honor due Saul’s last surviving offspring. Yet David treated her as though she were as dead as the men whose bleached bones they were burying.

She shook her head, forcing her tears into submission. No! She mustn’t think like this. Adonai would not be pleased if she spoke out in anger again. She bit her tongue, begging God to keep the bitter words from spilling from her mouth.

Give me a heart of humility, Lord. A heart like David’s.

David slipped from his mule, and she watched his men follow his example. They formed small groups around the burial cave, effectively blocking her view. There was no way she could force a path through such a crowd unless she made a terrible ruckus. Not a good way to endear herself to David.

She tugged on the mule’s reins, maneuvering as close as she dared. She pulled to the side of the crowd, craning her neck to see. Several muscular soldiers shoved aside the heavy stone, and the men carrying the bones of her family members stepped closer to the opening of the cave.

A trumpet sounded with royal fanfare, and flags whipped in the wind.

David’s voice quieted the crowd. “Men of Israel, today we lay to rest with honor the bones of Saul and his beloved son, Jonathan.” His voice broke with emotion. “Jonathan, my brother, how wonderful your friendship and how great your devotion.” He looked over the crowd, his eyes resting for a moment on hers.

His gaze moved on, and her heart sank. Jonathan’s devotion was better than hers. Jonathan would have done all in his power to support David, no matter what.

She listened, eyes riveted on David, as he commended Rizpah for her loyalty to her sons and expressed his sorrow over all their losses. At last, when the words ended and the crowd sang a song of mourning—the song David had written when her father had died—the bones were placed in the tomb, and the tomb was sealed with her father’s royal insignia.

Michal allowed the wind to shove the veil over her eyes, grateful that it hid her silent tears. She bowed her head, waiting for the crowd to disperse as men and women mounted horses and donkeys to return to Jerusalem and their surrounding villages. David’s entourage took longer to ready themselves, and Michal thanked the Lord for the added time she could mourn in peace. She slipped from her mule’s back and stretched her legs, then walked away from the group to the shelter of a cluster of rocks.