Return to Me Read online

  © 2013 by Lynn Austin

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6270-7

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. www.zondervan.com

  Cover design by Jennifer Parker

  Photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC

  To my husband, Ken

  and to my children:

  Joshua, Vanessa, Benjamin, Maya, and Snir

  “Return to me,” declares the Lord Almighty,

  “and I will return to you.”

  ZECHARIAH 1:3

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Part I: Babylon

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part II: Promised Land

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Part III: Jerusalem

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Part IV: The Temple

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Glossary

  A Note to the Reader

  Books by Lynn Austin

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  OCTOBER 539 BC

  A boom of thunder woke Daniel from a deep sleep. He lay in the darkness, disoriented, waiting for a flash of lightning to illuminate his room. The thunder rumbled again—but it wasn’t thunder, it was pounding. Who would pound on his door in the middle of the night?

  “Coming,” he called as the noise continued. “I’m coming.” He climbed from bed, his movements slow at age eighty-two, and wrapped his outer robe around his shoulders like a blanket. The stone floor felt cold beneath his bare feet as he groped his way in the dark. He opened the door to a blaze of blinding torchlight. “Yes? Who is it?” he asked, shielding his eyes.

  “You’re needed at the palace, my lord.”

  Daniel squinted at the bright light. Two men in blood-red tunics. The king’s servants. He wondered if he was still dreaming. On another night years ago, King Nebuchadnezzar had also sent servants to bring him to the palace in the dark of night. The king had suffered a nightmare and would have executed Daniel and all the other wise men if the Almighty One hadn’t shown Daniel the dream and its meaning. He had been a much younger man, back then. Nebuchadnezzar’s grandson summoned him now.

  Daniel rubbed his eyes, struggling to shake off his sleepiness. “The palace? Why? What’s wrong?”

  “King Belshazzar and the queen mother have called for you. They’re waiting at the royal palace, my lord.” The urgency in the servant’s tone convinced Daniel this was no dream.

  “Very well. I’ll need a moment.”

  “Please hurry, my lord.”

  It was useless to ask why he was being summoned. The servants likely didn’t know the reason, and besides, a summons from the palace couldn’t be ignored. Daniel smoothed his sleep-rumpled hair, changed into his robes, and fastened his sandals as quickly as his age allowed. The king’s servants walked briskly as they led him through the maze of streets and courtyards and hallways to the palace. Daniel had grown into manhood here in Babylon. He had served three generations of pagan Babylonian kings. Nothing these monarchs did should have surprised him, but his stomach churned with dread just the same.

  The journey ended at the palace banquet hall. When the towering doors swung open, Daniel saw King Belshazzar and hundreds of guests gathered for one of the young king’s lavish parties. The remains of the extravagant meal lay abandoned on all of the tables along with empty wine vessels and pitchers of strong drink. The party seemed to have halted in mid-motion as if frozen in time. Instead of drunken laughter and merriment, the guests spoke in hushed voices that rustled through the room like dead leaves. As Daniel entered, even the whispering stopped. The air stank of wine and sweat—and fear.

  He glanced around as the servants urged him forward. The court musicians stood like statues, their instruments silent in their limp hands. He could tell by the guests’ bleary eyes and sprawling postures that many of them were drunk, yet their expressions were unusually somber. Everyone seemed shaken, as if the earth had quaked, halting the revelry in mid-stride. Daniel saw them watching as he walked forward between the tables, approaching the royal dais where King Belshazzar and the queen mother awaited him. Gold and silver serving dishes glittered in the torchlight on the head table, and when Daniel recognized the designs on some of them he nearly lost his balance. These treasures had come from the temple, God’s holy temple in Jerusalem. Like the Jewish people themselves, these sacred vessels had been torn from their rightful places to be demeaned and abused by pagan people who worshipped idols. The blasphemy of their use at the king’s orgy shocked him. “How long, O, Lord? Will you forget me forever? . . . How long will my enemy triumph over me?”

  Royal magi and enchanters in dark robes hovered around the king like a flock of crows, watching Daniel approach. Again, he remembered the night that King Nebuchadnezzar had called for all of his wise men and wondered if he was Belshazzar’s last resort. Typically, these Babylonian rulers sought Daniel’s advice only in a crisis. Otherwise, they preferred that he stay far away and not remind them of the Sovereign God of Israel and His laws.

  Daniel halted in front of the king but didn’t bow down. Belshazzar appeared ill, his face a sickly gray. His voice quavered when he spoke. “A-are you Daniel, one of the exiles my forefathers brought from Judah?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m told that the spirit of the gods is in you.” He glanced at the queen mother as if for confirmation. “They say that you have insight, intelligence, and outstanding wisdom.”

  Daniel didn’t reply. Flattery from a man who displayed no common sense or self-control, much less reverence for God, meant nothing to him.

  “I want you to look at this.” The king pointed to the wall behind him. Daniel took another step closer and saw markings on it, as if streaks of
light shone down on the wall from a source high above. But there was no window, no source of light. Daniel stepped onto the dais and skirted around the king’s banquet table as he tried to discern what the markings were. They appeared to be letters and words, writing of some sort.

  “I summoned my wise men and enchanters,” Belshazzar said, gesturing to the men. “I asked them to read this writing and tell me what it meant, but they couldn’t do it.”

  Daniel silently prayed for wisdom as he examined the wall up close, running his fingers over the rough plaster. “Where did these markings come from, Your Majesty? Who wrote them?”

  When the king didn’t reply, Daniel turned around to ask him again and saw terror in Belshazzar’s eyes. He couldn’t seem to speak. One of the men seated beside him said, “The fingers of a human hand appeared and wrote on the plaster of the wall.”

  Belshazzar nodded, swallowing, and finally found his voice. “It-it’s true. I sat right here and watched as a . . . a hand . . . out of nowhere . . . wrote the words that you see.”

  Had it been a hallucination, the result of too much wine? A lifetime of strong drink led men to delirium. Daniel had heard of men who preferred death to the horrid beasts of their drunken imaginations. But everyone in the banquet hall stared at the writing, too. It couldn’t be a mass hallucination. Besides, Daniel saw the writing, as well.

  He turned to study the wall, reading the words out loud: “Mene, mene, tekel, parsin.” They were three weights, three units of money. Again, he silently asked the Almighty One to show him the meaning.

  “Now, I have heard,” the king began, his voice shrill with fright. He cleared his throat to start again. “I’ve heard that you’re able to give interpretations and solve difficult problems. If you can read this writing and tell me . . . tell us . . . what it means, you’ll be clothed in purple and . . . and have a gold chain placed around your neck . . . and I’ll make you the third highest ruler in the kingdom.”

  The third highest ruler. An honor indeed. Babylon’s reigning monarch, King Nabonidas, had gone away for the winter months, leaving his son Belshazzar in charge as second-in-command. But Daniel wanted no part in this corrupt kingdom. He simply wanted to return home to his bed.

  It was becoming very clear to him what the writing on the wall meant. He had spent more than sixty-five years as a captive in this nation and had served on the king’s advisory council most of that time. But for the past few years, he had watched the Babylonian empire slowly disintegrate before his eyes. King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream had foretold that this day would come and Babylon would fall. The statue’s golden head would be replaced by a chest and arms of silver. Daniel’s own dream of four great beasts had confirmed that the Babylonian kingdom would not last. But the demise had come much sooner than Daniel had imagined. He wondered what Babylon’s downfall would mean for him and his fellow Jews, languishing in exile.

  “Well? Can you tell us what the writing means?” the king asked.

  “You may keep your gifts for yourself and give your rewards to someone else—”

  “But I demand to know the meaning of the writing! How dare you refuse me?”

  “Let me finish,” Daniel said, holding up his hand. “While I don’t want or need your rewards, nevertheless I will read the writing and tell you what it means.” He waited until the murmuring stopped and a hush fell over the room. He would speak for God, declaring the truth, and whatever happened after that . . . his life was in God’s hands, as it always had been.

  “O king, the Most High God gave your forefather Nebuchadnezzar sovereignty and greatness and splendor. All nations and men of every language dreaded and feared him. Those who the king wanted to put to death, he put to death. Those he wanted to spare, he spared; those he wanted to promote he promoted. But when his heart became arrogant and hardened with pride, God deposed him from his royal throne and stripped him of his glory. He was driven away from people and given the mind of an animal. He ate grass like cattle and his body was drenched with the dew of heaven until he acknowledged that the Most High God is sovereign over the kingdoms of men.”

  Belshazzar gestured impatiently. “I’ve heard my grandfather’s story. Get on with it. I want to know about the writing.”

  Daniel drew a breath, exhaling slowly to steady himself as he prepared to confront the king with God’s judgment. “But you his heir, O Belshazzar, have not humbled yourself, though you admit that you knew about Nebuchadnezzar. Instead, you’ve set yourself up against the Lord of heaven. These are God’s holy vessels,” he said, gesturing to the banquet table. “They were consecrated for use in His temple, yet you brought them here so that you and your nobles, your wives and your concubines, could drink wine from them. You praise gods of silver and gold, which cannot see or hear or understand. But you don’t honor the God who holds your life in His hand. Therefore, God has sent the hand that wrote that inscription.”

  The young king stared at him, waiting. Daniel could see that even after this dramatic reminder, Belshazzar’s heart overflowed with fear, not repentance.

  “This is what these words mean,” Daniel said, his voice gathering strength. “Mene: God has numbered the days of your reign and brought it to an end.”

  Murmurs chased around the room. The drunken king lowered his head to his chest for just a moment, then lifted his chin again, defiant.

  “Tekel,” Daniel continued. “You have been weighed on the scales and found wanting.” The king’s wise men seemed appalled that Daniel would speak so bluntly. He didn’t care. “Peres: Your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians.”

  Loud voices reverberated all over the room. Nervous laughter. Outrage. Daniel turned away from the writing, preparing to leave.

  “Wait!” the king commanded.

  Daniel halted. What now? He tried to draw a deep breath but couldn’t.

  “Clothe him in purple. Place my gold chain around his neck. Tomorrow Daniel shall sit at my right hand, the third highest ruler.”

  Daniel’s shoulders sagged in relief. He shook his head in disgust. He didn’t want the honor, but Belshazzar seemed determined to follow through on his promise. It took Daniel thirty minutes to free himself from the ongoing drama and return to his bedroom. The sun still hadn’t risen, but Daniel thought he heard sounds of turmoil in the city streets below the palace. Had word of the startling events at the banquet hall spread so quickly?

  Daniel didn’t concern himself with such things. God had made it clear tonight that the kingdom of Babylon was finished, Belshazzar and his father, Nabonidas, were doomed. What their downfall would mean for Daniel’s own life or for his people, he couldn’t guess. Ever since the Babylonians had taken him captive in Jerusalem as a young man, his life had been in God’s hands—the same hand that had written on the wall tonight. And so it would always be. No matter what came next, Daniel rested safely in the grip of his Sovereign God.

  Part I

  Babylon

  By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept

  when we remembered Zion. . . .

  If I forget you, O Jerusalem,

  may my right hand forget its skill.

  May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth

  if I do not remember you,

  if I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy.

  PSALM 137:1, 5–6

  Chapter

  1

  Iddo awoke from the dream, gasping. The nightmare had nearly devoured him. He heard his wife’s soothing voice, felt her hand resting on his chest as if trying to calm his pounding heart. “Shh . . . It was just a dream, Iddo. Just a dream . . .”

  But it wasn’t a dream, at least not the kind that other people had when they slept, seeing visions that made no sense in the light of day. In Iddo’s dreams he relived memories, powerful memories, as real as on the day he’d lived them as a child. The images and sounds and horrors had imprinted on his soul the way a stylus presses into soft clay. The kiln of suffering had hardened them, and they could never be era
sed.

  He drew a shaky breath, wiping his hand across his face, scrubbing tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dinah,” he whispered. “I’m sorry . . .”

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I’ll make you something warm to drink.”

  He rested his hand on her arm, stopping her. “No, stay in bed. Why should we both be awake?” Iddo rose from their mat, groping in the dark for his robe. He wouldn’t be able to sleep now.

  During the daytime he could control the images that circled the edges of his consciousness like jackals by looking up at the cloud-swept sky or studying the perfection of his infant grandson’s tiny fingers. But at night, when darkness hid the Creator’s beauty, the images and sounds closed in on Iddo, scratching and clawing, refusing to be silenced. Once they pounced they would strip him of everything he had accomplished, ripping at the man he now was, reducing him to the ten-year-old child he had been when Jerusalem fell—helpless, terrified, naked, and shivering before his enemies. Forty-seven years had passed since he’d lived the real nightmare, and Iddo had spent those years here in Babylon. He had a wife, children, grandchildren—all born here. Yet the atrocities he’d seen in Jerusalem remained as vivid as the world he saw every morning. The nightmare never faded, never blurred.

  He waited for his heart to slow, his breathing to ease, then shuffled to the door, opening and closing it soundlessly so he wouldn’t disturb his household. Outside in his dark courtyard, he traced the familiar silhouette of the mud brick houses in his neighborhood, the spiky date palms growing along the nearby canal. He lifted his chin to watch stars disappear, then reappear behind the playful night clouds. “‘When I consider your heavens,’” he whispered, “‘the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?’” The psalms of King David were another weapon he used to keep the jackals of fear away.

  The terror that had destroyed Jerusalem was the Almighty One’s punishment. All of the prophets had said so. God no longer dwelled with His people because they’d been unfaithful to Him. His temple was destroyed, His people scattered among the nations, living among pagan gods. Iddo’s only hope, his family’s only hope, lay in studying God’s Law, filling his heart and mind with the Torah, obeying every word of it every day of his life. If he sought the God of his fathers with all his strength, maybe the Holy One would show mercy and return to His people again.