All in a day's work.

“Shush”

Reuben's gasp of surprise on being woken so rudely was quickly stifled as the hand that had been shaking his shoulder moved to his mouth.

“Don't wake anyone.”

Reuben's eyes grew wide as he saw his older brother in the dim morning light. He took the robe that was thrown at him and dressed quickly, scuttling after Eli as he left the house.

“Where we going 'Li?”

“Work.”

“But mam said I wasn't to yet.”

“Yeah, well things are different now. You'll see. Now shut up and move.” Eli's harsh words were softened by the handful of dates he pulled from his pocket and dropped into his younger brother's hand. The two hurried along the dusty track, Ruben swallowing the sticky dates as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Within a few minutes the brick fields were in sight. Most of the men were already there, standing in small groups organising the days work and chatting quietly. Some were still arriving, rush to ensure the overseers didn't notice a late arrival and to Reuben's surprise he saw several of his friends trotting after fathers and older brothers, looking as dazed as he felt.

“Go over there with the other kids, keep your mouth shut and do as you're told. You'll be ok.” Eli pushed Reuben towards a group that was growing around Levi, his friend Nathan's dad. Reuben ran over and squeezed through until he was stood next to Nathan. They shot a grin at each other, and then turned to listen to the instructions they were being given.

* * *

“He's only a baby, what were you thinking.”

“He's old enough at seven to be out there with the rest us. He has to be now.”

Reuben was so tired. He hadn't realised how hard straw was. True he had played with it, but that was very different from gathering and carrying it. His hands were covered in small cuts and his shoulders ached so much he couldn't get comfortable on his mat. He'd been in bed since shortly after coming home. His mother had cuffed him round the ear when she heard where he had been; given him something to eat and then sent him straight to bed. The argument had started as soon as his father had walked in through the door a few hours later.

“I know how old he is. I gave birth to him. I've fed him, looked after him, run round after the lot of you and done my own work. He's too young to be out in the brick fields. Especially now. When we are freed he won't need to make bricks, so why take him.”

“When we are freed,” Reuben heard a bitter laugh. “You think that will happen any day soon?”

“But Moses and Aaron...”

“Are senile old men who have just cursed us all to an early grave.”

“But they said God had sent them.”

“They were wrong.”

“What about the signs, the staff turning into a snake, Aaron's hand become leprous and then clean?”

“What about it. Pharaoh doesn't care for our God and his signs, He has his own magicians. Only now we have no straw provided for the bricks, we have to gather our own. And make as many bricks as before.”

“He can't expect that.”

“Oh yes he can. The slave drivers have made it abundantly clear.”

There was a rustle of clothing and then Reuben heard his mother gasp.

“Let me get some balm for that.”

There was a silence, punctuated only by the occasional low groan. Reuben almost fell asleep before he heard voices again.

“Thanks. That feels a lot better.”

“You should have told me.”

“Yeah, well. You see now why the kids have to work, we need them to gather the straw and get it to the brick fields.”

“Yes,” a pause before Reuben heard his mother continue, “but I wish it wasn't so.”

“I know, so do we all.”

“What did Moses and Aaron say?”

“Those two! They are still saying the same thing. That God will redeem us. Well they've just made that task all the more unlikely haven't they.”

“Maybe He will.”

“And maybe He won't. It's a pipe dream, yes, we all wanted it, yes we all got carried away and worshipped God when they spoke to us and showed us those signs. But it didn't work. Things are worse and Moses is to blame. If he hadn't told the Pharaoh to let us go and worship then the Pharaoh wouldn't have got it in his head that we were lazy and not working hard enough. We were better off before Moses got our hopes up.”

Reuben wriggled to try and relieve the ache in his shoulders. He'd heard a lot of people talking about Moses today. No one seemed to have anything good to say. His father's bitter scorn was nothing to the cursing he had heard from some of the younger men as he carried the straw through the fields. Reuben was not sure what was happening, no one explained things to a seven year old, but he could feel the tension, see the whisperings, hear the cursing, and the crack of the whip. Moses, whoever he was seemed to have angered both the Pharaoh and the Hebrews. Reuben shivered though the night was warm. He felt suddenly grown up. Life had changed.

The story of the Hebrews making bricks without straw can be found in Exodus ch5 v1-21

Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2009

All rights reserved.

Aaron Remembers

I've told no-one about this trip. I doubt if anyone other than Miriam remembers Moses, and I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want her to insist on coming with me; insist on telling everyone; on taking over. I might be wrong, I probably am. I mean after all these years he's more likely to be dead than alive. That would make more sense. None of us have heard from Moses in forty years. Not since he killed that slave driver and fled. And yet, here I am walking into the desert to meet him.

If Moses has been alive all this time then why wait until now, when he is too old to fight? What can he want from us now so many years have passed? Or is he returning home to die amongst his own? I suppose we are his own. Unless he has made a new life, married, borne sons and become one of his wife's people. Somehow that feels unlikely. Whatever else, by blood and birth he is a Hebrew and maybe it is right that he comes home at last.

Miriam always thought he would come back. She was sure he was going to be used by God to stop our people being oppressed. I don't know what she expected to happen, but she thought it was no chance thing that Moses was saved and raised by an Egyptian princess. When he fled she was angry with him, thinking he had been a coward and missed his opportunity. Once she calmed down; and that took several years; she began to hope that he might come back and do, well, something. It's several years now since she mentioned his name, but when people discuss out plight, the grim set of her mouth shows me she still thinks of Moses and what might have been.

It's odd, Miriam and I have grown old. I am almost 83, she is older and I know Moses must be around 80, he was only a few years younger than me and yet I am expecting to see the straight backed, strong, silent looking figure who left. I know he won't look like that, but that is the only image of him I carry in my mind. That is my memory. For me he exists only in memories. Maybe that is why I kept quiet about this trip, a journey to meet a memory makes me like one of the old men. One of those who live more in the past than the present. If I told them that I thought God had spoken to me then it would just confirm my senility. I have no way of proving it.

That's why I am going. Not because I really expect to see Moses as I remember him, nor even because I expect to find an old man wanting one last glimpse of his family, but because God spoke to me and told me to do this. Believing that there is nothing else I can do but go.

It was last night, late in the evening. I'd eaten and was taking a walk before sleeping. Looking up at the sky I remembered the story my mother told me about the Patriarch Abraham and the promise God had made to him, that his descendants would be more numerous than the stars in the sky and the sand of the desert. Rather clever of God that, choosing something Abraham would see each day and night, sand and stars, so that he would always be reminded of the promise. It certainly reminded me. I stood, looking up at the sky; silent, but shouting out, “God of our fathers, hear us. Remember us. Redeem us.”

“Go into the desert and meet Moses”

I started. Shook my head and looked around.

“Go into the desert and meet Moses.”

Did I hear a voice, did I hear it in my head, or in my heart? Did I imagine it? I don't know. I really don't know, but I was convinced it was God and I set out. There and then. If I had talked to Miriam or to the other elders then at best I would be dissuaded, at worst thought senile. I knew this was something I had to do. So here I am. Walking into the desert to meet a memory because somehow I believe that the God of my forefathers told me to.

Aaron meeting Moses in the desert is mentioned in Exodus ch4 v27-8

Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2009 All rights reserved.

Fire

A bush on fire.

But not consumed by fire.

Awe.

Breathtaking fear.

Holiness that sears.

Shoes off, face down.

A voice. My name.

God.

No, not me. I can't. I don't know who this God is, I don't know who my people are. I don't know their traditions. I don't know where I fit.

Another voice. My own.

I questioned. Holiness demands honesty.

Total honesty.

I am cleaved open.

God is.

God hears.

God will rescue.

Will my people believe me? Will they follow me?

A sign.

And another.

I cannot do this. I have no way with words.

They come too late.

I stutter.

My God needs more than me.

My people need more then me.

God is creator.

God is Almighty.

God is able.

But not me.

I killed a man. I ran away. I have lived in this desert for forty years. I am no-one.

A blaze.

Fire across my face. Across my heart. Across my life.

Anger. Cleansing. Refining.

I go, and Aaron my brother will go with me.

This story can be found at Exodus ch3v1 to ch4v17

Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008. All rights reserved.

Mystery in Marriage

We've been married over thirty years. Thirty years in which we lived together, ate together, slept together. Thirty years of talking. Thirty years of sharing our hopes and our fears. Thirty years of learning to know each other inside out.

So, what kind of man is he, this husband of mine that I know so well. Tall, dark and handsome. Well, he was once. I remember when I first saw him, sat by the well. He didn't lift his head to look at me and my sisters, but I knew he was watching. A girl just knows doesn't she? We had come to get water for the flocks and were earlier than usual as we were trying to avoid the shepherds who kept driving us away. It didn't work, as we approached the well they sauntered out, straddling the pathway, to get by would be to risk their grabbing hands and worse, and there was no way we would be allowed to leave with water. Then as we hesitated and they began their catcalls, this Egyptian stood up. He was tall and muscular and the way he methodically unfastened the rope around his waist and knotted it, his eyes never leaving the shepherds spoke of a man who was used to being obeyed.

Then he spoke, a command. “Leave, now.”

Most of the men did, scattering in every direction, one stayed, but seeing the rope raised soon left as well and the Egyptian settled back down, waving us towards the well. It seemed he was a man of few words. We drew the water, casting covert looks at him, but he ignored us, so we took our loads and returned home. None of us were quite certain what to make of this stranger, but we all wondered if we would see him again. It wasn't long before we did, Father insisted on offering him hospitality when he heard what had happened, and liking what he saw soon entered into negotiations to marry me to him.

Why me out of all of us, I was the eldest unmarried, as simple as that really. I wasn't consulted, but there was no need, I was infatuated with him from that first glance. His looks, his assured way, his brooding, his air of mystery, the way he only spoke when necessary all fascinated me. I spent the first years of our marriage teasing information from him, a morsel at a time. I learned about his birth and how he had been adopted by a Princess; I heard about how he had been brought up as a Prince; how he had learned about his own people and their traditions and beliefs and finally how he had fled after killing an overseer who was beating one of Moses' own people.

It sounds like I heard a lot, but really it was very little. I heard it over a good number of years, in odd statements here and there. Facts that dribbled out as and when he was caught unaware. Above all my husband is a private man. He doesn't talk about himself a lot, and never about his emotions, hopes, fears or beliefs. Not to me anyway although I think he has talked to my father on occasion. I would have said that Moses was not a religious man, that he had no strong beliefs, having rejected the gods of the Egyptians and yet missing the traditional Hebraic upbringing he was not at home with those either. He didn't know who he was and because of that he didn't know who his god was. Or was it the other way around, he didn't know who his god was, didn't know which god had a claim on him and because of that didn't know what people to identify with.

He never identified with my people, he always seemed an outsider. He was called the Egyptian, but was as much Hebraic as Egyptian. He had spent almost as long here in Midian as he had in Egypt but it was never his his home. When he named our first son Gershom I knew that. Gershom has a specific meaning, it means an stranger or alien there. He has lived here now longer than he lived with the Hebrews, and probably at least as long as he lived in the Egyptian Palace and yet he was no more Midianite than when he arrived. He worked with my fahter's flocks, as a shepherd and loved the solitude of taking the flocks wherever there was grazing. Maybe it was those long solitary periods that slowly ebbed the assurance away, I don't know. I know that as time has gone on he has become more solitary and less assured, speaking less and less.

So yes, I know my husband as well, if not better than anyone does. I thought he was settled here, even if he still feels an outsider. I expected that he would live out his years in Midian among my people. He has never given any indication otherwise. Until now. He has been away some time with the flocks. He often made long journeys into the desert with them, but this was the longest. I think he went all the way to Horeb. Something must have happened because now he is saying that we must go to Egypt. Whatever happened to him in the desert is going to change all our lives, it has already changed his. He seems driven now, full of purpose. It's like he suddenly understands the shape of his life and he knows who his people are. He talks about the Hebrews as his people, and about their God as our God.

After all this time, over thirty years married and I thought I knew him. I thought he could never surprise me and I thought he was settled amongst us. I knew he felt himself a stranger, but I thought he was content. Now I do not know. I do not know what happened to him, what experience he had. I do not know who his God is nor who his people are. I do not know Egypt. I do not know my husband but maybe as we journey together I may be able to. The man I fell in love with was a mystery and now the mystery is back. I fell for good looks, assurance, mystery and over the years the mystery has grown less, the looks have become aged and familiar and the assurance has faded. Now it is all there again. Moses still looks old, but there is a fire in his eyes I have not seen before, the assurance is growing and the mystery, oh the mystery. What has happened to my husband in the desert, and what will happen when we reach Egypt?

This story can be found at Exodus ch2 v 11-22 and Exodus ch4 v18

Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008 All Rights Reserved.

Remember

In your unfailing love you will lead

the people you have redeemed.

In your strength you will guide them

to your holy dwelling.

But we are not yet redeemed. Over 400 long years we have toiled in anguish, enriching the Egyptians. Eighty years ago they tried to kill our children. Nothing has changed. We are born as slaves to work, and die as slaves unnoticed outside of our own.

We hear of the strength of the God of our fathers, of His promises and of his powerful deeds. We do not see it today. Whatever may have happened in the past, God does not intervene in the affairs of man any more. We are forgotten, uncared for, left to rot in Egypt.

Who is the God of our fathers? Does He have a name? Is He a God who can be reasoned with, bargained with, pleaded with? Is He a God who can be known? He is the God who walked with Adam in the garden. He is the God who was beyond man's reach at Babel. He is the God who saved Noah and his family from the flood. He is the God who called Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and guided them on their journeys, speaking with them and protecting them.

Is He still our God? There is no other God for us. The gods of the Egyptians are foreign gods, not interested in Hebrew slaves. If we have a God it has to be the God of our fathers, the God who once chose and called us to be His own. If He is silent now, then He is still our God. Who else is there?

God, whoever you are, whatever your name, remember us. Remember your promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Remember the faith of Joseph. Remember the people who once were yours and now are slaves, owned by another people. Remember us, and have mercy on us. Redeem us from slavery. Bring us back to the land of our fathers. God whom we do not know, teach us once more to fear you.

In your unfailing love you will lead

the people you have redeemed.

In your strength you will guide them

to your holy dwelling.

This story is in Exodus ch2 v23-25 and inspired by Exodus ch15 v13

Copyright Carolyn Phillips2008 All rights reserved.

Of Babies and Baskets

Miriam was only a young girl, but she knew enough, more than a girl of her years ought. The fear in the community could not be hidden from the children, they could taste it on the air. Even those who did not hear what was said in the whispers or know the reason for the covert glances and quickly hushed cries soon caught the fear that had spread like a contagion through the Hebrew community. Children who once shouted as they ran now crept silently as they went about the streets, staying close to their families. Miriam was alert, she listened and she knew. The children were not safe.

For Miriam it was her brother who was the threat. Not Aaron who followed her wherever he could but the baby. A tiny mewing infant who was already causing trouble. Her parents had hidden him, suckling him whenever he cried, keeping him swaddled and for a while they had been safe. Miriam had heard what could happen to baby boys, how the Egyptians had orders to throw them into the Nile, and she feared that what could happen to babies could also happen to older children. If it could happen at 3 months, then why not 6 months. If it could happen at 6 months, then why not a year, or two years, or ten years? Would someone come one day and throw her into the waters?

The baby was now three months old and this morning had not been quietened by food, nor by the sound of their mothers quiet voice quietly singing a lullaby. He had cried for the sheer fun of it, testing out his voice, eventually quieting into a series of cooing babbles when Miriam had sat dangling the tassels of her shawl around his face. As their father had left for the fields he had taken a deep breath and then said “Jochabed, it is time. We must not delay any longer.”

Mother had not replied, just looked at him, before nodding and then silently busied herself in the chores.

Miriam had kept quiet, something seemed wrong and yet she did not know what. Her mother's rigid back forbade any questions. Aaron left with the other young children as usual, to go and squat with the old women who told them stories and watched them while the parents worked. Miriam stuck even closer to the house than usual. As she played with the baby, now peacefully quiet, she watched her mother draw out a basket similar to the papyrus baskets they used for carrying washing in, but coated in tar and pitch. This had obviously been prepared as it was dry, and yet Miriam had not seen it before. Jochabed lined it with pieces of sheeting and then came and took the baby away from Miriam and settled him down in the basket. He gave a wriggle, a coo and then settling down began a quiet snuffling snore.

“Grab the other basket and come,” her mother said, pointing to a second basket, loaded with washing. Miriam lifted it slowly, settling the load on her shoulder before turning to follow her mother towards the Nile. Jochabed had the new basket on her shoulder with the family's sheets covering the baby. They walked silently, the hot air, the dusty path, being too familiar to draw their attention. Jochabed was steeling herself for her difficult task and Miriam was trying to quell the rising fear that was making her feel sick. They reached the paths that went through the reeds surrounding the great river and Jochabed took a different route to the usual one leading directly to the place where the community normally did their washing. Miriam followed.

Jochabed stopped at a bend in the path, looked around and then quickly added the bedding to Miriam's load, before gently kissing the baby and setting the basket afloat on a small pool in the reeds.

“God of our Father's look over you and protect you. Maybe he will do what I cannot.”

Her voice broke as she prayed and it was with tears streaming down her cheeks that she took the basket from Miriam and walked on to join the women at their washing. The daily loads from the palace had just arrived and Jochabed kept her head bent low as she took her share of the washing, unable to communicate the deadness she felt at her act to her companions, and yet drawing strength from their unspoken support. The touch on her shoulder, the passing of soap, the help wringing, the gentle way she found her usual workload halved without her even noticing it at the time. They understood.

But Miriam had no one who understood. She sat alone in the reeds, out of sight from the paths but able to see through to the pool where her brother lay, still sleeping in the basket. She realised that his cries that morning had put them all in danger, that if he was heard he could be killed and maybe the rest of them also. But he was her brother, he had smiled for her. Even if their mother had said it was just wind, Miriam knew it had been a smile meant for her. She sat and watched, wondering what would happen to her brother, wondering if she would have the courage to help him if anything happened. She had heard her mother pray, and now as she curled up fearfully waiting in the reeds she prayed for the first time herself.

“God, I'm scared. Please help us.”

She remained hidden in the reeds for some time before hearing a commotion on the path nearby. People were coming, chattering and giggling and heading straight for where she was hidden. Quickly she pushed her way through the reeds into the corner of another pool where she stood shivering. Was this the moment she had feared when her brother would be discovered? The chattering got louder and Miriam held her breath as she realised this was not just anyone, this was the Pharaoh's daughter coming to bathe in the river, complete with all her attendants and slaves. They began to spread around the pool Miriam was hiding in, some entering and beginning to bathe, others spreading out cloths to sit on and canopies to shelter themselves from the sun. The princess herself sat on the bank, trailing a hand in the water, watching the preparations.

That was when the cry rang out.

The 'I've woken up and don't know where I am cry.'

The frightened cry.

Miriam froze, if she tried to go to her brother now then she would lead people directly to him. She prayed again.

“God, please, do something.”

“There is something in the reeds over there, go fetch it,” The princess spoke, pointing to the pool where the baby lay hidden in the basket. Miriam watched in despair, unable now to reach the baby first. It was not long before the slaves came back with the basket and laid it beside the princess. She peered in and then reached down and lifted the baby out with both hands and looked at him, before holding him close and soothing him.

“It is a baby, it must be one of the Hebrew babies. The poor thing.”

Miriam edged closer, watching as the princess held her brother close, stroking his soft black hair, her fingers circling round the small bald patch on the back where he had rubbed his head against his sheets. Miriam slowly began to breath easier again, there did not seem to be immediate danger. Her brother was now quiet, but restless and the Princess commented that he would need food soon. Miriam did not hesitate, there was no time, she pushed away the reeds and grass that covered her,

“Shall I get one of the Hebrew women to come and nurse him for you,”

There was a pause,

“Yes child, and soon, he is beginning to stir again.”

Miriam fled along the paths, bursting in on her mother and grabbing her hands.

“Come, quickly. The baby needs feeding. Mother come now. The princess is there and she said to get a nurse.”

Jochabed did not take in what Miriam was saying. She was shaking and dazed as she allowed Miriam to drag her back to where she had left her son. It was only when she realized the direction they were heading that she tried to pull back.

“No Miriam, we mustn't.”

“Mother, it's ok. But we must be quick, before they find someone else to nurse him.”

Miriam didn't continue to argue, she just pulled her mother behind her, until they stood in the clearing by the pool, where the princess still held the baby boy in her arms. Jochabed fell to her knees, hoping to save at least Miriam's life, but there was no need. The princess held out the baby to her.

“He needs care. Take him and nurse him and I will pay you. Bring him to me when he is weaned. He will be called Moses because I drew him out of the water.”

Miriam took the baby and passed him to her mother, laying him in her arms and by instinct Jochabed allowed the baby to latch on and feed. She stroked his face gently as he suckled, amazed that somehow the son she had never thought to see again had been returned to her. Together they went home. Moses would have to live in the Palace, would be raised as an Egyptian, may never know his family, but he was safe, he was alive, he was protected.

This story can be found at Exodus ch2 v1-10

Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008, All rights reserved.

Orders to Kill

Shiphrah crept through the night, looking each way to see if she was observed. Nothing, unless; was that a movement that had caught her eye? She stopped, shrinking against a wall. Had she been seen? Her heart thumped with tension and she tried to breath slowly to quieten it. There was definitely movement in the shadows. Shiphrah moved slightly, ready to run. She watched, prepared. Slowly and purposefully, strolling forward until completely clear of the shade came a cat.

Shiphrah let her body relax, just slightly; the risk was still there. This was just a cat, but she needed to be on her guard. Her orders were to kill. Orders that came directly from the Pharaoh. The previous day she and her colleague, Puah,  had been led into the palace. Silently they had bowed low when they were ushered into the throne room, not looking up when they heard the Pharaoh enter. Silently they listened to his command and his exit from the room. Silently they rose and left. They did not need to converse, and would not risk their lives nor those of the women they ministered to by discussing this in the streets. 

Tonight she had been expecting the knock at her door, and when she responded sent the child who stood there running back.

“Tell them I'll be there. I'll follow after.”

She had busied around for a few minutes, grabbing her pack, damping down her fire and finally thrusting a sharp knife into the deep pocket of her outer robes. 

She didn't know who had heard gossip, who had any idea of what her orders might be. Nor did she know if palace spies were watching. All she knew was what she had to do. She hurried on through the darkness until she arrived at her destination. The same boy was stood at the door, anxiously looking up the street for her.

“Stay here, watch and see if anyone has followed, but don't be seen,” She gave her orders quickly, and slipped inside, ready to do her job.

She was not a moment too early. The woman she had been called to see was already screaming and in pain. Her family clustered round, unsure of what to do, glad to see Shiphrah and she slipped into her natural role. She found tasks for the majority of them, simple things, but something to occupy them. She dived in her pack for a few drops of a brew that would help the screaming woman, made her comfortable on a stool with her stocky neighbour behind; and squatted down on the floor in front of her, waiting.

She didn't have to wait long. The woman was young and healthy, and it was not many hours before Shiphrah could feel a head. She guided it out, making the new mother pant for a minute while she checked the cord. Then, with a sudden gush the baby was born and Shiphrah caught it expertly, laying it quickly on the mother's stomach while she did a quick check.

“It's a boy,” she announced to the family, “A healthy boy.” There was no doubting that as the newborn screwed up his face and started to cry. Shiphrah pushed him onto the breast, showing his mother how to latch him on, then as he quietened she massaged the young woman's stomach, watching for the afterbirth.

The Pharaoh's words echoed in her mind as she sat listening to the suckling sounds made by the newborn.

“When you attend the Hebrew women, you must kill all the baby boys. Only allow the girls to live.”

It was a clear order. The Hebrews were a thorn in the side of Egypt and the Egyptians had made their lives bitter, forced labour was the norm and now the overseers drove them harder each day, with all kinds of tasks. Still the Hebrews had thrived, it seemed that the more they were oppressed, the greater they were blessed with health and offspring. This latest directive was an attempt to solve what the ruling class saw as 'the Hebrew population crisis'.

The afterbirth was delivered and Shiphrah gently cleaned the mother, directing her on how to care for herself and ensure the bleeding stopped. Then she took a deep breath and took the knife from her pocket.

“Did anyone follow?” she shot the question towards the boy at the door.

“No,” he replied looking confused.

Shiphrah leaned over to the baby, now muzzling content, falling asleep at his mother breast. She deftly tied off the cord and cut it with the knife. Wiping it clean on one of the rags she had used to clean the young mother, she looked around the assembled family.

“It is such a shame I didn't get here in time for the birth. Just as well she was healthy and didn't need me.”

“What...?” came from the father.

“I was late arriving and your baby girl had been born before I arrived. By the time I got here she was all swaddled up, dozing at your side.”

She quickly told them what Pharaoh had done, warning them to swaddle the baby quickly and then looking stealthily out of the door before leaving, made her way quietly home.

Her husband had arrived home before she did, and the fire was warm, the broth she had left in the pot was now simmering away and she curled her hands around the bowl of it which Rube pressed into her hands. He knew what she would have decided. Fear of the Pharaoh was one thing, but they both trusted in the God of their fathers to protect them.

“A child is a sign of the Lord's blessing, not just to the family but to the whole community. Life isn't mine to give and take,” Shiphrah said in response to Rube's arm wrapping itself around her.

 If the God of our fathers was able to protect Joseph when he was falsely imprisoned, then He is able to protect us now, and if He chooses not to, then He is still God and still holds life and death in His hands. We are his people, so why should we fear to do right?” Rube spoke to comfort her, ensuring that she drank her broth and then held her as they both wept for the plight of their people.

Six months later the old couple, who had considered themselves barren for the past twenty years lay on their bed, hands resting together on Shiphrah's stomach as they felt the new life within kick and wriggle. God had been with them.

This story can be found at Exodus Ch1 v 15-21

Copyright Carolyn Phillips 2008. All rights reserved.