The Book of Esther is one of the most fascinating in the Old Testament. While it is true that the word “God” does not appear in this beautiful book, it is nonetheless full of glimpses into God’s heart and gives purposeful insight as to what God expects from the Christian life.
Esther was more than just a queen—in her time, she was doubtless the most powerful woman in the world. Her husband, King Ahasuerus, ruled a vast empire that stretched from India to Europe. But Esther isn’t remembered for her wealth, beauty or power.
She is revered for her character. It is this last that makes her such a compelling example of the church that Christ died to redeem, the church for whom He is soon coming.
Let’s look at her story in closer detail with the goal of discovering what God wants from each of us.
First off, Esther’s story doesn’t begin in a palace. She was a nobody—a Jewish orphan who, had it not been for one life-altering event, probably would have lived and died in the shadows. Perhaps, like Esther, you don’t appear to be much on the outside but God knows just what you have to offer on the inside.
Christ isn’t attracted to beautiful church buildings or fancy LCD screens. Remember, He chose to be born in a manger. It’s what inside us that gets His attention—the potential that each of us has to be a vessel through whom He can work.
So what changed Esther’s story?
When the king’s wife, Queen Vashti, refused to obey his commands, he divorced her. Whether or not 21st century women agree with the concept, the truth is that Jesus Christ holds the same rights over our lives. We need Him but He doesn’t need us. He can dispose of us at any time, but we need Him with every breath that we take.
Too often, we treat Christ as though He were our servant instead of our God. Too often, we ask Him to bless us, to protect us etc. but we don’t devote ourselves to doing His will or even ask Him what He wants from us as an individual.
Ask yourself: do you obey Christ’s commands? When He compels you to pray, are you too busy?
I myself have been guilty on this one.
Here’s another toughie: as a married woman, are you willing to let your husband be the leader God calls him to be?
I can’t help but wonder how many Christians miss out on the beauty of God’s presence simply because we refuse to surrender our will to His.
We love God’s grace but never mistake grace for a “get out of jail free card.” Grace is there to forgive our mistakes and to give us power to live above sin. But the Bible gives us a stark warning about the purported Christian world in the last days.
They are ungodly people, who pervert the grace of our God into a license for immorality and deny Jesus Christ our only Sovereign and Lord.
Vashti’s story is there for a reason. It’s a warning that we all need to hear. If we don’t live in harmony with Christ then He will find someone else who will. The warning of Revelation 3:11 is worth repeating,
Behold, I am coming quickly! Hold fast what you have, that no one may take your crown. (NKJV)
Each of us has to choose every day whether we will be a Vashti or an Esther in our walk with Christ. Our choice will determine how close we remain to our King.|
In the Shadow of Your Wings An unforgettable historical thriller. Watch the trailer. Read the book.
“Ugh!” A cloud of dust swirled about Kit Benedict’s head as his thin body slammed into the ground. He lay prone a moment then sat up, holding his throbbing nose. This is not good. Not good at all.
“Ha! Did you see that one Clooney?” Nick Jaggers,
self-appointed leader of Kit’s tormentors, slapped his second-in-command,
Clooney, on the back, nearly bowling the boy over. “Did you see how I whopped
him one, right on the hooter?”
Nick’s cackles were echoed by his small gang of
followers—boys who, like Kit, had been abandoned by their mothers and had never
met their fathers.
“Yeah, Chief.” Clooney wiped a runny
nose on his sleeve. “That blow was a killer!”
“I think the little guttersnipe wants to cry.” Nick
dropped to his haunches, thrusting his face inches from Kit’s.
Kit’s lip trembled but he refused to allow the tears that
stung his eyes to spill out onto his face. He scrabbled backward in the copper
dirt, staring with mute terror at the tall bully whose well-defined muscles,
yellow hair and piercing blue eyes made him the envy of every boy at Sussex
County’s School for Abandoned Children.
“You goin’ to cry
little one? Eh?” Nick prodded Kit’s ribs with a thick paw. “You going to run
He tilted his head backward, looking up at the sky. “Wait
a minute. I just thought of somethin’. You can’t run to your mummy ‘cause you
haven’t got one!”
Chortling as he stood back up, Nick then turned away and a
fresh wave of hoots and laughs battered Kit’s burning ears.
Something clicked in Kit’s brain, making fear give way to
fury. “It’s not like you’re any better than me, Nick!” He scrambled to his
feet, determined to make Nick pay even if it meant he wouldn’t live to see his
thirteenth birthday next week. “You don’t have a mother either.” Kit shook a
small fist. “Your mum probably couldn’t stand the smell of you.”
Shocked gasps rippled down the line
of boys then petered out into silence. Nick froze then whirled around, ogling
Kit like a cat would eye a bird that had just barked. “What did you say?”
Kit swallowed, forking his fingers through his
mouse-brown, shaggy hair as fear swallowed his heart once more. What was I
thinking? He had learned three things in the seventy-two hours since he had
arrived at the orphanage.
One: Despite the fact that it was 1918 and England had emerged from victorious from the Great War as a highly modern country, no one here cared what happened to him. As the headmistress, Mrs. Richardson, had told him more than once since his arrival: “More students in my school means more money from the government. Your purpose in life is to make sure that I get rich.” Whatever happened outside of class was no concern of hers.
Two: Like himself, the boys around him had no parents, but their common woe didn’t make them any nicer. Kit was weaker than most of them, he was smaller than some and—worst of all—he was newer than everyone else at the school.
Three: Nick Jaggers was the real unofficial master of the school. While Mrs. Richardson wanted money, Nick was out for power. He had organized some of the boys of the school into a tight-knit group of human piranhas who preyed upon those too small or weak to stand up for themselves while Mrs. Richardson—and the five adults who made up the orphanage’s staff—chose to ignore what was happening. Nick’s gang could make his life really miserable, really fast.
But from the look of murder that gleamed in Nick’s eyes,
Kit wouldn’t have to suffer for too long. His life was going to be very, very
“Well go on then,
Chief.” Clooney’s tongue lolled out of his mouth like a dog’s as he looked
eagerly from Nick to Kit and back again. “You can’t let the guttersnipe talk to
you like that.”
Nick’s face was almost purple. “You should’ve kept your
mouth shut, pukebreath.” He stalked closer, pulling back his massive fist. “If
you think that nose hurts now, just wait until I’m through with you.”
Kit shrank within himself, eyes darting from the motley
group of scowling boys that formed a half-circle around him to his own skinny
arms and legs. There was no way he could win a fight against Nick Jaggers and
his gang. Not in a million years. “Y-yeah, you’re right, Nick.” He retreated a
step. “I-I should have kept my mouth shut.” He forced out a nervous laugh.
Nick’s grin was pure evil. “Too late.” His fist snapped
forward but, before it could connect, some inexplicable instinct made Kit twist
to one side. Nick’s knuckles grazed his temple and, before the bully could
regain his balance, Kit stepped into Nick’s swing, shoved his leg in between
Nick’s feet and pushed… hard.
“Aagh!” The bigger boy’s arms pinwheeled, flailing about
like a windmill as he tried to keep his balance. But then he fell, face
forward, into the dirt, arms and legs spread out like a huge scarecrow.
Run! Kit pivoted on his heel and sprinted toward a thick
line of trees to his left. His pale bare legs jutted out from beneath his
checkered short trousers, pumping up and down as his feet skimmed over the
grassy fields, moving uphill as fast as he could. He glanced over his shoulder.
“I’ll kill him.” Nick staggered upright, rubbing his
forehead. “I’ll kill him dead!” He glared about, cheeks flaming. “Well don’t
just stand there, you muttonheads. Get after him!”
With a rumble that sounded like a dragon’s roar, the
infuriated boys surged forward hurtling pell-mell up the grassy slope of a
nearby hill and toward the forest’s edge. Kit bent over double, running through
his heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. Almost there… almost…
He drew up short at the forest’s edge, chest heaving. He
had never been inside a forest before. Up close it loomed over his head, dark
and intimidating. What if there were wolves or bears inside? Worse yet, what if
there were… snakes? He shuddered and glanced over his shoulder again. They were
almost on top of him.
“Snakes or… Nick?” The choice was an easy one. With a
yelp, Kit dashed into the trees.
The forest was a dark labyrinth of winding trails
overshadowed by massive oaks whose gnarled roots reached out like claws, determined
to trip him at every step. Kit paused to catch his breath, panting as he
doubled over, resting his hands on his knees. The shouts of his pursuers
sounded closer now than ever before.
“I’m going to rip your arms off one by one, guttersnipe!”
Nick’s not-too-distant shout made his blood run cold. “I’m going to pull your
toenails out and eat ‘em for breakfast!”
Kit straightened up. “Th-they’re gaining on me.” Panic
made his voice shrill. What should he do? He glanced around. A dim path split
in front of him, winding its way ahead as far as his eyes could see in both
directions. He hesitated a second, then veered left and dashed ahead, pushing
branches and leaves aside as he ran. Clouds of mosquitoes swirled about his
head. He waved them off, but still they hovered about, dogging his steps like
the boys behind him.
“G-get away!” Waving his arms like a madman, Kit staggered
forward, not noticing the tree root in front of him until it was too late.
“Wooaah!” He tripped and flew forward, landing hard on his
side. His momentum made him roll downhill, scraping dirt and bumping against
Kit screamed as he picked up speed. “Ahh!” Closing his eyes, he stuck both hands
out, trying desperately to stop himself. His fingers scraped against rocks,
branches but, instead of slowing down, he rolled and tumbled faster and
“Oof!” He finally landed with a sickening slop into a deep
puddle of mud. Kit opened one eye cautiously, then the other. “Oh no. Oh, no,
no.” The patches of light that streamed through the canopy above revealed that
he wasn’t in a puddle of mud at all.
“Quicksand?” He whimpered the word, trying to pull himself
out of the muck that already sucked him down. He couldn’t. “Help!” Kit screamed
with all the force in his lungs. “Somebody, help me!” How many times had he
wished that he was bigger? How many times had he wanted to be stronger? Maybe
then he would be able to get out of this mess.
“Help me!” He didn’t care if Nick heard him now. Even Nick
Jaggers and his gang of cutthroats would be better than this. They’d beat him
and maybe break a few of his bones but, if he didn’t get out of this swamp… he
Panic swelled within him as he went down. Each movement
only made him sink faster into the brownish-green bog. It was above his
shoulders now. Kit knew he should be still, but he couldn’t stop himself from
struggling. The muck rose to his chin.
“Please… Please God, d-don’t let me d-die.” But God had
never cared about him. He was just a scrawny runt that even his own mother
His eyes rolled around looking for a branch. Nothing.
Nothing that could save his life. It covered his mouth now. He couldn’t scream
if he wanted to.
Kit inhaled a deep breath through his nose then made one
last effort. Only his head moved. Then the muck reached his eyes, pulling him
under with invisible hands.
Nick Jaggers cautiously moved forward, motioning for his
men—overgrown boys really—to come closer.
“What is it Nick?” Clooney’s attempt at a whisper was more
like a shout. “Have you found the little cockroach?”
“Shhh!” Nick pressed a finger to his lips. “I thought I
“So did I.” Jelly, a giant of a boy with more blubber on
him than a whale, lumbered forward still breathing deep after the short sprint.
“I think it was my stomach, screaming for food.”
“Shut it Jelly.” Nick glared at him. “It was Kit, not your
stomach. He was screamin.”
Clooney shrank back, his wide eyes rolling about in his
skull. “Maybe it was wolves. O-or a ghost.”
“There are no ghosts, idiot.” Nick moved forward and bent
low over the grass. “Aha!” Triumphantly he held up a brown leather shoe. “Look
what I’ve found. He must have lost his shoe when runnin’ in the woods.”
Jelly moaned, holding his flabby stomach. “His shoe? Kit’s
been eaten by a bear and that’s all that’s left of him! Let’s get out of here!”
“Jelly why must everythin’ always be about food?” Nick
stalked back toward the gang, disguising his own fear of what lurked in the
woods by a look of disgust. Where is Kit Benedict? “Right, you lot. Well, let’s
head back to the orphanage.”
“You givin’ up Chief?” Clooney’s voice sounded almost
“Give up? Me?” Nick threw back his head with a snort. “No,
Clooney.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the forest. “But why chase him
through the woods when the guttersnipe will come back to us? Sooner or later
Kit will need to come home and then, when he gets back,” he chuckled and
crushed Kit’s shoe in a strong fist, “we’ll be waiting.”
I’m dead. I’m totally, totally
dead. Kit winced as something bright shone into his closed eyes. Then a thought
struck him. If he were dead, he wouldn’t be able to think. Slowly, he cracked
one eye open. “Ah!” He slammed his eye closed against the bright sunlight that
had nearly blinded him. Shading his eyes with his palm, he sat up and looked
around him again.
He was on a flat plateau, high above green, fertile
valleys that spread out to his left as far as he could see. “What’s this?
Wh-where’s the bog?” A roaring sound, like the waves on Sussex County beach,
filled his ears. Scrambling to his feet, Kit looked to his right. A brilliant
ocean, dazzling with shimmering hues of blue, crashed against distant enormous
black cliffs that lined the edge of a sandy shore. “Turnips and tomatoes! What’s that?” Kit
stepped forward shading his eyes with his right hand, as something—he guessed a
family of dolphins—leapt and played about in the water, spraying mist from
“Where am I?” He turned slowly in a half-circle, looking
about with widened eyes. The place looked oddly familiar, almost like the view
of Sussex County he had seen from a mountain railroad while on his way to the
orphanage. But there were no woods, no school. Only rolling, grass-covered
hills as far as the eye could see to his left and a glimmering ocean to his
Kit’s eyes dropped to his clothes. Grime and mud spattered
his formerly white shirt, checkered trousers, and socks. He had lost a shoe
somewhere, probably before his fall into the bog. But somehow, falling into the
swamp hadn’t killed him—had it? Unless I’m dead and don’t know it?
A frown creased his brow. Kit Benedict was an odd sort of
fellow. He was scrawny, yes, but was possessed with a curious spirit and
brilliant mind that reasserted itself at the oddest of times. Now was such a
“If there’s a hole out of the swamp, there’s got to be a
door or an entrance into it.” He moved through the grass which came up to his
chest, carefully examining the ground as best he could. A metallic gleam caught
his eye near the spot where he had first woken up. Kit knelt, and for the
moment, curiosity overcame his fear at being in an unknown place.
“What’s this?” A small round button that looked like a
ruby, sat in the middle of what appeared to be a gold coin that was stuck to
the ground. “Hmm,” Kit scratched his skull.“What does that do?” He leaned
forward, hesitated a second, then pushed the button.
Immediately, a loud rumbling filled his ears. He fell
backward as the ground beneath him cracked and shook. “Ah!”
Clouds of steam
burst out of a narrow, jagged opening in the ground that continued to split as
though an invisible giant stomped about, cracking the ground beneath his
weight. Kit slammed his heel against the
button. “Close, close!”
And it did close. The cracks disappeared until the grassy
hill was as it had been before. He stared at the button, his breath coming in
short bursts. “Oh, that’s just bonkers.”
It was then that he noticed that, although the earth had
fully closed, the rumbling hadn’t stopped. In fact, it seemed louder than ever
before and now, it came from behind him.
Again Kit pushed himself upright, wiping his moist hands on his pants as he turned to gaze at the valley behind him. What he saw next made his heart stop.
To be continued
Where’s Kit? What’s out there? Find out in Episode 2: Elira’s Quest
Listen to the audio version of Episode 1. Want it on Kindle? Buy now.
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For verily I say unto you, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith.
The reality of these words really struck me in church yesterday. But with it came a question:
Do I talk about my problems or do I talk to my problems?
Admittedly a modern mindset might see Christ’s words as strange but He was all about teaching us to live as He lived. It’s easy to talk about what we’re going through; it’s harder to talk to them.
One night on a raging sea Christ gave us a supreme example. While the disciples were talking about the storm, He turned and spoke to the storm.
Peace, be still.
When circumstances seem contrary, take God’s Word of promise and echo them from your heart and mouth. Anxiety, fear, depression, even physical challenges bow to His will.
I’ve heard that expression more times than I can count. But the truth of that statement becomes more real with each day that passes.
It’s especially true in our spiritual lives. Starting each day with an expectation that we will see God move in some way, sets the stage for Him to do what He does best.
Everyday, we Christians face challenges that sometimes leave us bewildered or emotionally-drained. As a result, we often lose sight of the potential that each day holds and start our mornings with a negative mindset.
This outlook is underscored by perpetually pessimistic news, tirades on social media and—worst of all—other people whose gloomy outlooks tend to prevent us from seeing the beauty and power that Christ wants to unveil in and through our lives.
I can’t help but wonder how many of us actually expect to see the miraculous each day, in our own lives. When we pray, are we just itemizing a list of wishes or do we actually expect God to answer?
Let’s change that.
Start your morning by vocalizing that you expect to see God’s loving hand.
Whether He parts the Red Sea of your morning commute, provides you with just enough to cover your next bill or simply whispers an inaudible I love you, you will not be disappointed.
Because you get what you expect. And today, you’re expecting a miracle.
There is a marked difference between the newsflash proclaimed by the choir of angels that glorious night in Bethlehem and CNN’s latest headlines.
Upon His birth, the angels cried out “peace and goodwill to men” and the Scripture itself boldly proclaims,
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6 KJV
But instead of global peace, the past 2,000 years have been marked by countless eras of conquest, two world wars, and, more recently, an era of global terrorism. We are left with the question:
What Went wrong?
The answer? Nothing and everything.
First, the fault doesn’t lay with God. Remember that when Christ (the Prince of Peace) came to the world, He was rejected. Then, He was turned down by His own people; now He is mocked and reviled by the world. Be it in a nation, a marriage or an individual’s heart, there can be no peace if God is left out of the equation.
We’ve excluded Christ from our schools, our political platforms and—in too many cases—from our churches. As a result, every aspect of our global society is honey-combed with fear and failure.
In a sense, society is like a man who took out the engine of his Mercedes Benz and then wondered why the car wasn’t going anywhere. It’s a beautiful car but without that critical missing part (Christ) there’s no progress toward the elusive dream of world peace.
Second, although Christ is the Prince of Peace, His physical Kingdom couldn’t be built when He was born because there was more Bible prophecy that had to be fulfilled. The past 2,000 years have been building toward the great climax that lays just before the world’s civilizations.
Literally hundreds of prophetic words have been lifted from the pages of the Bible and written on the pages of world newspapers. Still a few more linger before the Prince of Peace takes up His throne.
Then—and only then—will the dream of world peace become reality.
If Christ isn’t the ruler of your life, make today the day that the Prince of Peace starts His reign in your heart. Let His Word be born in the manger of your heart.
I know by personal experience that you’ll never regret it.
Have thoughts or a comment? I’d love to hear from you.