That night the king could not sleep…
Esther 6:1a (NIV)
My entire life I have struggled with bouts of insomnia. I wake in the wee hours. My brain spins like a top. I can’t shut it off.
It is what it is.
One remedy I’ve discovered over the years is to lay on the couch and put something on the television that I really like, but I know won’t hold my attention. I learned this with Casablanca. It’s my all-time favorite movie, but I’ve watched it countless times. I know it by heart. My brain knows it so well that it sort of shuts down and I can fall back asleep. In recent years it’s been Ken Burns’ documentary The Civil War. Same concept. Something that stimulates my heart but, because of familiarity, not my brain.
As I begin writing today’s post it’s just before 4:00 a.m. I’ve been up since around 2:30. How ironic that when I decided to meditate on today’s chapter it begins with: “That night the king couldn’t sleep.”
God definitely has a sense of humor.
And, it just might be one of the most understated turning points in the entire Great Story.
For five chapters the story of Esther has been building.
A proud and impetuous emperor finds his entire empire threatened when his queen refuses to be summoned and placed on display.
A young Jewish girl taken against her will, groomed in a harem, chosen above all of the hundreds of other candidates to be named queen.
A rising star of the empire has a burr under his saddle because one man, Esther’s uncle, refuses to bow to him like a god. Instead of dealing with the man, he plots to kill the man’s entire race.
The entire story, and the history of an entire race hinges on one man’s bout with insomnia.
The king can’t sleep. There’s no television, so he chooses the next best thing. He has his servant read something boring. The chronicles of his own reign. Instead of putting him to sleep, the King’s brain latches on to something he’d overlooked.
The events of today’s chapter are so layered with meaning—so dripping with irony—that it’s hard to do them justice with a simple summary.
Hearing the chronicles read in his insomnia, the king realizes Mordecai saved his life in unearthing an assassination plot. He also realizes that nothing had been done to honor Mordecai for his service. This was not only an oversight, but in Persian culture it was a grave dishonor. The king is motivated to correct this by doubly honoring the man who saved his life.
Haman, who has just built the gallows to execute Mordecai, enters the king’s court to request permission to kill the very man the King wants to doubly honor.
Before he can do so, the King asks Haman to describe how he should honor a man in whom he delights. In his ego, Haman assumes it’s himself, so he goes over the top in offering his wish list.
The king agrees to the list, then unwittingly informs Haman that the honoree is his nemesis, Mordecai, the very man Haman wants to execute. Haman is tasked with the humiliation of overseeing the public honoring of his own enemy.
What makes Esther unique in Scripture is that God is never named. Yet His fingerprints are everywhere.
Consider the chain reaction in this chapter:
A king can’t sleep.
A random scroll is chosen.
A forgotten act is rediscovered.
The most prideful man in Persia walks into the room at the worst possible moment.
The enemy of Mordecai becomes the herald of his honor.
None of those events are miraculous, yet together they form a miracle.
Along this life journey I’ve experienced again and again that God’s providence hides inside ordinary moments. The turning points of my life rarely look like thunder from heaven. More often they look like:
a conversation
a delay
a memory resurfacing
a sleepless night
The machinery of heaven is astonishingly quiet.
And, so I finish up this post in the wee hours meditating on the fact that sometimes insomnia is just insomnia. But in at least one instance, insomnia was the hinge that changed the course of history.
Serving a God who is authoring the Great Story, and authoring my story within it, means that even the most ordinary of daily moments are contributing to a larger plot I will never fully know this side of eternity. My job is to traverse each day on this earthly journey loving God and loving every person, every fellow pilgrim I meet, to the best of my ability.
Esther reminds me that I can trust God’s providence with the rest of my story—even in the quiet moments when nothing seems to be happening.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
