When the king’s order and edict had been proclaimed, many young women were brought to the citadel of Susa and put under the care of Hegai. Esther also was taken to the king’s palace and entrusted to Hegai, who had charge of the harem.
Esther 2:8 (NIV)
I am a certified “Girl Dad.” No sons, two daughters. I played dress up. I had make-up applied and my hair done. One of the greatest compliments of my entire life was when my young daughter told their mother they wanted daddy to do their hair before school.
Badge of honor.
And, of course, there were story times and Disney Princesses. The girls grew up during the era when Disney released classics like The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin for the very first time. I’m pretty sure I had the entire script and all the lyrics of both Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin completely memorized at one point because I heard them so many times.
As a Girl Dad I used my authority to ensure Taylor and Madison were exposed to Tolkien and Lewis at bedtime. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that a little girl’s heart is enamored with beautiful, common women who become a princess.
The story of Esther is commonly referenced as a Disneyesque princess story. The bones are all there. A young foreign girl. She’s beautiful. Of all the beautiful girls in the empire she finds the King’s favor. In Sunday School classes and children’s bedtime Bible stories, it reads this way.
But, the real story is not that.
One of the themes of Esther is that of things being hidden. So far in the first two chapters we find Uncle Mordy instructing Esther to hide her true nationality. There is a hidden plot to kill the King. We’re going to find a lot of things hidden in the story. This is ironic, because also what is hidden is just how brutal the real story is.
Esther is a Jew living in exile in a foreign land.
Mordecai tells her to hide her nationality because if it was revealed it would likely mean banishment at best, at worst execution.
Esther was taken. The verb is used twice. No choice. Not chosen. Taken.
This is not a beauty pageant. It’s a brutal imperial machine designed and built to provide the King with a different top-shelf, flesh-and-blood toy for his every sexual whim every.single.night.
It’s ancient, legalized sex-traffic.
Esther had no choices. She was forced into her circumstances.
Forced from her home into the servitude of an imperial harem.
Forced to live among hundreds of women. Every one of them a rival.
Forced into regimented treatments to turn her into an object.
Forced to learn how to sexually please the king, whatever he wanted.
Forced to be a royal whore for one night which doubled as an audition.
It doesn’t take a Girl Dad to tell you, that’s sick.
This isn’t a fairy-tale.
Esther isn’t Jasmine on a magic carpet singing A Whole New World.
Esther is more Destiny’s Child roaring out a gritty I’m a Survivor.
And here’s the truth that’s uncomfortable for any who want the Christian life to be it’s own form of fairy-tale: God’s providence does not sanitize the system before He begins working within it.
Life is messy. Life is hard. Ordinary human beings find themselves in horrific and tragic circumstances every day, all over the world.
God is not absent.
He is moving silently through an uncle’s devotion, a whispered plot, the granting of a young girl enough wisdom to know she should heed the advice of an advisor who knows things others don’t.
Amidst horrific and tragic circumstances, God is crafting a Story that the characters will not realize until several more chapters are written.
God’s hand in the plot is often hidden until later chapters of life reveal it.
I know that I always want Chapter 4 clarity while I am living in Chapter 2 confusion. I want purpose explained before obedience is required. I want the rescue before the risk.
But today’s chapter suggests something quieter and deeper:
I don’t need to know the reason to trust the Story in the moment.
Faith often means accepting the oil and perfume seasons — the long preparations, the uncomfortable lessons no one wants to talk about. The agonizing realities that seem pointless — trusting that God is doing invisible work.
Somewhere right now there is a door I walked through that felt ordinary.
Somewhere there is a conversation I thought was small.
Somewhere there is a record being written I have already forgotten.
And years from now I may discover:
That was the hinge.
That was the turning point.
That was the moment God quietly positioned me — for something still waiting to be revealed.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
