Sons Of Encouragement (Paperback)Francine Rivers
Size152 x 229 mm
Number of Pages672 pp
PublisherTyndale House Publishers
Aaron sensed someone standing close as he broke loose a mold and put the
dried brick aside. Skin prickling with fear, he glanced up. No one was near.
The Hebrew foreman closest to him was overseeing the loading of bricks
onto a cart to add on to some phase of Pharaoh’s storage cities. Wiping the
moisture from his upper lip, he bent again to his work.
Through the area, sunburned, work-weary children carried straw to
women who shook it out like a blanket over the mud pit and then stomped
it in. Sweat-drenched men filled buckets and bent beneath the weight as
they poured the mud into brick molds. From dawn to dusk, the work went
on unceasingly, leaving only a few twilight hours to tend small garden plots
and flocks in order to sustain life.
Where are You, God? Why won’t You help us?
“You there! Get to work!”
Ducking his head, Aaron hid his hatred and moved to the next mold.
His knees ached from squatting, his back from lifting bricks, his neck from
bowing. He set the bricks in stacks for others to load. The pits and plains
were a hive of workers, the air so close and heavy he could hardly breathe
for the stench of human misery. Sometimes death seemed preferable to this
unbearable existence. What hope had he or any of his people? God had
forsaken them. Aaron wiped the sweat from his eyes and removed another
mold from a dried brick.
Someone spoke to him again. It was less than a whisper, but it made his
blood rush and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He paused and
strained forward, listening. He looked around. No one paid him any notice.
Maybe he was suffering from the heat. That must be it. Each year became
harder, more insufferable. He was eighty-three years old, a long life blessed
with nothing but wretchedness.
Shaking, Aaron raised his hand. A boy hurried over with a skin of
water. Aaron drank deeply, but the warm fluid did nothing to stop the inner
quaking, the feeling of someone watching him so closely that he could feel
that gaze into the marrow of his bones.