Daniel would have preferred living his life in Jerusalem, but here he was in Babilopolis. He would have preferred serving a real king, but here he was serving Nimrodwannabe, a king of sorts, true, but so shockingly not what Nimrodwannabe could have been that compassion overpowered the natural disdain in Daniel for this king of sorts.
Every evening and every morning and throughout the day and even when he was asleep at night his mind – no, his heart – was elsewhere. People understandably thought he seemed distant or tagged him as odd, but wherever he was he was right where he was supposed to be telling Nimrodwannabe the meanings of those strange tales that troubled the king’s dreams.
For all that and much, much more Daniel was thankful. Gratitude kept him so busy he didn’t notice – or perhaps care – if it was darkening evening or shiny morning or wondrous daytime or that sleepy, dreamy nighttime so long as he was ready when the words were spoken to faithfully hear and write them down even when the prophecy was too mysterious for him to understand.
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Denise offers the prompt word “tag” for this week’s Six Sentence Stories.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 