“Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth. Worship the LORD with gladness; come into his presence with singing. Know that the LORD is God. We are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. The LORD is good,” I sang as my brother and I skipped along the road.

We were taking lunch to Abel and my uncle Bezer in the fields.

“How do you think of all the words?” Joel asked. “I could not ever think of something to sing about.”

“They just come to me,” I tried to explain. “The Holy One gives me the words. Music is like a conversation with the One God.”

“Are you ‘fraid?” the boy was a little awed.

“Why would I be afraid?” puzzled I looked at my brother. “The Living God is as near as the trees around us.”

“I think Abigail makes beautiful music,” faithfully my friend Elizabeth spoke up. “It is a gift. Can you make me a song?”

“The words do not come from me,” I tried to explain. “When I feel close to God, then sometimes music comes into my mind.”

I wished I could grant her request because I felt sorry for my best friend. Her mother died when she was born. My parents encouraged me to spend time in the fields with Joel and my best friend. They tried to give her the affection and freedom she did not get from her father.

“I do not know how to convince that child she is loved,” once I heard Mother confide to my Father. “Hosea with his laws will not let Elizabeth have any fun. I think it is only when she visits here that the little girl gets to play at all.”

The man was stern. From him Abel learned to condemn my music. Every day he sat with the sons of Hosea to be instructed in writing and the laws of Moses. In exchange my friend Elizabeth learned womanly skills from my mother.

Abel frowned at me when we reached the flock. “Girls should be learning women’s tasks.”

“Father says it is good for me to play in the fields,” I informed the young man haughtily. “Besides, here is your lunch.”

“My boy, I have heard your parents tell the children to play in the fields,” Bezer delighted in teasing. He grinned toothlessly. “All your learning is making you old before your time.”

Abel pressed his lips together and looked toward the road. I knew he was angry.

“We are going home,” I told the two men.

“Why do you waste your time with this thing,” my brother snatched my harp out of my hands before I took a step.

It was a simple instrument fashioned from a curved branch and thin silver wire carefully unwound from a braided chain I owned. It gave poor music and the wires grew shorter each time they broke. Still, I loved the accompaniment when I sang.

“Give it to me!” I shrieked and tried to retrieve my possession...