Victim of writer's block. That's basically it.
The Hebrew's Prayer
I was just a slave to the Egyptians, but I had been blessed with a wonderful family. A wife, Yocheved, whose voice was that of an angel sent to me from God. A son, Aaron, and a daughter, Miriam, who were headstrong, brave and always ready to fight for what they believed in. There were no words to describe how much I loved them all. Just as Yocheved brought me the news that she was about to issue a third child, the Pharaoh Seti had news of his own. The Hebrews, my people, had prospered so much that we almost outnumbered the Egyptians. Fearing that we would someday revolt, the Pharaoh ordered every Hebrew son to be thrown to the crocodiles.
Yocheved was terrified. She believed that God had abandoned us. But my faith had never been stronger. Working myself to the bone beneath the blazing hot sun, my every breath was saved for the most important prayer of my life. As the months passed and as she watched newborn sons die mercilessly, my dear wife wanted the child in her belly to be nothing more than a girl, who would be safe from the murderous wrath of the Pharaoh. And soon the birth was nigh. Yet I would never see him. Weeks before he was born, I could no longer work for I had collapsed in the sand. While I struggled to breathe, a fellow Hebrew held me in his arms, I prayed, asking God to spare the baby's life, before dying there on the ground.
Seeing him now, from the sanctity of Heaven, in the hands of the Egyptians makes me so happy that I know he will one day deliver our people out of slavery.