The morning Daniel was arrested, it felt like the sky folded in on itself. I was sweeping the outer gates of the royal court, hands raw from the cold, when I heard the whisper: “They’ve trapped him.”
Daniel—faithful, quiet Daniel—was being taken by order of the king himself.
I dropped the broom and ran.
You should know this: Daniel wasn’t just a wise man. He wasn’t just one of the king’s top officials. He was the only man I’d ever seen pray with his windows wide open, three times a day, like he wasn’t afraid of anything. Even when they passed that terrible law.
See, a few jealous officials had convinced the king to sign a decree: no praying to anyone but the king—for thirty days. They said it was about loyalty. But we all knew it was about Daniel.
He prayed anyway.
So they arrested him. Dragged him past me, bound and silent.
I tried to catch his eyes.
“Daniel,” I whispered. “Do you know what they’re going to do?”
There was no fear in his face. None.
“Yes,” he answered softly, “and God knows, too.”
That night was the worst of my life.
The law said anyone who broke the decree had to be thrown into the lions’ den—immediately. And lions weren’t symbols here. They were real. Caged in stone pits beneath the palace courtyard. I’d thrown meat to them before. Watched bones vanish in seconds.
The king hadn’t wanted this. He’d spent hours pacing, searching scrolls for a way to change the law. But the officials reminded him—laws of the Medes and Persians couldn’t be changed, not even by the king himself.
When the sun set, they brought Daniel to the edge of that awful hole. I stood back in the shadows. I couldn’t leave. I had to see.
“May your God, whom you serve so faithfully,” the king said, his voice shaking, “rescue you.”
Daniel didn’t plead. Didn’t say goodbye.
They rolled away the heavy stone.
He stepped forward.
And then—he was gone.
The stone slammed shut. Sealed with the king’s own ring.
And just like that, he was locked in with the lions.
All night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept picturing it—Daniel falling in the dark, the cats circling, teeth flashing. What kind of man lets faith lead him into a den like that?
By dawn, the king himself ran back to the pit. He wasn’t even wearing his crown. His voice cracked like a child’s as he shouted, “Daniel! Servant of the living God! Did your God rescue you from the lions?”
Silence.
Then—movement.
A voice.
My knees gave out.
“My God sent His angel,” Daniel said. “He shut the lions’ mouths. They haven’t hurt me.”
The guards rolled back the stone. And there he was. Alive. Not a scratch. I swear—he looked gentler than when he went in.
The king wept right there. Ordered Daniel pulled up. Then he turned to the men who had tricked him... and gave orders I won’t even repeat.
But here’s what matters: That day, all of Babylon heard this decree from the king himself—that Daniel’s God is the living God, who rescues and saves.
I still walk past the lions’ den sometimes. It’s just a pit. But I remember what I saw and what I didn’t see.
The miracle wasn’t just that Daniel survived. It was that he chose faith over fear—even when faith led him straight into the dark.
And that’s the kind of story you never forget. Not when you’ve seen heaven shut a lion’s mouth.
The morning Daniel was arrested, it felt like the sky folded in on itself. I was sweeping the outer gates of the royal court, hands raw from the cold, when I heard the whisper: “They’ve trapped him.”
Daniel—faithful, quiet Daniel—was being taken by order of the king himself.
I dropped the broom and ran.
You should know this: Daniel wasn’t just a wise man. He wasn’t just one of the king’s top officials. He was the only man I’d ever seen pray with his windows wide open, three times a day, like he wasn’t afraid of anything. Even when they passed that terrible law.
See, a few jealous officials had convinced the king to sign a decree: no praying to anyone but the king—for thirty days. They said it was about loyalty. But we all knew it was about Daniel.
He prayed anyway.
So they arrested him. Dragged him past me, bound and silent.
I tried to catch his eyes.
“Daniel,” I whispered. “Do you know what they’re going to do?”
There was no fear in his face. None.
“Yes,” he answered softly, “and God knows, too.”
That night was the worst of my life.
The law said anyone who broke the decree had to be thrown into the lions’ den—immediately. And lions weren’t symbols here. They were real. Caged in stone pits beneath the palace courtyard. I’d thrown meat to them before. Watched bones vanish in seconds.
The king hadn’t wanted this. He’d spent hours pacing, searching scrolls for a way to change the law. But the officials reminded him—laws of the Medes and Persians couldn’t be changed, not even by the king himself.
When the sun set, they brought Daniel to the edge of that awful hole. I stood back in the shadows. I couldn’t leave. I had to see.
“May your God, whom you serve so faithfully,” the king said, his voice shaking, “rescue you.”
Daniel didn’t plead. Didn’t say goodbye.
They rolled away the heavy stone.
He stepped forward.
And then—he was gone.
The stone slammed shut. Sealed with the king’s own ring.
And just like that, he was locked in with the lions.
All night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept picturing it—Daniel falling in the dark, the cats circling, teeth flashing. What kind of man lets faith lead him into a den like that?
By dawn, the king himself ran back to the pit. He wasn’t even wearing his crown. His voice cracked like a child’s as he shouted, “Daniel! Servant of the living God! Did your God rescue you from the lions?”
Silence.
Then—movement.
A voice.
My knees gave out.
“My God sent His angel,” Daniel said. “He shut the lions’ mouths. They haven’t hurt me.”
The guards rolled back the stone. And there he was. Alive. Not a scratch. I swear—he looked gentler than when he went in.
The king wept right there. Ordered Daniel pulled up. Then he turned to the men who had tricked him... and gave orders I won’t even repeat.
But here’s what matters: That day, all of Babylon heard this decree from the king himself—that Daniel’s God is the living God, who rescues and saves.
I still walk past the lions’ den sometimes. It’s just a pit. But I remember what I saw and what I didn’t see.
The miracle wasn’t just that Daniel survived. It was that he chose faith over fear—even when faith led him straight into the dark.
And that’s the kind of story you never forget. Not when you’ve seen heaven shut a lion’s mouth.
