It's time for this month's Fly on the Wall where my writing sisters and I share what's in our homes and hearts!
And my thoughts, together with those of most of the Christian World are focused on the Saviour.
This story is longer than my usual.
Jesse: The Boy Who Gave
“Jesse! Come, son! Your father and brothers have
long been about!”
Jesse opened his eyes. Just over the low wall on
the far side of the roof from where he lay, the horizon was flushed a deep pink
as the sun approached its rise. Even as he watched, the golden ball peeped
above the horizon, sending a gleam of light straight into his eyes.
“Jesse!”
“Yea, Mother!”
“Say your prayers, son, and wash yourself. Your
meal is ready.”
Jesse closed his eyes and offered his usual
morning prayer, then pushed his coarse mantel away and, grabbing his little
stick, got to his feet, standing up on his strong right leg and allowing his
smaller, weaker left to merely dangle. For a moment, he gazed at the beauty of
the sunrise and breathed the cool, pure air of another harvest day.
Moving to the ewer and basin, he washed
carefully, then fastened his girdle securely and hurried down the stairs as
quickly as his one good leg would take him.
His mother and older sister, Anna, turned from
the fire and smiled at him. “Let me re-wrap your bandages, son, then Anna will
wash your hands so you can eat.” His mother knelt and lifted the hem of his
tunic. She tugged at the bandage that covered his withered leg from small,
misshapen toes to mid-thigh, then straightened and nodded to the low table
where warm breads, herbs and fresh cheese were laid.
Jesse held out his hands to be washed by his
older sister, then sat and began his meal.
A few minutes later, his mother set a small
basket on the high table beside the fire. “I have food here for your evening
meal, son.”
He nodded as he slowly got to his feet. Once
braced against the table beside his mother, he began to wind his turban around
his head. Seeing the usual barley loaves in the basket, he sighed. “The son of
my uncle had wheat loaves for his meal yesterday.”
His mother smiled gently. “We have food to eat
and a warm and safe place to lay our heads, son. Your father and brothers have
plenty of labour in the fields of your uncle and he has even found work for you
with your clever mind for figures. Let us never show discontent over what the
Lord has given us. Many are not blessed as we are!”
He sighed again. “Yea, but...”
His mother placed gentle fingers over his lips.
“Hush, son. The Lord has blessed us richly. We have enough and to spare. Let us
not raise our voices except in thankfulness.”
Jesse looked down into the small basket as his
mother pulled a coarse cloth over its contents. He frowned and, pulling the
cloth back, counted the loaves and fishes she had placed there. “Five loaves and two fishes, Mother? If you are concerned with showing gratitude,
perhaps ‘twould be better to give to the poor who knock at our door than to
give extra to your son.”
His mother smiled again. “Yea, son. Your generous
nature serves you well. And I have kept plenty for that purpose. Perhaps you
will have a chance to do the same for the people with whom you work today.”
Jesse frowned, then shrugged. “Mayhap.”
“And you will eat and you will be satisfied.” His
mother put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his face. “Be strong as a
leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer, and mighty as a lion to do the
will of thy father who is in heaven this day, son.”
“I thank you, Mother.” Jesse picked up his basket
of food and placed his crutch firmly under one arm. Then he smiled and nodded
to his mother and sister, and hobbled through the open door and into the narrow
lane.
Jesse’s six-times weekly walk to his uncle’s
lands was usually a calm and quiet amble along peaceful roads. He enjoyed it. It
didn’t tax his strength and the fresh air was invigorating.
But today, everything was different.
Throngs of people were hurrying along the usually
quiet road, talking together excitedly.
One particularly large group came up behind him.
The man in the lead moved closer. “Might we pass you, young sir?” he asked
quietly. “We are in a great hurry to reach our destination.”
Jesse nodded and stepped to one side.
As the people hurried past, he called out. “Where
are you to in such haste?”
“To see the master, the great prophet whom some
call The Messiah!” a young woman called out as she aided the faltering steps of
the man beside her. “He sits today in the desert,” she pointed. “He promises
salvation to all who gather to Him!” She glanced down at Jesse’s crutch.
“Salvation and healing.” She gripped the arm of her companion more firmly and
whispered gently to him. “Come, Father. We are nearly there!”
Jesse stood at the side of the road and watched
the people go by for a moment. A prophet? The Messiah? Salvation? Healing? What
sort of healing?
He thought about it for a moment, then thrust his
chin forward. He, too would seek this prophet. This healer. Clutching his
basket tighter, he followed after them as quickly as he could.
The sun was halfway up the sky, signaling
mid-morning, when the people he had been following joined a far larger group. This
greater gathering had seated themselves on the dusty ground and were listening intently
to a man wearing a white and brown striped mantle and seated on a little,
raised patch of ground.
Jesse watched the young woman and her more feeble
companion find places to sit nearby and immediately turn their attention to the
man in the striped robe.
This, then must be the prophet she spoke of. The
master.
Though he was some distance away, something in his quiet manner drew
Jesse’s gaze. The words he spoke, though not loud, could be plainly heard.
Perhaps a trick of the landscape. Perhaps carried by the slight breeze.
Jesse’s heart seemed to leap within his breast
and he shivered with…something. Excitement? Awe?
Recollection?
Perhaps a bit of all.
He quietly sat down in the dust, crossing his
withered leg over his good one and putting his basket in his lap. Then he laid
his crutch carefully beside him and was, himself, soon absorbed by what the man
was saying.
“Blessed are the poor
in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” the man said. “Blessed are they
that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek:
for they shall inherit the earth.”
Jesse
frowned. The poor in spirit? The mournful? The meek? All were…blessed?
The
master went on, “Blessed are they which do hunger and
thirst after righteousness:
for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they
shall obtain mercy.”
His
next words went through Jesse like a bolt.
“Blessed are the pure in heart,”
he said. “For they shall see God.”
Actually
see G-d? How is it possible that mere mortal man would be able to see the
Father of Heaven and Earth?
The
man went on, speaking of peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled. “Rejoice,
and be exceeding glad,” he said. “For great is your reward in
heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before
you.”
Jesse
frowned. Rejoice in persecution?
The
master called each of them the salt of the earth, then said, “Ye are
the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Let
your light so shine before men, that they may see your
good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”
For
much of the day, he went on, speaking words that seemed to glow with light and
warmth as they found a ready place in Jesse’s heart.
With
the day waning, the master stopped speaking momentarily as a few men approached
him. With them, he quietly discussed something that appeared to be of great
concern. Several times, they turned and indicated the mass of people still
sitting patiently, waiting for the words of peace and comfort to continue.
Jesse
thought about the things the master had said. Was it important to be meek and
long-suffering? And the council to let his light shine. To serve and to share.
Unexpectedly,
a picture of his mother flashed into his mind as he had last seen her—holding
his basket of warm food and urging him to be generous with the people he met
this day.
Jesse
looked around and smiled slightly. Where would he start?
The
master shook his head at something one of the others said. Then he lightly
patted his companion on the shoulder and moved him gently aside.
“Are
there any among you who are sick or afflicted,” he asked. “Halt, lame, deaf,
dumb? Come forward and, by your faith, you shall be healed.”
Jesse
sucked in a breath. The ‘healing’ the young woman had spoken of. He looked down
at his withered, useless leg. And could the man possibly mean him? ‘By your
faith’, the man had said.
Did
he have faith?
A
short distance away, the young woman rose and helped her father to his feet.
Then the two of them made their way slowly through the throng toward the man in
the striped robe.
A
young man seated next to Jesse plucked at the sleeve of his tunic and indicated
the crutch lying in the dust between them. “He means you, brother,” the young
man said. “Go. And be healed.”
Healed?
Jesse’s breath seemed to stop in his throat. Could it actually be possible?
“Go!”
someone else whispered.
Jesse
looked around. Several people were smiling at him and nodding. A couple of them
pointed toward the master.
The
young man next to him stood up. “Please, brother, let me help you.” Strong hands
grasped Jesse’s arms and pulled him to his good foot, then handed him his
stick. “Go!”
Still
clutching his basket and with his stick once more braced under his arm, Jesse finally
began to make his way forward.
The
way wasn’t easy. People were packed in tight and there was very little space to
move. They shifted as much as they could and sometimes that was very little
indeed, but eventually, Jesse was able to join the group gathered immediately
around the master; one of the last to do so.
A
man in the line just ahead of him turned and smiled at Jesse with one dead eye
and a face twisted by old, hideous burns. Just ahead of that man, another man
carried a child who appeared to be legless.
Jesse
looked down at his own sound leg and its withered companion. Among this
company, he was blessed. Should he stay and seek the help of the master?
A
woman paused beside him, breathing heavily and pressing one hand to her breast.
“Is
aught well with you, sister?” Jesse asked in a low voice.
She
took a rather shaky breath. “It soon shall be!” she whispered back, shining
eyes on the man at the center of the group.
Slowly,
the line of people wound its way closer to him. As they drew nearer, Jesse was
able to see more clearly what was happening.
As
each person approached him, they were warmly embraced and greeted by name. Then
the man put his hands on the person’s head and spoke softly.
And,
without fail, that person was healed.
Jesse
saw arms and legs appear where none had been before. He saw the feeble
straighten. One small child gazed at her mother in wonder as she heard the
woman’s voice for the first time. An elderly man who had been led through the
throng by a younger man, removed the bandage from his eyes and turned from thanking
the healer to look into the young man’s face, staring at it as though it was
the most glorious sight he had ever seen.
There
was a stir as someone approached carrying a small figure bundled up in a coarse
mantle. Limp hands and ashen cheeks would indicate that this child was far
beyond the help of any mortal man, but, as with the others, the healer put his
hands on the little one’s head. In moments, the child was sitting up, smiling
and pushing at the now-restrictive mantle.
Jesse’s
heart seemed to swell within him. Healings. Raisings from the dead? It was as
though he stood in the presence of G-d, Himself!
He
caught his breath on a sob, feeling suddenly humbled. Worthless. Tears stained
his cheeks. He gazed now at the man in the striped robe with reverence where
before had been only awe and wonder.
Reverence.
And love.
He
kept his eyes steadily on the healer, and as the line decreased in size, slowly
made his way closer.
When
there were but two people ahead of him, a couple of the man’s associates
appeared.
“Master,”
one of them said.
The
man in the striped robe turned to him questioningly.
“Master,
we need to send these people away. Many of them have been here all day and we
have nothing to feed them. They must go into the surrounding villages and find
food.”
“But
I have not yet completed the work,” his master told him.
“They
will be here on the morrow,” his other companion said. “Master, you are tired.
Let us send the people away so they can eat and you can rest.”
His
master paused and Jesse felt his heart stop.
He
was so close!
Then
the master smiled. A tired smile, but one filled with love. “Good brethren,” He
said quietly. “I would first be about my father’s business. Then I will retire
with you.”
Jesse
let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
“There
is still the problem of what to feed the people,” the first companion said.
“Cast
through the throngs and see if any have ought to contribute,” his master said
as he turned back. He took the little, legless girl into his arms. “Sarah, my
daughter!”
Jesse
clutched his basket tighter, thinking of the few loaves and fishes it
contained. He would love to share. But how many of this throng of thousands
could possibly be fed on so little food?
The
master stood the little girl on two strong legs and hugged her again. “Go,
daughter. Remember this day, when your faith and that of your father…” he
nodded to the man beside the girl whose face was wet with tears, “…healed you.”
The
little girl nodded eagerly and she and her father turned and began to make
their way back through the people.
Jesse’s
eyes blurred with tears of his own. He blotted them on his sleeve.
“Thomas, my son.” The master had his arms
around the burned man. “Long you have carried these scars.”
“Yea,
Master,” Thomas said. “Yet I know that, in thee, all things are possible. Even
the healing of a sinner such as I.”
“So
great faith, Thomas.” The master smiled and put his hands on Thomas’ head and
again, Jesse’s eyes swam with tears.
And
then, it was his turn. The master’s eyes were on him. Wondrous eyes filled with
endless love and acceptance.
Without
conscious thought, Jesse started forward, his own eyes on the master. The
Messiah.
“Master,
this should be the last. We must be off.” One of the companions was back. “We
can find no food and the sun sets. The people will be forced find their way in
the dark.”
The
master nodded. “We would not want anyone losing their way in the darkness.”
Jesse
heaved a sigh of relief. One more. Him.
Just
then, someone bumped into him and he stumbled and nearly lost both his crutch
and his basket. Grasping them tightly, he turned.
The
woman who had come up behind him was clutching her chest, her face grey.
Without
thinking, Jesse set down his basket, reached for her arm, and pressed her ahead
of him. “Here, sister. Take my place!”
The
master looked at Jesse and smiled, then placed his arms about the woman.
“Emily, my daughter,” he whispered.
In
moments, Emily was on her smiling way and the master’s companions were pulling
at his arm, trying to get him to follow. “Now, Master,” one of them said. “Let
us be off.”
Jesse felt the tears sliding down his cheeks.
Sadly, he picked up his basket and then turned to leave.
“Jesse.”
The quiet voice seemed to wrap around his aching
heart. Tugged it. He turned.
The master was standing, looking at him. His arms
were wide.
Dropping his crutch, Jesse stumbled forward. The
arms closed about him and, for a moment, he thought his heart would burst with
joy. Somewhere, a choir of voices was singing. Angelic, heavenly voices.
Then, the sound of his own sobs.
“Jesse, my son.” The quiet voice was continuing. “You
have carried this burden for so long. Lay it now at my feet. Give up your sins
and be healed by your faith.”
Jesse looked up into the kind eyes. “I do. I
will.”
His left leg tingled. He looked down. One
sandaled foot. One bare. The bandage that had bound his withered limb lay in a
small heap in the dust. With wonder, he lifted that leg. Felt it with
astonished hands. It was as whole and healthy as the other.
He looked up into the master’s face. “How…how is
it possible?”
The master’s smile seemed to pull his heart from
his breast. “By the power given me by my father and in His name, son. And by
your faith.” His smile widened. “Now, go and share what you have found!”
“I will!” Jesse started to turn, then swung back.
“Who are you, Master?”
Again that smile. “Who say you that I am?”
Jesse felt his brow pucker. “Are you John the
prophet? He who is called the Baptist?”
The master’s eyes filled with tears. “John, who
was my brother, is with us no longer. He has finished his work.”
Jesse’s breath was squeezed from his chest. He
stared at the master. “Dead?”
The master nodded. “Called home.”
“But could you not . . . the child you raised . .
. could you . . .?”
He shook his head sadly. “John, who was the
Baptist had finished his work.”
“And you are John’s brother?”
He smiled through his tears. “I, too have come to
do the Father’s work.”
“Has the Father, Himself come to dwell among
men?” Jesse’s voice was filled with wonder.
“I am the Christ, Jesus. My father hath sent me
and I am here to do His will in His name.” The master smiled. “And glory be
unto Him.”
“Then, ‘tis true. The prophecy of a Savior sent
to deliver the world.” Jesse felt strange. As though he couldn’t quite get
enough air into his lungs.
“Master. We must be away!” The companions had
returned. “The hour grows late and the people must find food!”
“I have food!” Jesse cried, suddenly.
Jesus turned to his companions. “You hear? We are
provided for.”
The companions frowned at Jesse, their eyes
seeking and stopping at the small basket he held. “How?” one of them asked.
The master tugged at the cover and looked down on
the small offering. Again he smiled. “It is enough. Bring me baskets.”
And then Jesse witnessed yet another miracle in
this long day of miracles as Jesus the Christ blessed and broke the few loaves
and fishes into fragments and filled basket after basket after basket.
The master’s servants distributed the food and
Jesse watched as the heaping baskets were passed from hand to hand. With
gladness, all the people received and they began to eat hungrily, praising G-d
as they did so.
Soon all had been filled.
What was left was gathered up, and finally, 12
baskets brimming with pieces of fish and bread remained.
He looked around and smiled. “It is well.”
Shortly after that, Jesus the Christ and his
companions disappeared into the gathering gloom. Then the people, too, began to
disburse.
Jesse, clutching his small basket now brimming
with food started along the road.
“Ouch!” He lifted his left foot and examined the
welt left by a sharp stone. “If only I had a sandal!”
Then he began to laugh.
Several men stopped beside him. “Something amuses
you, brother?”
Yea,” Jesse said. “This morning when I awoke, I
had only one useful leg. Now, through faith and by the healing power of Jesus
the Christ, I have two. But, upon feeling pain in my new foot, I instantly
began to wish for something more.” He shook his head slowly. “I fear it will
take the rest of my life to root out the ingratitude that so quickly besets
me!”
The men smiled and continued up the road.
Jesse followed them, walking easily on two strong
legs for the first time.
Velvet darkness surrounded him as his little home
came into view. The front door had long been shut, but light glowed in the one
window. Jesse hurried toward it.
Gently, he lifted the latch and pushed the door
wide. “Father? Mother? I have returned.”
His mother rose from her seat by the fire.
“Jesse! What were you about? You never arrived at the house of your uncle! I
had feared you the victim of highway robbers!”
His father loomed up behind her. “Welcome home,
son.” He shook his head mournfully even as he smiled at Jesse. “I am grateful
for your safe return.” He glanced at his wife. “But I am also certain you have
many things to explain.”
Jesse set his basket on the high table.
His mother glanced at it, then smiled at Jesse.
“Son. Did you find the opportunity to share with those in need?”
Jesse smiled back as he laid his crutch beside
the bowl. “Yea, Mother. Let me tell you the story.”
Now go to my friends and see what's happening in their homes, thoughts and lives this month!
I guarantee you'll enjoy it!
