Cool Day in Capernaum

It was a cool day in Capernaum. The wind blew from the south over the Sea of Galilee. The fishermen were ashore now, nearly done selling their day’s catch. Peter made his way along the familiar harbor, watching the sunset reflected in the waves of the lake.


Memories of the old days: fishing on the sea and living a simple, stable life flooded his thoughts. It had been a day like any other when he and Andrew had first met Jesus, but in that instant, his life had been turned up-side-down. Now they were all going up to Jerusalem in a few days and his hopes were high. Rumors, like the summer flies on the plains, were multiplying across the land that Jesus was the Messiah who would free their people and set up His kingdom on earth. Romans authorities were very unsettled over this Jewish sentiment.

Maybe that was why Peter tried to blend in with those tending their nets when he saw several Roman tax collectors heading for him. Before, he would have fit perfectly among the tackle and boats. Now he stood out, apparently, because the tax collectors continued directly towards him. Peter believed Jesus was the Christ and was eager to see Him set up His kingdom. With all Jesus had been saying these last few days about betrayal and death, though, Peter wasn’t sure Jesus shared his expectations. A haughty voice, tainted with the aristocratic accent of the empire's capital, interrupted his thoughts: “Doesn’t your Teacher pay the temple tax?” they asked, implying He should pay.

“Yes, He does,” answered Peter, wondering where on earth Jesus would get the two drachmas to pay it. When Jesus said he didn't have any place to lay his head, the empty purse went without saying. Judas kept poor collections that Jesus wouldn't think of using for Himself. They camped outside, and some wealthy friends made sure they had enough food. Some days there was barely enough. Peter hurried back to the house where Jesus and His disciples were staying. Before he could even report the bad news, Jesus was asking Peter about it in His simple, profound way. “What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of earth collect duty and taxes – from their own sons or from others?”

When Peter calmed himself enough to consider the well-paced question, he replied, “From others,” and wondered where Jesus was going with the simple question. Jesus said, “Then the sons are exempt,” and a smile played on His lips and love danced in His eyes at the familiar, confused expression on Peter’s face.

“...but so that we may not offend them, go to the lake and throw out your line,” Jesus continued, His expression changing to sadness. “Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for My tax and yours.” Peter put his coat back on, grabbed his line, and resumed his scrambled mood, bumping the doorframe on his way out.

As he passed the staring people and sat down beside the lake, Peter began to wonder if this, like almost everything else Jesus said, meant something more. On the surface, it appeared to be directives for paying a tax, and his tax with it (which was nice), but Peter liked to try to find the meaning of the rest of Jesus’ riddling words when he had the time. Was He saying that He was a prince? And if so, was He paying the tax because His kingdom on earth wasn’t coming yet? Or was He saying His kingdom was already here?

A fish bit and Peter left his questions unanswered to catch the tax fish.

Peter returned after delivering the payment to find Jesus teaching in the house. Jesus spoke of ‘your brother’s sins,’ and it aroused an old question in Peter’s mind. When Jesus was done with His lesson, Peter asked Him, “Lord,” and Jesus turned His gentle eyes on Peter; how he loved students with questions! “How many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?”

Jesus glanced at Andrew, who was glaring at his brother, and smiled. His own half-brothers were not nearly so bold. These men, whose brotherhood was baked by nights on the trying sea, had no concept of restraint. “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” Andrew looked relieved; the Teacher was on his side. Then Jesus told them a story to illustrate. Peter listened eagerly, hoping for the zinger that would stop Andrew from smirking. It never came. “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart,” Jesus closed.

The next morning, early, Jesus, His disciples, and large crowds went from Galilee to Judea across the Jordan. After a few days’ teaching there, the group continued on their way through Jericho towards Jerusalem. With each passing day, hopes rose, thinking the promised kingdom had come.

Everyone was expecting Jesus to declare himself. James and John’s mother even asked for her sons to hold high office in Jesus’ coming kingdom. Jesus handled all the questions, requests, and hopes in His loving way, but no matter how many times He rebuked them or tried to calm their hopes with the truth, they refused to listen. They were convinced.

When the group was near Jerusalem, at Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, they halted and Jesus sent two disciples ahead to find Him a donkey’s colt on which to ride in. The disciples went away quickly and accomplished their secret mission. In the mean time, most of the crowds made their way into Jerusalem and cut down branches as they went to spread on the road.

People stopped what they were doing and looked up to see a man, riding on a donkey so small and slow that it would hardly be thought worthy of a passenger, coming down the road amid the excited shouts of thousands. Jesus rode quietly, troubled by the knowledge that very soon He would be alone and these cheering crowds would no longer cheer. The rest of the city, filled with more and less informed people who had come for Passover, wondered who He really was and what He would do at the feast.

To God be all glory. Read more!

Low Low Price

Characters: Salesman, Skater, Car-Buyer, Disneyland Vacationer, Hockey Fan, Christian

Props: Skateboard, Picture of a Corvette, Disneyland Brochure, 3 Sports big rivalry Tickets, Bible, $5, $300, $50, $2, Super Low Low Price Store Sign, Kool-aid cup w/ straw, Hawaiian shirt, Sports Jersey

The salesman waits in the “Super Low,Low Price Bargain Closeout Store.” The skater walks in, almost with a slide in his step, as though he were skateboarding – minus the board.

Salesman: What super low, low price bargain can I get for you today?

Skater: Man, I’m looking for a new board. Mine’s broken.

Salesman: I’ve just the thing for you. We have a top of the line skateboard brand new from Brother’s Boards. Only $5.

Skater: $5?! Dude. Those boards run like twenty times that price. What a great deal! But, you know, $5 would make my wallet feel a little lighter, and I could be putting it towards a board more on my budget. But, I can just see me doing all the stunts on the new board. (Skater spins one of the wheels with his finger, longingly.) Ok, I’ll take it.
Skater hands over the $5 bill and skates out looking complete. The car-buyer passes him, on his way in.

Salesman: What super low, low price bargain can I get for you today?

Car-buyer: I really wanted to see what new cars you had. Anything in red?

Salesman: You’ve come to the right place. In our garage right now we have a 2003 Corvette – in red!

Car-buyer: That sounds fabulous, but I’m sure I don’t have that kind of money.

Salesman: Nonsense. This bargain is only $300 dollars.

Car-buyer: $300! Does it work?

Salesman: Perfect working order, with stereo and leather seats. Are you interested?
Car-buyer: Well, I am used to driving my grey and brown (brown from the rust) Volkswagon. It would be a big change to drive a red corvette. What would people say? I mean, giving up the car I’ve had for over a year… I just don’t know.

Salesman: This is a great deal. Don’t let it slip away. Maybe people will say that you’re awesome, that you made a change for the better.

Car-buyer: Ok, I’ll take it. Let me get my checkbook.
The vacationer comes in wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt and sipping Kool-aid. She heads straight to the salesman.

Vacationer: I’d like to go to Disneyland. Do you have any good deals?

Salesman: As a matter of fact, we were just notified of a special low, low price package to Disneyland. It includes a week at the park with airfare and hotels. Food and Mickey Mouse ears not included.

Vacationer: Sounds good. How much?

Salesman: $50.

Vacationer: That’s just too good to be true. This has got to be a scam.

Salesman: No, this is our bargain low, low price. Call Disneyland. Ask them. Talk to Donald Duck, or Cinderella. They can tell you. This is for real.

Vacationer: Alright, it’s a deal too good to pass up. $50.
They finish the vacation transaction and the vacationer skips out singing “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, to Disneyland I go…” In comes a serious Avalanche fan, with a jersey and hat and everything.

Salesman: Sir, may I direct you to the sports section? Looking for a low, low priced souvenir?

Fan: No, I need tickets. I promised my sons tickets to the game tonight, but they’re sold out at Ticketmaster.

Salesman: No problem. I have a couple tickets here at $2 a seat, and these aren’t just any seats, they’re close!

Fan: $200 per seat…

Salesman: No, TWO DOLLARS.

Fan: That’s a ridiculous price. What are you trying to do, let just anyone into these games? They’re for serious fans. Are you trying to devalue our team?

Salesman: No sir. We’re just trying to give you a bargain, closeout price. And you’re the lucky customer.

Fan: This isn’t the way tickets are sold. It’s not traditional. It goes against my principle to pay such a small price.

Salesman (Waving the three available tickets in front of the fan’s nose): But these are Avalanche versus Redwing tickets!

Fan: O-o-oh. Ok. I’ll take them – for my sons. If it were just me, I wouldn’t.
As soon as the fan has the tickets, he looks very pleased with himself.

Salesman (muttering under his breath): I bet he doesn’t even have sons. (turning towards the door) Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?

Christian: I’m willing to pay anything, but, well, my request is kind of specific, and I’m afraid that it will cause too much change, or that my friends won’t understand, or that it won’t last or be real – or that my traditions will have to be broken.

Salesman: I understand, but I’ll try to help. What are you looking for?

Christian: I’m a Christian, so I want to be a good witness, but I need someone who will be with me to help me when I am tempted, and – and someone to listen to all my problems, any time. I need someone to teach me what decisions I should make. Have anything?

Salesman: We might have something. Let me check the back room here. Ah, yes. Here. Jesus Christ. Available as a package deal with a Bible. It’s kind of part of the price.

Christian (flinching): And what is the price?

Salesman: To spend time each day reading this Bible, and time each day praying to Jesus. All He asks is that you spend time with Him.

Christian: That’s all? This is a steal! How can you afford to give me all that just for my time each day?

Salesman: I can’t. But it’s pre-paid by a generous contributor. Jesus Christ paid for it in advance.

Christian (whispering): What did it cost Him?

Salesman: Everything.

To God be all glory.

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Autumn

Adventure stirs withing the soul
People go crunching by
Once green leaves turn to bright gold
Migrating geese southward fly.


Sweaters pulled close against the wind
Beneath a thin grey sky
Soft, drenching rain soaks to the skin
Bleared sunlight seems to lie.

For warmth and green are passing quick
Pale brown the grass is now
Scent of smoke outside drifts thick
Leaves are on the ground.

Just after harvest first snow falls
Evenings are spent inside
Bright leaves carpet tree-pillared halls
Where autumn fairies hide.

To God be all glory.

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Diana in Philosophy Class

“It’s been ten years since mainstream science accepted the theory that space is finite,” said Professor Beamon to his class. “In those ten years we have only begun to grasp the implications. If the universe is limited, it has a center. It can be measured. It has an edge.” He emphasized this last corollary because of its mystery.

“I thought this was philosophy class,” Diana thought. She rolled her eyes and began to scribble an intricate celtic pattern on her notebook. She was officially tuned out. Science was not her thing. I mean, she loved observation and analysis and all that scientific method stuff, but what science has become: a theoretical jungle o mathematics, microscopic assumptions, and universe-encompassing equations – was not even remotely relevant to her major, her roommate troubles, or her existence.

Next to her a male student was tapping his pen, putting random dots on his paper. Or maybe they weren’t random. They blurred out of focus. Who was he? Why was he tapping? Why did he use that pen? Was he moving in time to his thoughts? The professor’s speech cadence? What did that seemingly meaningless collection of dots indicate? Dreams have had interpretations since prehistoric times. So dots can mean something, too. “Everything means something,” she reassured herself. “God shows His glory in the details.”

“…details,” said the professor. Diana’s attention snapped back. After all, even a word in an insignificant lecture is a detail. It means something as well.

Her teacher continued while Diana tried to gather what led up to this. You know how sometimes your memory stores things you heard, even though you weren’t listening? He had been talking about how space was limited… and time! Time is limited too. “He’s way too into math,” Diana thought. She jotted down the mathematical term Professor Beamon had used so she could look it up later.

“The point is, there are only so many combinations of variables in an isolated universe. Eventually everything will be tried: every bar of music, every sentence. You may have read C.S. Lewis. In one of his children’s novels, there is a ‘deplorable word’ that ends the world. What if the last possible association has been made? Will the world end then? Or will we gradually see the world in bigger and bigger ‘sentences’? Have we already reached that point? Is the great philosopher of Ecclesiastes right when he says ‘there is nothing new under the sun’?”

Diana was thinking now. Her mind was racing and her heart was pounding. Scarcely sparing the energy from her thoughts to raise her hand, it yet went up slowly. Immediately the teacher stopped and pointed at her. She had hoped for a moment more to organize the thought forming in her heart more than her mind. When she began, she stuttered. Professor Beamon leaned forward, but he wasn’t impatient or intimidating; he was eager, and he sought to draw all his students into the lesson.

“What if creativity isn’t constant? I mean,” Diana took a deep breath to slow down, “E equals m c squared and all that, but what if we keep going on even after everythinghas been tried? Does that mean we’re getting input from outside the universe?” Philosophy always made her think of God. C.S. Leis argued that rational thinking can only be explained by the existence of a supernatural God.

The teacher repeated her question loud enough for the whole class to hear. Then he nodded at Diana. Before he could respond further, a boy across the room spoke up, “So like we’re not in a closed system?”

Another student posed another perspective, “Or we are closed, but we have a door, or better yet not a door, but like a balloon, someone with a sharp enough pin can puncture us.”

“So you’re arguing God? God is in control? God gives creativity? God holds that needle?” Professor Beamon picked up again.

But Diana was excited. This train of thought was going somewhere, for her at least. Each new thought second-guessed the previous until she moved deeper and deeper. She couldn’t tell if she was zooming out or zooming in as the map websites say it. She just knew that things got clearer the more she thought. And that is why she was here.

“Professor,” she interrupted again, “maybe it wasn’t a matter of reaching the end of possibilities. Maybe a long time ago there were no possibilities until God injected them. After all, where does thinking, and talking, and all creative expression come from originally?”

He didn’t look like he had never considered that. Nor did he act like she had stolen one of his points. He merely smiled, sweeping his eyes across a room full of thoughtful faces. And he went on, shepherding the discussion until it reached the point at which he was aiming all along.

“What is a world where every melody has already been sung? Where every love story has been lived? Is that a world people can live in? Is repetition bad? Or beautiful? If the world does have edges, must it also have walls?”

After class, Diana went to meet the professor personally. This was the first class of the semester, and despite the rough, science-oriented start, she was excited.

“You’ve discovered my favorite word: ‘maybe’, Miss Connor. I appreciate your participation.”

“I like your class. You aren’t like a lot of teachers. When you ask a question, you don’t have an answer in mind. I mean, you let us be right, too.”

“Well, if you’re ever obviously wrong, I will let you know. For instance, on tests, there are right and wrong answers. I do believe in absolutes.”

Diana laughed at the reference to the shaky worldview that went out of fashion after the scientific enlightenment of 2015. That was an unstable time, when most standard scientific laws and theories were thrown out and reinterpreted. Naturalism, which had bound science under almost a spell for over a century, slowly fell apart as scientists first trickled, then flocked to a philosophy of order and information once again. During those unstable years in the rebuilding of science, one could not afford not to believe in absolutes.

“Yet this class is not about discovering the world’s secrets or getting perfect test scores. I see the student; you, Miss Connor, or you, Mr. Stapler, “ he addressed another student who had come up and was listening, “as my primary focus. I care that each of you learn to think critically and rationally and frequently. Meditate on Scripture. Ponder God’s creation. Some students, of course, have to be taught to think in the first place.”

“I know,” said Diana. “But, sir, you nearly lost me with all the science at the beginning. I checked to make sure I was in the right class.”

“Philosophy isn’t science, or knowledge like the Greek word means. It’s guessing,” Matt Stapler agreed.

“But it’s all connected. God’s creation is interwoven. I like to emphasize different aspects of this in my lectures. You have to know that philosophy has a practical side.

“Besides, I find science fascinating, and I like to keep up with the newest advances. You’ll find I speak about whatever is on my mind, and it all comes together for two reasons. The first is that I am thinking about things myself, and always making the connections. The second is that sometimes, when we surrender, when I surrender to God’s service, He takes over and gets the results.”

“I say whatever is on my mind and it gets me into trouble,” Matt said.

“That’s where the input issue comes in,” Diana said. “Out of the overflow of our hearts the mouth speaks. And nothing can be in our hearts unless we put it there. So praying and memorizing Scripture and reading good books…”

“Or even science articles,” put in Professor Beamon playfully.

“Yes, or whatever ingredients you need to make your cake – that’s what produces good, orderly things coming out of your mouth.”

“Only a girl would have mentioned cake there. But I see what you’re saying. I need to get so saturated with truth and good things that nothing else could possibly come out when I open my mouth,” Matt summarized.

“And as I encourage open mouths both to speak, and like baby birds, to be fed, I highly recommend you prepare to speak,” Professor Beamon said good-naturedly. “Good to have you in my class.”

Only once they both turned away did he start gathering papers, none of which he seemed to have used during the class. All the while they had been talking, he had been completely focused on them.

“So what are you here for?” Matt asked Diana.

“Like my major? Or how God brought me to this school and what I expect Him to teach me?”

“Both if you like. But I meant your major.”

“I like psychology. Why people do what they do. In fact I can’t control myself; I analyze everything.”

“But if an infinite God is continually adding ideas and guiding, how can you ever make sense of that?”

Diana answered, “God is not a God of chaos, but of order. He made laws to govern the universe. He set us with limits. He tells us, also, about human nature.”

“So what about the other things?” Matt seemed to accept her answer. “Why this college, and what’s God going to teach you?”

It is cool to be in a Bible college. Most of the people there share your values and theology. And they’re striving to live lives of Christ-likeness, centered on love and building others up. With this confidence, Diana expected that when anyone asked a question, they were ready to listen to the answer.

“As to how I got here, it’s all God’s work. I heard about the school through a friend, and when I looked up info about the college, I just knew. Their mission statement, the majors they offered, and the classes each major included just fit my interests so well. A lot of schools might be good for one subject or another, but this, this was like a gourmet meal…”

“Are you hungry?” Matt asked. “Literally, I mean?”

“A little,” Diana answered. But she wondered how he knew.

“Cake. Gourmet. How about a candy bar?” He went to a vending machine so ancient it could have been in a museum. He swiped his currency card and asked her what she wanted. “Chocolate?” he suggested.

Diana took a bite and thanked him. Then she continued her tale. “So I really wanted to come here, but it was a miracle I got accepted. I’m still not sure how it happened.”

“A lot of people say that. Maybe it’s a conspiracy.”

Diana studied Matt out of the corner of her eye to make sure he was just teasing. “As for what God will teach me, I hope to be a better communicator, and to understand people better. And once you understand why people are who they are, and how they work, then you can help them become better people. But to do that, you have to know the standard you’re aiming for. That’s why I picked a Bible college.”

“That was a mouthful. You’re a good communicator, though.”

“I could be better,” Diana said humbly. “What are you here for?”

“My parents taught me to put God first, and everything else would fall into place. Kind of like Proverbs 3:5-6. He makes paths straight. So I set out on a quest to put God first in everything. I don’t think my parents expected my obedience to be so radical. It’s been an adventure.

“The first year after high school I spent doing foreign missions. With all the technological advances, especially in communications, it’s hard to remember there are pockets of the world where people are starving, and they’ve never heard the gospel. I went to a few of those places, for months at a time, and I’ll never forget.”

“Wow; I can’t imagine spending a whole year and then – what was it like to come back?”

“Rough, so far. Some things seem so petty. Like worship in church. In those countries if people were going to praise God, it was because they had something to sing about. I witnessed people praising God with their last breath, literally. Coming home was such a huge contrast. Some days I can’t bear the stifling formality.

“Personally I was used to needing God and relying on Him. It’s amazing how soon we forget, and get out of the habit. Now I’m like Israel, sitting in a land flowing with milk and honey. I have to remind myself that all this is from God, too.”

“Now who’s talking about food?” Diana teased.

“Anyway,” Matt smiled to acknowledge her joke, “a guy on my team had come to this college, and it was all he talked about. So here I am. To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure where God’s going to take me.”

“I wish I knew the future – just pieces.”

“Not me. I don’t envy those who know. God has His reasons for letting them know that they’re going to be a doctor, or marry their childhood sweetheart. It’s my adventure to follow God by faith. Faith is important. It’s survival. And we grow it by not knowing.”

I always find it interesting how well people get along when they barely know each other. Everything is new, so no quirks annoy. If the meeting is only casual, there is no need to go deep, to please, or to guard yourself, for that matter. And when a girl realizes she got along well with a boy that first meeting, the inevitable happens. Jane Austen, the classic novelist, pointed it out: her thoughts jump quickly from friendship to attachment to love and from there it is a small matter to jump to matrimony. All this can take place in a few seconds.

Since Diana was a great thinker, she thoroughly thought out all the implications of each step and analyzed every word that she and Matt had shared. Therefore it was more like minutes before she thought of marriage.

Unless a boy has either read Jane Austen’s excellent novels and taken their truths to heart; or been around girls long enough to know from experience that is what they are thinking, he cannot realize the danger he is in. He also certainly doesn’t consider matrimony himself. In fact, wishing most urgently that boys not be offended, boys usually leave such a conversation as Matt’s and Diana’s thinking of themselves. I don’t think this is bad, since many boys need to critique themselves so they well improve.

What did Matt think about after Diana walked away? First he noted, as near sub-consciously as possible while still able to suppress the idea, how bright her eyes were. Then he returned to the vending machine to indulge the craving that had brought on the use of the ‘milk and honey’ metaphor.

To God be all glory.

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A Poet's Work

A poet’s work must be very hard
Be he Shakespeare or only a bard.
Forcing each line to somehow fit
The rhyme, meter, and topic of it.

Pity the man that tries to rhyme
Without inspiration or right clime.
Pity the eraser or backspace key
Of the man who tries to write poetry

Strive not to think of the process, friend.
It will but ruin it in the end.
When you read a poem artfully wrought
Treasure the piece; despise poet not.
And here is the rest of it.

To God be all glory.

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Touching His Hem

She pushed through the crowd, bent almost double. So many strangers! Only a few familiar faces turned to glare at her, saying she had no right to be here. The faces were older than she remembered. It had been a long time since she ventured out into her village. Ahead she could see one of her doctors, but he wasn’t looking this way. The money purse at his hip taunted her. It might be weighted with the money she had paid him, without getting any relief in return. Now he was here to see Messiah. So was she, and nothing else mattered.

Closer to the road people were pressed tighter together. As far as she could see, they were even choking the road. She pushed against the relentless people for five minutes before she heard them begin to cheer. “Teacher! Master!” – some were more direct in their questions. “Are You the one?” A Pharisee? The man was young, so she didn’t recognize him. There had been a time when she was the friend (or enemy) of every leader in Israel. That was over thirty years ago, before.

As the crowd grew louder, she desperately dropped to her knees and made her way between legs and around purses. Nothing else mattered. If she could just see Him, touch Him, she knew everything would be better.

But all the people, jostling in the way! It was hopeless. The Master would be here and gone before she could get close. She crawled forward anyway.

Cheers deafened her. No time to cover her ears. Just crawl. At last she tumbled onto the road. There He was! That must be Him just ahead, with all the people reaching out to Him. He would pass her by. Just then He stumbled backward from the weight of the people. She blessed the crowds she hated. He was just within reach. Her fingertips stretched to touch His hem, trying to snag it and draw herself closer. Immediately she felt it; she was healed. In awe, in bliss – pure bliss – she remained, crouched on the ground.

Jesus turned to look at the woman, bowed now in reverence. He spoke tender words, but ones that silenced those near. “Who touched Me?” One of his followers began to point out what everyone else was thinking: how silly a question that was. But the woman raised her head to meet His eyes. He already knew it was her; He looked at her as though He had always known it would be her.

At first whispering, then raising her voice so the people around them could hear, she told her Lord the whole truth. She told of her illness for 30 years, of using all her money to pay doctors until now, when she had nothing. A few days ago she had heard of the Teacher. A few hours ago word had come that He would be coming this way. So she had determined to see Him. She pointed at the crowd as she told how she had been forced to crawl to Him. A smile spread across her pain-free face.

“Then I touched Your robe, Lord, and I am healed.” A few people murmured; a few cheered. He took her hand and raised her up. A man ran up, quietly pressing through the people, but with the demeanor of a servant, he dared not interrupt. Jesus saw him. Sadness flitted across His face before He turned back to her.

“Daughter,” He used a word she had not heard in decades, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace.” As though the very words He spoke carried power, peace filled her. She walked tall and straight away from Him through the crowd. At the edge of the crowd, she turned to see all the people leaving. Jesus and a few of His followers went on down the road with the servant.

To God be all glory. Read more!

Nathanael's Dark Night

Nathanael sat in a lonely room, bending over his parchment to make out the tiny characters written there. How many times the last three years had he sent messages to Yacob about these very texts? Now his host, an old friend, was snoring from the shadows of the small house. After what happened today, how could one sleep? Indeed, each time his own eyes closed with the heaviness of his grief and exhaustion the darkness came alive, revealing itself in the memorized faces of evil incarnate. “Crucify him!” they yelled.

He drew his hand across his brow, finding there beads of sweat. Wiping his hand on his sash, the young scribe tried to return to studying. Some faces were too familiar. Old friends. Men who were in training to be scribes as he had been… before. Some had been his teachers. After hearing Yeshua teach, how could one apply that title to anyone else? He had the words of life. Yeshua had become Nathanael’s life. Now He was dead.

As young Israelites hoping to distinguish themselves as scribes, Yacob and Nathanael had apprenticed themselves to those religious leaders who were willing to teach. They studied Scripture, carefully copying out entire passages in their notes. Poor students made the most of their parchment by writing in very small print. The two friends had found early in their course of study that the Messianic passages were their favorites. With politics as they were in Israel, who wasn’t thinking about the Messiah? Each verse was studied and puzzled over. They consulted the rabbinical commentaries.

Still there were anomalies. Rabbis debated whether some passages were truly about the awaited Messiah. One would read along, get caught up in the glorious conquering mission of God’s Anointed Prophet, in whom His Name dwells. Next would be a verse about suffering, or being despised of the people. The wave-like emotions of the text brought to mind the ups and downs of the walk with Yeshua the past months.

From Galilee to Jerusalem, Yeshua and His growing company of followers had steadily made their way to the city for the feast. As in the beginning, nearly three years prior, still Yeshua performed miracles. He healed the sick, multiplied food, commanded storms to cease, and cast out demons. Some whispered rumor said He could raise the dead.

“Raise the dead? All of Israel had heard of Lazarus. Dead four days. Then Yeshua tells him to come out of the tomb, so he does. We ate with him in Bethany this week,” pondered Nathanael. “No wonder the people thronged to worship Him when He entered the city for Passover. So how could one with such power let Himself be led, like a lamb to the slaughter?”

This made him mindful of a prophecy of Isaiah. He searched the sheaf of papers. Rabbis said it was about Messiah, but how could that be? Words like wounded, cut off, smitten by God were only painful reminders of the death of his hope. How firmly they had all believed!

Pharisees fast. Saducees tithe. Scribes study. Rabbis teach. The people of the land pray. Yes, they ask for their needs. And the Eternal provides. At the beginning of his journey, Nathanael too was praying. He had been studying, but there was so much he didn’t understand. Following Solomon’s example, he went to pray for wisdom. Like Daniel, he confessed his sins and the sins of his people. Then he sighed beneath the fig tree in the morning. How he yearned for the kingdom of God to come! Turning with his thoughts, he prayed for Messiah to come quickly.

For the first decade in hundreds of years, this had become a prayer the educated could truly hope to see answered. Daniel’s prophecy of weeks should be fulfilled soon. Scholars debated over the decree which set the calendar in motion. Either way, time was running short.

Some eager fools ran to the wilderness, chasing any rumors of a Messiah. Most were rebels, hoping for power or glory like Judas Maccabee had won. Others were good teachers, who denied they were the Promised One. Hopeful peasants would not be deterred.

The priests and Sanhedrin took a different view. When Messiah descended on the Temple Mount to establish His dominion, they would not be caught following some dusty peasant rebel. No, they would be dressed their finest, talking the loudest, presenting the largest sacrifice.

Nathanael would probably be doing what he was today: praying. More and more the burden of knowing the law and the prophets drove him to pray. Then he read the Psalms for expression and comfort.

“I looked for comforters, but found none.” A Psalm brought him away from his memories. He knew it wasn’t written on any of the papers in Yacob’s collection. No one thought that was a Messianic prophecy. Most of his thoughts drew from Scripture in one way or another. His mind was saturated with it. That was one thing that drew him to Yeshua: though He didn’t commentate on the Law, He constantly alluded to Moses, David, Isaiah, and the others.

In a time when most teachers were trying to separate themselves by saying something new, Yeshua drew crowds by making practical sense of what was written before. Sometimes Nathanael could almost finish His sentences. Other times the things Yeshua said were so shocking that only days later, in the contemplative silence of walking the countryside, would he recognize that the Teacher had been drawing a truth from some overlooked passage of an oft-ignored prophet.

The day they met was still a puzzle. Nathanael was praying. His friend Phillip found him in a place where they had often debated the meaning of prophecy. That was long ago. Phillip had fallen in love, gotten serious about working to provide for a family. Nathanael had continued his own work.

As kids they were part of a sect that was discreetly referred to as “those waiting for the kingdom of God.” Their parents paid careful attention to news that might give them clues as to when Messiah was coming. They were on the watch. Nathanael couldn’t count how many times he had heard the story of Widow Anna, the prophetess, who before he was born brought news to them of a baby Messiah dedicated at the Temple. And this coincided a few years later with Herod’s decree to murder all infant boys in Bethlehem, whence Messiah would come. What Herod had heard (if anything), no one dared ask. The king had been notoriously suspicious and half mad.

That day three years ago was reminiscent of the old stories. Phillip ran to the tree, and held his knees to catch his breath. “We have found Him,” he didn’t wait to pant out. Adding details his friend would understand, he continued, “of whom Moses in the Law, and also the prophets wrote.” Phillips eyes were bright from running, but something else also seemed to light them.

Nathanael had long known Phillip’s enthusiasm about John the Baptizer. Surely he wouldn’t run all this way just to remind him? “Jesus of Nazareth,” Phillip finished.

Nathanael’s heart stirred. The branches above his head rustled. There was something in the way Phillip spoke. His words were honest and sober. Nathanael knew his friend, and trusted him. But he frantically ran over verses in his mind searching for some reference to Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” he wondered aloud.

“Come and see.”

“You mean He’s close?” he thought. The two men left the fig tree standing alone in the deserted field.

Yeshua saw Nathanael approach. His greeting excited curiosity in Nathanael to this day, unless… “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!”

Unable to think of anything else to say, and rather stunned at the recognition in the Rabbi’s voice, Nathanael said, “How do you know me?” Phillip would have asked if his friend had not. Though he was beaming, though he said he believed Yeshua was Messiah, he didn’t yet know what that meant. None of them did. Would they ever?

“Before Phillip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Yeshua looked at him with a piercing glance now dearly missed, and a familiar hint of a smile.

Who hears the prayers of the heart but God? No one had been near the fig tree. Nathanael liked to pray in private so no one would see his tears or hear his confessions. Yeshua’s eyes glistened, almost weeping for the passion of this Israelite. In the years that followed, Nathanael had seen others’ emotional outbursts affect Him the same way.

In that moment of beginning everything had come together. Years of waiting. Pages of text. John the Baptizer. Phillip’s testimony. And this. By words whose significance was lost on all others, Yeshua confessed his identity.

“Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”

That day Nathanael left his watching and his parchments. He observed the Word come alive. His confession settled once for all his faith and his willingness to follow. But something else happened that Nathanael did not expect. He would have served his Master in any way, gone into battle for Him. But his Master became his friend, one he loved to follow not only because He was worthy, but because He was beloved. Many of His followers felt it. They dared not discuss it lest they be thought impertinent.

Nathanael shaped some warm wax between his thumb and finger. Only a few days ago Yeshua had made his heart rejoice by calling them friends. He felt that way, too! “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for a friend,” Yeshua once said. Perhaps they were not His friends. Not one stood by Him when He was on trial. All had fled.

In the darkness Nathanael had stumbled and tripped through the outskirts of Jerusalem, following phantom lights his eyes thought he saw. Finally he got his bearings and came to Yacob’s house. There he had remained, frightened, until a servant brought the news: Yeshua had been sentenced to crucifixion and was already dead. The sky was dark the first time Nathanael looked out, though the sun had not set. All mourned for Yeshua.

For hours Nathanael sobbed, ignoring the customs of the holy feast he should have been observing. Occasional reports increased his understanding of how the impossible had happened. Yeshua was often associated with the impossible. The thought was bitter. Yacob delivered the news and left him alone.

At last Nathanael arose. An idea had struck him. Three years he had not been forced to search the Scriptures himself for comfort. Yet that is what he had done before. It might help again. Understanding and answers might give him peace.

Yacob obligingly brought his notes out of storage. When it grew too dark to read, he brought candles. As of yet Nathanael could not speak. No, he could not even pray. How does one pray when the Son of God is dead? “Son of God” is what he had said, right? And for three years he lived proof. But now everything was in doubt. Who else could Yeshua have been?

Over and over again Nathanael read the verses. Many words and prophecies he’d never associated with the Messiah perfectly described what he was going through. If he could just put them all together, maybe they would make sense.

The sun rose, a bright Sabbath morning. Yacob the bachelor scribe invited Nathanael to worship with him. Finding comfort in ritual, in stubbornly affirming things which seemed senseless to believe, Nathanael went through the day. If it weren’t Sabbath, he would have taken a long walk. He thought that the sons of Zebedee, sons of thunder, would have hammered something (or someone) to release their frustration. It sounded tempting.

Instead he spoke. He poured out his heart to Yacob. They sat under the broad open window at the front of the house. Nathanael was silent when anyone drew near, for fear of the Jews. Yacob urged him to go on, getting excited about the details, the fulfilled prophecy his friend reported. “But it can’t be! He’s dead. He isn’t the one,” Nathanael reminded.

With a more patient heart Yacob answered, “How could so many things be right – and nothing wrong – except this?” His eyes hesitated, showing by their vibration his debate between two options. He spoke again. “Almost I would ask if our Enemy has not cast some mighty unforeseen stroke. If the Evil One cut off the Messiah… But that would be blasphemy.”

“Messiah is not just a man. He is the Son of God. If… if Yeshua is Messiah, this is a heavy stroke indeed. It is not possible – is it – that the Adversary could win?”

“If so we are the most miserable of all souls.”

Nathanael sighed. “The last meal, Thursday night, we all said we would die for Him.” The weight of his failure buried him again. After a few moments he looked up, resolved. His eyes were grey, miserable, and without hope; but they were fierce. “He was my King and my Friend and my Rabbi. The Sanhedrin, if reports be true, has claimed Caesar as their king. They have befriended the god of this world. Whether He wins or loses, I will stand with the God of Israel. I don’t understand. All I can do is what I know is right.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Yacob hoped to sit this fey mood out. “What about the others? What do they think?”

“I haven’t seen them. John would be with his brother, Yacob. Phillip is probably with Andrew, and Simon with them. We all scattered from Gethsemane.” Thinking of his friends reminded him that three years of itinerant ministry had yielded him more than just one friendship. He and Phillip were closer than ever. “I should find them, see if I can help: I don’t know, comfort or make plans.”

“Tomorrow, my friend.”

To God be all glory.

Thanks to Snapshots of Joy for the graphics!

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The Old Friend - submitted by Melian

The pastor prayed as the last few notes of the closing hymn hung in the air before dismissing the congregation with an exhortation and blessing. People left their seats, leaving to pick up kids from Sunday school classes, going out to lunch, or congesting the aisles while they chatted with friends. One of the female members approached William Kelly as he slowly rose from his chair, leaning on his old wooden cane. She was accompanied by her usual bright smile which he returned with one of his own--worn perhaps, but not at all rusty.

“Hello Mr. Kelly!”

“Hello Emma.” His heart delighted at her cheerful voice, youthful beauty, and that certain glow that only comes from being recently married. In his mind’s eye he saw his own wife at that age with that same glow, standing in the same room, the sanctuary lights glowing softly on her golden head…

“Ryan and I were wondering if you would like to join us for lunch this afternoon?”

The smile on William’s face widened at the invitation but he shook his head. “Thank you Emma, but I think not today. Why don’t you and Ryan have a nice quiet afternoon to yourselves.”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes. Yes I do. I’m going to spend some time with a very old friend of mine.”

“Oh!” Emma’s smile came back in full force. “That’s great! How do you two know each other?”

“My wife introduced us, a long time ago.”

“Do you get to see each other often?”

“Oh I try to get together once a year or so.”

“How fun. I hope you have a good time.”

William nodded. “I’m sure we will. And thank you for the lunch offer.”

“Oh yes. Maybe we can do it next week.”

“Sounds fine with me.”

“Alright! We’ll plan on that then. Have a good week Mr. Kelly!”

“You too Emma.”

Emma joined her husband outside the church doors and together they headed towards the parking lot.

“He said no?”

“He’s having company over today. Maybe next week.”

Ryan nodded. “I’m glad you thought to offer,” he said, slipping an arm around his wife’s waist.

She nestled her head against his broad shoulder. “I’m glad he has a good friend to spend time with.”



William crossed through the picketed gate opening onto his yard and walked the pathway up to the front door. Though his shoulders were hunched slightly from age, his still-dark head was only a few inches from the top of the door frame.

In the kitchen he took from the refrigerator a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade made just the way his wife used to do for hot summer afternoons. With a glass filled with the pale yellow liquid, he stepped across the hallway to the cool library and sank into his favorite easy chair. He took into hand an old paperback; tears dimmed his vision as his eyes ran over the words written just inside the tattered cover in faded ink--

To my dear husband Will, with hopes that he will enjoy it for many years to come.
Many loves, Margaret.

One withered finger lovingly traced the words before he turned past the introduction and the table of contents, his eyes taking in the familiar words that greeted him with perfect welcome. William turned the worn pages ’til he came to the first chapter. His eyes swept through it, reacquainting himself with the dear old words, the rich story. As a satisfied smile crept to his lips, Will sank back deep into his chair.

“Hello, old friend.”


"You know you’ve read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend."--Paul Sweeney
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Shore Walk

I walked by the shore,
Holding a shell
Strung on a string
Round my neck

My eyes could not see
The sand at my feet;
They saw things not
On my trek.

An old man walked by
Humming a tune
Shuffling his feet
As he went.

“Where did it come from?”
He asked ‘bout my shell.
I answered the man,
Old and bent.

“Twas given to me
By the man I loved
Once when we walked
On this shore.

“We wandered all night
In still starlight
Listening to the sea’s
Mighty roar.

“At first glow of dawn
He gave me this shell
To remember sounds
Of our walk.

“Then he went to war
And never came back
To the shelled shore where
We used to talk.”

The old man smiled
And nodded his head,
Seeing the tears
In my eyes.

He knew well the sounds
Of war and of death:
The reasons an old
Woman cries.

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Five Hot Guys

Five hot guys, were packed into a car one day… on their way home from an afternoon at the movies.

(Yes, “hot”… it was like 95 degrees, and the air conditioning hadn’t been running all that long.)

One of them had in his hand, his sunglasses…
One had the “oh my goodness” handle…
(You know… the handle above the door, that everyone grabs when the driver takes a corner at somewhere near sixty mph, and then screams, “Oh, my goodness!”)...

Alright, so,
Another had an airsoft gun,
One more, had in his hand the air rushing by outside the window…
and one…
thankfully…
Had the steering wheel.

Cruising down the road, forty miles an hour…

Now…

Picture this…

These same five guys, packed into the back of a police cruiser… wait, four…

Four guys now, packed into the back of a black and white dodge with… oddly enough, one guy tied to the top and a policeman, at the end of his long shift -too long- behind the wheel.

Apparently too much government assistance (*ahem* the people's tax money.) was being given to “fight global warming” and to promote religious “tolerance” and not enough was being directed to the municipal police department and law enforcement of Aurora Colorado.

With that said, there was only one policeman in the area, and obviously, only one car as well. There wasn’t even enough room in the cramped quarters of the backseat of a “compact” police car for four, let alone five…

(Shall we say, the rear seat had a three-and-a-half-body capacity?)

So, handcuffed and tied to the racks ontop of the government vehicle… was the youngest of the five.

On their way to the police station, the police man hit a red light… ok, so he didn’t actually “hit” it, he came to it, and stopped… surprisingly enough… -some cops don’t, especially when tired.

While stopped, he rubbed his eyes, it hadn’t been easy coercing these five delinquents into, and onto his small cruiser.

But he was nearly there… just a few more blocks.

-wait…

Just outside the window, on his side of the car…

Was that?

It was…

There, on the ground…

Rope?

From whe-

Oh no!!!

The law enforcement officer, turned back to see the guy formerly tied to the roof of his… his government’s car… and saw his back disappear behind the hill near the intersection.

Alright… now…

Rewind with me…

Back about two minutes…

The tiee, with a 40 mile an hour wind blowing his, albeit, short hair, was enjoying his unconventional ride across town.

With every moment, he was realizing however, that if he were convicted, his would be the stiffest of all the sentences… as it was his airsoft gun that ended up getting them into this in the first place, he began to consider his means of escape.

He realized that his neck could bend enough for his teeth to reach the ropes around his chest.

With a grin, he quickly started to chew… gnaw… at these ropes… apparently very old…

And in about a minute and half he was loose enough to slip out from under his bonds.

He looked up ahead, and saw the light turning yellow, and his mind raced faster than his consciousness could realize, and his limbs began following a plan, the details of which he wasn’t even fully aware himself.

With the stealth of a cat, and the nimbleness of a mountain goat, he positioned himself on top of the car, now slowing to a stop; he was poised like a panther for a leap and his adrenaline pumping like an oil well in Saudi Arabia.

Moments before the car reached a full stop, his feet left the roof, hardly making a sound, definitely not one the exhausted ears of our friendly neighbourhood policeman could hear.

This brings us back to speed with the story from inside the car.

The four others in the backseat, were realizing slower than the driver, what was happening… and they, being handcuffed, had little to do aside from watch the events unfold…

The policeman swung his door open and raced around the front of his car…

The light turned green, and the line of cars waiting behind him, honked… half of them, unaware of the “lost cargo” that was escaping to the right…

As the policeman made his way across the street, a car coming through the light, the other direction, swerved to miss the “boy in blue” and ran *head-on* (hate that commercial), into the car our four friends were waiting in, and watching from…

Sliding off the road, the police car tipped on its side, and bent around a stump, allowing the locked door to swing open, and the four guys climbed out; and with hands still bound, they bounded across the field and into the upper-middle-class neighbourhood down the hill on the left side of the road.

The clouds above the mountains were slowly beginning to transform from dull grey-white streaks into vibrant flames of pink, orange, and red, as the sun approached the tips of the towering spikes of granite.

So… of the five…

One, is now gone… alone… and followed…

The other four, are a group, off on the run, veiled by the suburbia, roaming the streets of middle-class debtors, hand’s cuffed and “deserving” of imprisonment…

Little do they know, the recent advent of One, roaming the same streets, evading the same government… but where they have circumstance driving them, He, has a reason driving Him…. A motive... His love… justice… and truth.



Ok, so I asked you earlier, to “picture this…”

Abstract picture, ‘eh?

Well, that is it… a picture…
One that doesn’t exist in reality, but did exist, in the minds of five “hot” guys, riding home from a movie earlier today.

There was more about a dress, and about transforming pants utilized in sewer conflict evasion… but that was irrelevant… as the rest seems, and perhaps… actually is…

But it’s a story, accumulated from the random ideas of five movie-stricken minds.

Embellished by one in particular, for literary potency.

Enjoy it if you can… if you want to… and keep praying and never settle, but always be content…

And Keep Smiling, for the right reasons…

God is so good! =)

From “The Five.”

Minus one, in Japan at the moment, which’d have made us six… plus One, Who’s always there, anywhere… which’d have made us seven… prime. But, I guess, God can use less than prime… and He does… still, that doesn’t change what we wish…

Again, enjoy the “picture” the... story.

-MAC <>< =) Read more!

Trust

She shook her head violently and waved her hands before her tear-blinded eyes. Most of the time she could predict or at least understand her husband’s choices. When she was angry, it was usually because somewhere deep inside her, though she didn’t like the decision, she guessed he was right.

This moment was so different. Without warning, her husband had given her news that seemed utterly senseless, and hurtful. She was pained deeply for a presently inexplicable reason. But the tears had to go away. He had to stop talking, and she had to see him.

One look. The pain didn’t go away. It increased as more and more she realized he had known what the cost would be to her. Yet somehow also contained in his eyes was the truth that he still loved her. She had to acknowledge that in some unthinkable way he not only had the right, but also the responsibility to do this to her.

The tears returned. All she could try to resist them was useless. But she bowed her head and would have clung to him still if he had not stepped away. He instead put his two strong hands on her shoulders. Directing her outside, he made her face the day. He didn’t leave, though he wouldn’t wipe her tears away. She had to let the harsh wind blow the moisture from her face.

Why didn’t she leave? How could he have the right to make her so miserable – willfully? She loved him. That was enough. He could ask anything before God, and she would follow. In humble trust, she would agree. Trust doesn’t have to, often cannot, understand. But real love continues anyway.

To God be all glory.

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You Cannot Follow

What was that? Jesus was going where Peter couldn’t follow? No. Not possible. Peter would die to see His reign established. There may be a glorious battle or a few rebels. If necessary…

They went for a walk. Deny Him? Crazy. Today?

“Pray,” Jesus said. Everything was confusing. It had been a long, busy week. Sleep came. The rest of the evening was a mixture of sleep and nightmare waking.

Swords. Shouts. Torches. Judas. The battle had started! Peter drew the sword Jesus had counseled his followers to buy, and swung. No time to think or aim – Peter had made a promise.

Never yet had Peter been so surprised as when he heard Jesus rebuking him, and witnessed his Teacher healing the enemy. The enemy!

Torches flickered into the distance. Jesus was gone. Silently, Peter followed.

Only one disciple remained with Peter. They trailed the mob to the house of the high priest. At the door, a servant girl challenged him. “You are not one of this man’s disciples, are you?” Peter’s breath caught. “I am not,” he mumbled, and moved quickly towards the fire.

While warming himself, another man confronted Peter. After a quick reply, Peter diverted his eyes and moved to the edge of the firelight.

A man asked him, “Were you with him?”

“No, no.” This wasn’t right. Where was the great battle – the establishment of the King? Old doubts raised by Jesus’ cryptic comments returned. Until the cock crowed, Peter hadn’t realized. This was it. This had been the chance to stand.

A question in his eyes, Peter turned to his Teacher’s face. How many times had he practiced that movement? Never would the memory of that face, that instant, be forgotten.

“You cannot follow. You cannot follow.” The words echoed in Peter’s mind with resounding clarity. It was not so much that the road was blocked as Peter was unable to walk, even crawl, this road Jesus trod.

Failure didn’t come easy for Peter. For the first time he noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks. The nightmare engulfed him. He fled to the black streets.

To God be all glory.
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Unspoken Words

“Hi, Elise!” called Allison. She sat waiting in the college cafeteria. Elise smiled, waved back, and made her way across the room.

Just the night before, Elise’s pastor had given a message about telling friends the gospel. Allison hadn’t been out of her mind since. Did God want her to tell Allison about her faith – the gospel?

How exactly would one tell Allison the gospel? She was popular, smart, and kind of rebellious. The last thing she would accept from a close friend was their views on religion crammed down her contented agnostic throat.

Since Elise’s freshman year of high school, she’d known Allison. They went to school and movies together and the pool in summertime. Elise figured she was a balancing influence on Allison impetuous energy. Until last night, she never thought of the fact that her friend should be way out of balance – totally on God’s side.

But anyone who knew Allison would tell you that she “knows what she wants and almost always gets it.” If she wanted to know what Elise believed, Allison would ask, or rather demand, to be told. Elise was sure of it. Until she asked, maybe Elise would just pray for her…

Chris, Elise’s coveted fiancé, urged her to talk to Allison. In a few short days, Elise would be married and there would be an uncloseable gap in their relationship. “Tell her now,” he suggested during a walk, “before she won’t listen any more.”

Already Allison was withdrawing. Sure, they’d shopped for the wedding dress together (relying on Allison’s amazing good taste) and Allison would be a bridesmaid in the ceremony. Still, there was that gap in experience. That was why Elise picked up the phone to ask her to the movie.

Allison laughed through the movie. Elise cried at the final good-bye. She could never say good-bye like that to Chris. Never!

As they drove home late that night, Elise was preoccupied with plans for her wedding. Mental check: one more bouquet of white roses for decorations. Allison had a calculus exam tomorrow before the dress rehearsal in the evening, and was going over formulas aloud as she drove. There had been no opportunity to talk about serious things.

Now, Allison fell into deep thought. Sometimes moods of reflection came upon her and Elise wondered whether her friend questioned her priorities – whether she was really as happy as she appeared. No, perhaps she was just worried about the test. Studying had never been a priority for her and she was probably pondering the consequences of failing.

Elise had smiled when Allison told her how beautiful she was in her wedding dress, but Elise was sure Allison would show her up as a bridesmaid.

Just ahead, a glaring pair of lights swept over the hill. As they neared each other, the lights swerved. Allison flinched and stomped the brake. The screech of brakes almost drowned out Allison’s screams. There was a big truck and even larger noise. Then silence.

To God be all glory. Read more!

Healing Ruth's Mother

“Simon! Simon!” Andrew ran up to their boat, breathless. “We’ve found him! We have found the Messiah!”

Simon looked at his big brother doubtfully. “I’ve never heard an introduction like that before. Come into the shade. You’ve been in the sun too long. Help me prepare this net.”

“No, no. Put that stuff down. Come on. You have to meet Him.” Andrew took the nets out of Simon’s hand and started dragging him away from the boat. “John, you know, the crazy guy who preaches by the river? He said, ‘Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.’ I heard him. Then there was this man…”
“Look, Andrew. You can go meet this latest messiah, but there is work to be done. Someone has to do it, and it looks like me. I want to go home before midnight. Ruth hasn’t cooked supper in days. She’s been taking care of her mother. I’m hungry. Leave me alone.”

“But Simon, only Messiah can take away sins, right? I mean, God and His Messiah? Don’t you know what that means?”

“Yes, Andrew,” said Simon. “It means that this guy is a revolutionary. The Romans will hate him and he’ll stir up trouble like all the others before him. Eventually they’ll catch him and crucify him for treason. And unless you want to be on the cross next to him…”

“He’s for real, Simon. It won’t hurt to meet Him.”

“Fine. This once, I’ll go.” Simon realized his work would never be done with Andrew pestering him. The oldest brother had always known how to get his way. He shoved the nets aside and stomped angrily down the coast. He was a bit curious. Andrew wasn’t the impulsive one. Usually, Andrew would sit down and think things through. Who was this person who had so affected his brother?

After a long walk, Andrew suddenly stopped. Jesus looked at Simon and said, “You are Simon, the son of Jonah. You shall be called Peter.” Then He smiled a knowing smile at Simon’s confusion. “It has begun,” He thought.

This wasn’t right. Where was the fiery sermon? Where was the rally? How could a guy like this, who didn’t say, “Hi. I’m Jesus. I’ve heard a lot about you,” ever dream of defeating Roman regiments?

Over the next week, Peter and Andrew went back to fishing. But they couldn’t stop talking about Him. James and John, the thundering sons of the patriarch fisherman, Zebedee, listened to Peter and Andrew bounce suggestions around. What if Jesus was for real? What if He wasn’t? The sons of Zebedee gave each other looks and shrugged their shoulders.

After the synagogue meeting on Saturday, Peter was home with his wife. Her mother was doing worse, with a high fever. “Simon, you should ask Him. I heard he cast out an unclean spirit. Maybe he can help her. You talk about Him so much.” Ruth pleaded with Peter to go find Jesus immediately.

“It’s Sabbath. He can’t work on the Sabbath.” Peter looked to his mother-in-law. For all his married life ,she had been like his own mother, living with them and cooking for them. Perhaps he should go now, before it was too late?

A knock sounded on the door. “It’s probably Leah. She was going to bring over some soup.” Peter got up and opened the door, hoping his wife’s chatty friend wouldn’t stay long.

“Peter,” Jesus nodded, and walked in. Ruth came out of the side room to see whose was the unfamiliar voice. The look on her husband’s face told her who it was. “I knew He’d come,” she said to Peter. “Let’s ask.”

He nodded his head an looked at Jesus, who stood just inside the door smiling. “Jesus, you are welcome here. My mother-in-law, though, she’s sick. Could you help her – if it’s not a problem?” Ruth already stood beside the door into her mother’s room. Jesus stood over her, rebuked the fever, and smiled. Color filled the old woman’s cheeks. She got up, reaching behind Peter for a basin. She returned passed her stunned daughter to offer the water for the Guest’s feet. Then, while Peter and Ruth worked through their bewilderment, she brought out bread for the Sabbath meal.

“Ruth, sit down. We all know how much you’ve done the past few days I’ve been ill. Have some bread,” ordered her mother. Ruth wept. Peter still stood stiffly in the corner, his eyes searching for some clue from Jesus. Just like that! Jesus spoke – without even touching her – and she was well. Just like that! A prophet like Elijah of old was spending Sabbath in his house.
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Daniel in the Hands of Babylonians

Smash! The door of the neighbor’s house shattered into a thousand splinters. Soldiers of Babylon’s notorious army had come at last into the city to gather plunder after a long siege. They were drunk with the thrill of victory. After months of privation and fervent prayers of the captive Jerusalemites, the siege had defeated the city. Prophets declared that God was fulfilling His promised judgment on His unfaithful people. Some prophets, that is. Actually, a majority of Daniel’s people had turned to listen to the prophets whose words flattered and provided false hope. Their messages ranged from, “Give allegiance to the gods who will protect you,” and, “The king should seek help from Egypt,” to, “Plead with the Eternal that He would turn from His wrath. Always before, God has delivered His people.” But Daniel had studied at the feet of the old rabbis and the prophets who spoke the word of the LORD. When the Israelites had complained in the desert southwest of Judah, God had judged them. He was merciful and slow to anger, but Judah had deserved this for a long time.

Mama cried in the corner, as every breathing woman in Jerusalem did tonight. The presence of the soldiers meant that their husbands, the last defense, had perished. No time for traditional mourning of sack-cloth and ashes: soon the soldiers would simply kill them all. So Mama knelt in the corner, saying kaddish and gasping out prayers that the remnant would mourn their deaths forever.

If Daniel, a sturdy 15, had known any battle songs, he would have been chanting them. However, the laws and songs of his God were seldom violent. When Daniel studied the law, he saw that every law – even every judgment – was evidence of God’s mercy. Instead, he quoted the most fundamental truth of his faith: “The Lord our God, the Lord, is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” In Daniel’s current mood, it sounded something like a call to rally. Every mother in Judah hoped her son would survive as part of the remnant that would always remain in fulfillment of God’s promises to Abraham and David. Out of such a hope Mama shushed her only remaining son. If he were not so defiant, maybe he would be favored and spared.

Ashpenaz strode into the plundering band of troops, and a hush followed. Keeping a level head amidst such circumstances could mean a promotion. Besides, he had orders from the king. Nebuchadnezzar did not want gold or jewels as much as he wanted converts to witness his kingly prestige. That would show the world that Babylon’s might was in the mind as well as the sword. So the king himself had deployed his highest court official to choose very healthy, extremely teachable young men from each conquered nation.

All the men groaned at the reread of the edict. Ashpenaz was to enter each building, accompanied by his personal guard, first. If and when he found good subjects, nothing should be done in front of them to scar their impression of Babylon’s armies. Once the captive was escorted away, then the sack of the city could continue. At the completion of this sentence, an unstoppable roar resumed.

Next door, Daniel gripped his knife tighter as the noise grew. Fear must not show. The soldiers would be merciless if they thought there would be sport. A doubt crept into his mind, and breached the dam of doubts that now flooded his young thoughts. “Could I run? My life is in ruins. How could the Eternal do this to us, the faithful? To prevent the torment, why not turn the blade on himself?” The door to their own house swung open. An arrogant, unscathed officer strode in. Daniel thrust the doubts aside, replacing them with strategies for his fury.

Daniel stepped one brave, threatening step toward the official. He gave them a defiant look, as though he and his little knife could stand between them and his mother, and prevent them most of all from reaching his temple. They would desecrate it. Ashpenaz smiled Daniel whispered again his creed, expecting his death. Scanning Daniel, Ashpenaz decided the boy looked healthy, had obvious spirit, and the words he was muttering sounded poetic, as only learned men spoke. Yes, a fine example.

“Take him,” he nodded towards Daniel. At first he struggled, but, seeing a glimmer of her faintest hopes, Mama called him down. For a moment, Daniel hesitated, and considered defying Mama. But that would defy his God, all for which he was trying to stand. He would be no better than the soldiers taking him. Nothing and no one was harmed as Daniel was marched through the house, but the moment he passed the threshold, the destruction inside began.

This street boasted the houses of the wealthiest families in Judah, most of them members of the royal clan. Down the road, Ashpenaz selected several more young men: Azariah the nephew of one of the queens, Hananiah a son of a successful wine merchang, and Mishael the only child of a Levite who oversaw temple donations.

The morning arrived, leaving the prisoners shackled, but together, in a tent outside the city. Very few Hebrews were left alive inside the walls. Rumors claimed that their weak king, Jehoiakim, had been captured and would go to Babylon to betray his people as a vassal of the emperor. At least, that was how Daniel and his fellows interpreted the news.

Eventually, as the smoke thinned over Jerusalem, the boys began to share their stories. Before, they had seen each other in the streets, even played together, but now, after on enight, they were new people. What had been was entirely erased. This new life was marked by the events of the previous night.

Hananiah’s older sister had been taken as wife for one of the higher-ranking officers. Mishael spat, because such a marriage was against their law. As a Levite, Mishael was an expert. His father had died a swift death before his eyes, protecting some sacred scroll from defamation. Azariah, the oldest of the group, had been home alone.

Throughout the hours, the four pondered and discussed last night, their current situation, and what to do next. “We should make a resolve,” said Daniel, by far the most passionate in the group, “to keep the Law. We have seen the fruits of disobedience. Since you are the Levite, Mishael, we will ask for your expertise. In memory of our home, our God, and what happened here, we will pray towards this place every day. Mama’s last prayers were that the remnant would not forget. I will remember the prayer of King Solomon, ‘And if they turn back to You with all their heart and soul in the land of their captivity where they were taken, and pray toward the land You gave their fathers, toward the city You have chosen and toward the temple I have built for Your name; then from heaven, Your dwelling place, hear their prayer and their pleas and uphold their cause. And forgive Your people, who have sinned against you.’ Surely the Eternal will remember the prayer of Solomon, even from long ago.” All four of them agreed to uphold the standards of the Law to their deaths, and to pray daily to the One God.

As their trek northward began, whispers told that they were being withdrawn early. Some rumored that the sack of Jerusalem had not been completed. Had God spared them? Then, when they reached Syria, the messages were undeniable: a vassal-king had been set up in Judah, a relative of Jehoachim. They boys’ eyes glimmered as they received the news. Perhaps there were enough fiery young men left to fuel a rebellion.

The ecstasy of the thought dwindled with every step further from their homes. What good would a rebellion do them? While the captives were treated well, the desert sun and weary miles depressed the whole camp. Daniel was also aware that they were passing through relatively hostile territory. Nebuchadnezzar’s armies were hated in many lands.

Babylon was a land hovering just inside their maps. None of the young men knew how long the journey would take; they estimated several months at least. In their Torah, Eden had been near or surrounding Babylon, before the flood of Noah. Nimrod, the great king, had set up his throne near there. Abraham had grown up in Ur, a now desolate city in the in the southeast of the Chaldean empire. Judah’s brethren had been taken decades ago by the Assyrians. Tales told that the Babylonians had extended their empire to include Assyria under the rule of Nabopolassar and his general-son, Nebuchadnezzar. The whole area seemed to be prone to vicious turmoil and violent conquests.

Nebuchadnezzar was famous for many things: his ruthless armies, brilliant strategies, lovely palace, dependence on mysticism, and arrogance not the least. His official, Ashpenaz, followed suit in at least two of those ways. The first was obviously his arrogance. When he walked your way, something about the look in his eyes, or perhaps his gait, made you feel incredibly small. Less obvious at first, but more deadly, were his strategies. In his camp, everything was ordered, clean, and polished. He was strict on behavior, but he let his men have their fun whenever there was a chance. Loyalty and friendship were gained by brilliant tactics. Ashpenaz would make a man feel it was an honor to do some menial task, or that he was merciful to ask only this much. Were it not for Ashpenaz’s own devotion to Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel would have thought he was preparing to supplant him – or his heir.

Strategies were not for soldiers only. Already the captives’ conversion was beginning. They were given new, Babylonian style clothes and haircuts. A bit of a skirmish arose when one of the young men refused to cut his hair, for he had made a Nazarite vow. Despite his protests, Ashpenaz saw that every curly lock was trimmed. Also, Hebrew was forbidden in the camp. In this way, the boys were forced to learn the tongue of the Chaldeans quickly, and they were all much quieter; Ashpenaz had disenabled their ability to organize and communicate a revolt.

As they neared Babylon, the young men were offered dainties and pleasures forbidden by the Law. Daniel and his friends stood resolutely apart from those who gave in, shaking their heads at one who looked to them for guidance. In some ways they had become leaders of the group. More and more as the language became easier, the other boys would come to the four friends with their problems and questions. On the other hand, they were outsiders to the half of the group who gave in to the guards.

“Daniel? Daniel, I would like to speak with you,” called Josiah. His parents had named him that in memory of the faithful king, but Josiah had turned traitor. Inside his tent, Daniel was surprised to hear Josiah’s voice. They had been friends in the other world, in Jerusalem. He saw and felt the pressures Josiah had. Many times, even Daniel thought he would give in himself. Daniel could not be angry with Josiah. Rather, he pitied him.

“Come.” Both boys were in the top five in fluent speech. The other three proficients were also “traitors.” Daniel was a quick learner. “What is it, Josiah?”

“I had to talk. Daniel, this won’t be easy if you resist.”

“It will be impossible if I don’t.”

“We have no hope of returning to our old way of life,” continued Josiah. “Our God did not save us. There is no point in continuing to serve Him.”

“Right and wrong have not changed.”

“Lots of the boys look up to you. They follow your lead. The guards told me that once we get to Babylon – start the real training – there will be punishment for resistance. By your example, the others will be hurt.”

“I won’t change.”

“But don’t you see? That is the point. We will change. The question is how: with pain or without?”

“Then they will have to decide; I cannot give or withhold pain. From what you have said, I think their choice for me will be pain.”

“They are saying that if we cooperate, we get an audience with the king.”

“I don’t care.”

“Daniel, we could ask to return, for the lives of our people!” Josiah pleaded.

“Nebuchadnezzar doesn’t give favors, and if you asked, you would probably get your head chopped off.”

“Yours will be chopped off if you don’t do what they say!”

“If my life matters so little to them, I’ll live it how I like.”

“There is no purpose,” Josiah argued.

“There is every purpose!” For the first time, Daniel raised his voice. “God is still there. Right is still right. If He wants to use me, I want to be ready.”

“Whether He’s there or not, he isn’t powerful enough. I’m on the winning side.”

“For what? To be paraded around like plunder? Some life!”

“Positions are being offered under Ashpenaz in the court of the king for those who finish training best.”

“No, Josiah. I have seen what disobedience to God costs. The sight wasn’t pretty. Jerusalem burned. My family died. Mighty Jerusalem gave herself finally standing for right. If necessary, I will follow.”

Josiah ducked out of the tent. Soldiers called the thoughts now invading his mind ‘doubts.’ But weren’t they convictions? For once, he saw everything from Daniel’s perspective: Josiah was a traitor, God was just, and Jerusalem was noble even though she had been wrong. And this perspective would not be shaken off.

After Josiah had returned to the other side of the camp, Daniel knelt. The effort of the debate had drained him. Scarcely 16, his fists flew like a boy, and the passion that drove him was the same fire from his boyhood, but something was different – in the way he looked at life and the way he addressed his God. Through either the tragic captivity or some natural process of growing up, God had become personal to him. Daniel turned back towards Jerusalem. “Have mercy on Your people…” he began.

A little later, Daniel and Hananiah made their rounds of the camp, encouraging their side to remain true. As they neared the unmarked line between their sides, they heard a raucous in one of the tents. Technically, they weren’t supposed to cross the line, but who would know? Daniel movied in closer to hear. The Babylonian words he picked up he recognized as curses, but as of yet, their group hadn’t interpreted the meaning. None of them were brave enough to ask.

Hananiah was ever the most mischievous. He could manipulate his voice to sound like almost anything. After listening for a while, he pulled up a weed, set it on his head, and marched to the front of the tent. “What on earth?” thought Daniel. Then, putting on his gruffest imitation of Ashpenaz’s voice, thickly laden with a Babylonian accent, Hananiah demanded to know what was going on. The soldiers snapped to attention inside the tent, silenced by their commander.

Daniel watched the scene from behind a crate. This stack had been lugged there by Daniel and a few of the strongest faithful that afternoon. He laughed. The silhouette shadowed on the pale goat-skin tent looked exactly like Ashpenaz in his officer’s cap. The ear-to-ear grin on Hananiah’s face was not noticeable in the shadow. If Hananiah was caught with that ridiculous clump of weeds on his head, he’d be done for.

“We were just persuading a captive not to defect back to the other side, sir.” Despite their fear of the officer, the soldiers believed he would understand the fun.

Continuing the charade, Hananiah tried to conceal the concern he felt, “Yes? Which one? Is he hurt?”

“Yes, sir. Josiah, sir. We sent him on a debate mission as you ordered, but it had the opposite effect. He said, when he came to me, he said that no matter what we offered, he wanted back into the other side of the camp. So I told him there’s no going back. But he picked up his things and walked out, so we dragged him back. He gave us a struggle, but we won quickly enough, sir.” As if to punctuate the actual meaning, Josiah moaned from the corner. Daniel flinched. By your example, others will be hurt. Others? Even Josiah? It had started with him.

“Our policy is not force!” snapped Hananiah, half enjoying the game, half angry. “Let him go back if he chooses. Offer gifts, honors, and ease, but no threats! That is not your job.” How often did Hananiah sneak over to spy out their policies, Daniel wondered. But Hananiah had made a mistake; the soldiers were letting Josiah go, and leaving the tent themselves. Hananiah looked around like a cornered jackal.

“Hey, what?” the first soldier looked confused. The shadow had dwindled to an ornery boy, weed tipped over atop his head. “Where is Ashpenaz?” they demanded. Lying wasn’t allowed.

“He isn’t here. He had business to attend to.” Hananiah returned to halting Babylonian. “Excuse me.” Hananiah scurried away, back to his tent.

Daniel was forced to remain in his hiding place until the guards were gone. While he waited, he listened to the defeated sobs and occasional moans from Josiah. Was doing right really worth the cost? What if everyone suffered like this? But amidst the sobs, Daniel thought he faintly caught the words, “Love the LORD your God…” That passage was sung over cradles, cheered at feasts, quoted on Sabbath, cried in battle, and wept at death. Which was it now? Read more!

A Memorial Day Tribute

Today, I am supposed to remember – remember the sacrifice men gave to keep me free. But most of these heroes are numbers: a few names, still fewer stories. What are the stories of those who really fought, not for honor or reward, but for love of family, friend, and neighbor? Those whose stories are told did the exceptionally great, were given one great choice – a chance to be remembered forever. Because their stories bring greatness, they are so much less.

The report was in: America was going to war. All was excitement for the young man and his brother. It was entertainment – far away and unreal. Mother stopped still several months later. She couldn’t breathe or talk or move. Fear forced tears into her eyes. And memories came back. Memories of losing her own father screamed at her. She walked over and dropped the notice, a draft notice, in the lap of her scarcely eighteen year old son. She had made her choice.

Matthew picked up the notice and opened it. He sighed as he read the details. Childish excitement was left behind. Standing, he reached to comfort his mother, and reached for his life which was racing away from his grasp even as the reality of war drew nearer.

The following day he waited in line with many others his age. He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice as he answered the enlistment officer’s questions. The form was filled out. With his signature he sealed his doom, whatever that may be.

Orders came for his assignment and training within the week. A tearful farewell was given. His father and brother were proud, his mother terrified and sad, and Matt was already lonely, his spirit oppressed by the uncertainty of his future.

He reported as ordered and trained well. Full effort was put into doing his best. All he had, he devoted to his task.

Every decision brought him nearer to death, yet at any one of them he could have turned back. Soon, Matt was out on the high seas, manning a lookout post for on his ship. Other sailors seemed confident that they would see their families again. Some didn’t care; they’d rather not see them again regardless. Matt served on board, sacrificing time that could now never be spent with those he loved.

The young soldier survived many battles and hope crept into his heart. Friends were wounded, and acquaintances killed, but Matt went on. Hope could be dangerous in war. Hopelessness could be fatal.

His captain informed the men of the next attack. It would be an important encounter in the Navy’s strategy. If they failed this mission, home could be a thing of the past. Matt remembered the people of home, almost a sacred word now. Men spoke it in whispers. His work was for them. He cared enough for those at home to do anything in order to keep them safe.

All men took their positions. Matt passed a door. This door led to a corridor and, more importantly, to a small, secret room where he could sit out the battle unnoticed. A chance to be safe! He walked past the door, faithful to his responsibilities.

The fighting began. A bullet whizzed past his head, slamming into his friend. His friend perished. Matt looked one grief-stricken moment at his comrade lying defeated on the deck. As an explosion in the water rocked the ship, Matt looked around, resumed firing, and spoke aloud the names of those on his ship whom he remembered. None of them paid any attention to him, but he continued.

A bomb split the ship at last, and sent the entire crew to their grave. No one would tell their story. No one knew it. They died the way they lived, not sure. Not sure of who would win, of whether their deaths meant anything. Hundreds of men were buried in the sea by an enemy who couldn’t even see the faces – an enemy who wouldn’t pay for his crime. These men weren’t given one great, definite choice; they made many little decisions, and ultimately, they chose to be brave.

Word came home of the deaths. Only names. No record of noble last moments or bravery or daring conquests. Families grieved. Then they chose. They chose to remember.

To be honest, I don’t know their stories or their names. Some died willingly, some reluctantly. Without their sacrifice the life I know could not exist. The real heroes we celebrate are those whose deeds were no less honorable because they were unknown. Those who were unable to receive glory for their choices gave us cause to spend a long weekend with the truly valuable, and to pause to remember.

To God be all glory. Read more!

Titleless Poem (like Emily Dickinson's)

(by Michael)

There once was an old man,
Tender and grey,
Who looked out his window
One cold winter’s day,

His old eyes were open
Not looking around.
Beside his squeaky rocking chair
Nothing made a sound,

As he sat there rocking,
He remembered days gone by.
Suddenly the rocking stopped
And a tear formed in his eye.

The old man’s face grew tired
As he remembered his past pain.
The feelings from that awful day,
Like an old knife wound they came.

As the tear ran slowly down
The tired man’s dear face
He remembered her love and tenderness
And the warmth of her embrace.

Once he had started rocking again
He asked, “God why did she leave?
Am I to live in agony
Only living to grieve?”

After asking his heart felt question
His tears swelled up once more,
And as he dosed off his glasses
Dropped silently on the floor.

While he slept he dreamt of things
He never thought in this life he’d see.
He saw her face and held her close.
He was a bundle of jubilee.

Laughing a laugh the likes of which
His body had never known,
In his dreams and in her arms
He felt like he was home.

The man’s cat came up purring
Awaking him from sleep.
When the man realized where he was,
It made him begin to weep,

Now a cry of anguish
From losing her again
Filled his little, drafty house
With the sound of immense pain.

How could he bear it,
With dreams such as that,
Who had awakened him?
Oh, that stupid cat.

Had he been close to dying
Was he really almost home
Only to return, to his lonely life
With all the pain which it had known?

With a bitter heart he sat there
Wishing it were not so.
Why was she the one taken
Could he not also go?

With these thoughts he fell yet again
Into an uneasy sleep,
But the dream he dreamt this time ‘round
Was truly an occasion to weep.

For all around him were thousands
Wailing and shouting in pain.
The sound was the same as that
Which from himself once came.

But there was no end to their weeping.
No silence was ever found.
In his dream he found himself weeping
As he fell to the cold hard ground.

When suddenly he looked up
And there before his eyes
The darkness broke, the wailing ceased,
As he beheld the blazing skies.

From within the fiery sight
A figure familiar and strong
Held out its hand and helped him up
While singing a strange new song.

What a song, a wild, beautiful song,
The sweetest ever heard,
And as it faded, and the brightness waned,
He softly heard these words,

“Son, why do you grieve?
When so long ago
I chose the time
For her to go.

She is with me.
I’ll never leave you.
I’ve told you as much,
And I know you knew.

My child, do not greive.
Your time has been set,
But it cannot be now.
Trust me, not yet.”

And as he awoke
Before dreaming more
Two Jehovah’s Witness’
Approached his old wooden door.

Looking toward heaven
He whispered now silently,
“Ah, yes, dear Lord,
I think… yes, now I think I see.”

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Abigail

Abigail sat under a lonely tree at her home in the desert near Carmel. Her stack of scrolls that she was supposed to study lay, unopened, a few feet away. She simply could not focus today. King Saul was away at battle – her two brothers and father with him. Rumors had reported that the Philistines held the upper hand with their unchallenged giant from Gath.

“Giant?” she had questioned. “There are no more giants. They all died with the rest of the Anakim.” That’s what her father said, at least. All accounts seemed to agree, though, that a man nearly as tall as the tree she sat under had the whole Israelite army terrified. Maybe her father was wrong.

That was all quite far away, though. Abigail had to worry about her studies and chores. “It isn’t fair,” she though, “I’m the only girl in the whole Maon region that has to study. Even all the boys, the usual victims of schooling, get a break for the excitement of far away places and legendary giants. Why am I stuck with boring scrolls and chores?”

There was no time to ponder this question; however, because just then her mother called up the hill, “Abigail! Chores!”

Abigail was no ordinary girl. Ever since she was little, it had been evident that she was beautiful, and not only that – she was smart, too. She had long, dark curls that flowed down her back and big, blue eyes that twinkled in the morning sunlight. Born during the rule of Samuel, the last judge, she didn’t seem to fit in with the evil society that was rampant in Israel. She longed for times of glory such as she read about: with Moses and Pharaoh in Egypt.

The house of Abigail’s father was one of the few that had remained faithful to Jehovah, the God of her people. Now, in their desire to become more like the nations around them, the people had chosen a king. At first, he had seemed perfect: tall, handsome, and a strong leader. But when faced with real danger, Saul had proved a coward greatly lacking in faith.

As unusual as it seemed to all of her friends, Abigail’s father had decided that she, too, must study and become wise in the fear of the Lord. “She will make some man a wonderful wife someday,” he said, but that was just what Abigail was afraid of.

When the floor was swept, she took the laundry down to the little brook to wash. She had this terrible sense of foreboding that something, something was happening. Abigail glanced at all of the surrounding hills worriedly. No, it was safe; no raiders were coming, and no messengers had yet appeared over the horizon.

The setting sun cast long shadows all around as Abigail made her way back to the little house where dinner was waiting. The harsh desert wind blew strong in her face. She looked up just in time to see a cloud of dust rolling toward her. There was no more time for thinking. Abigail lifted up her long skirt and bolted for the house. “Dust storm, Mama!” she called, slamming the door behind her. Her mama appeared around the corner, tying on a scarf. “I’m going to get the goats in the barn. You cover the windows.” Mama was always calm. Abigail would rather scream and hide in her room.

After the windows were shut, Abigail sat down at the dinner table. Her sense of foreboding was not gone, but now, at least, she was hopeful. Mama came in, took off her scarf, smoothed back her hair, and dipped her hands in the wash-bowl. They both bowed their heads in silent prayer, pleading for the safe return of their family and thanking the Almighty for the day’s bread.

The desert wind blew so hard, it shook the house so it rattled, but Abigail thought she heard a faint knock on the front door. The three men didn’t wait for the door to open, but burst in quickly. Abigail’s brothers together picked her up and danced and sang around the little room. Her father laughed merrily and his eyes shone.

Later, the two bewildered women got the rest of the family to sit down and tell them what happened.

“We all thought it was just going to be another uneventful day,” Abigail’s father reported. “There had been no word from King Saul, so we all sat down to talk. Maybe there was an extra bit of noise in the next tent, but none of us thought anything of it. Suddenly, the battle trumpets blew. We all sprang up to collect our helmets and swords, then ran out to the lines.

“The giant – yes, he was a real giant – stomped down into the valley between our camps. ‘Where’s he going?’ we all wondered. Just then, a short little boy ran down from our camp yelling and swinging his slingshot. All of us men lined up were asking ourselves what on earth that kid was doing. After all, he was only a little older than you, Abigail.

“Well, the giant took one look at him (turns out his name is David) and roared with laughter. He had barely gotten ten words out, though, when the stone hit him right between the eyes. Speaking of eyes, none of us men could believe our own. That big man: helmet, sword, and all, fell straight to the ground so hard that the little kid running towards him nearly fell over.

“What do you think David did next? He grabbed that big Philistine’s sword and hefting it with both hands, dropped it right down on the giant’s neck!” Abigail closed her eyes and shuddered, trying to block out the gruesome image. “We rushed the Philistines and defeated them with David at the head and King Saul at the rear.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mama. “Saul has his thousands, but David his ten-thousands!”

“That isn’t all, either,” declared Joshua, smiling at his big brother. “David and Saul are coming through here – this very town – on their way home!”

“What a day you’ve had! Thank the Lord you are safe! Praise Him for sending a little boy to give you victory and teach King Saul a lesson! But you have come a long way. Go to bed, all of you. Get some sleep!”

As Abigail slipped into bed, she silently disagreed with her parents. David was not little if he was older than her; she certainly wasn’t little. She thanked God, all the same, for bringing her father and brothers safely home.


“Wake up, Sunshine!” called her father early the next morning. “David will be here soon!” Abigail rolled over and groaned. The sun wasn’t even up yet! Neither was “Sunshine.” She dressed quickly, though, and right after a quick breakfast, she received the order to “Go pick some flowers!” Fearing to miss David and Saul’s visit, Abigail wasted no time.


Soon, the whole town was out along the main road, dancing, singing, and chanting, “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands.” When King Saul, Abner (the commander of the army), Prince Jonathan, and David approached, music played and flowers flew. Saul did not look up or smile, but just glowered back at David.

After they had passed, and the crowd was thinning, Nabal, the son of a rich, proud man from the country, made his way to Abigail’s father. “A job well done,” he commended the soldiers as if it was his right. (Nabal and his father had not gone to fight, but had sent servants in their places.) “I wanted to speak with you, now that you’re back,” he stated, turning towards Abigail’s father and glancing her way.

As he took her father’s arm and stepped away, Abigail felt her stomach tighten and her head grow light. She knew her parents approved of Nabal and his money, but something in that glance made her cringe.

“Steady, Abigail,” said Joshua, putting out his arm to catch her fall. “A little too much excitement, maybe?” Seeing the look on her face, he changed his mind. With one, meaningful look, he seemed to say, “I understand. Don’t worry. Let’s just get you home.”

Ever since they were little, Abigail and Joshua had been close. They seemed to be on the same caravan of thought. Although Joshua was sometimes a pain and Abigail had seen less of him recently, they always listened to and understood each other. That’s why, right then, on the walk home, Joshua also felt a twinge of fear.

In some of their talks, Joshua and Abigail had agreed that Nabal was an arrogant manipulator with only his own self to care about and look after. He was definitely not their favorite person. Now, Joshua was sure, Nabal would get his way.

“Any better?” he asked. The look on her face said no. “Are you sure that’s what he wanted?”

“What else would he want from Father?” she threw back. “And you know him: always getting what he wants. But… Joshua, I-I couldn’t stand it. What shall I do?”

“You could be very rude to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to marry someone who would make his life miserable.”
“Brilliant. Then not only he, but also everyone else would hate me. That’s wrong. Besides, by then it would be too late. It is probably too late already.” Abigail objected.

“Maybe you could run away. Go… to Egypt? The Philistine camps?” She frowned. “I know, King Saul’s palace.”

“By appointment only,” she quoted the king’s decree. “Just give up. There isn’t any other way.”

“But you’d be miserable.”

“I’d have plenty of money.” Abigail seemed to end the conversation. Maybe she was just imagining it.


“Morning!” Mama’s voice betrayed her excitement. “Your father went out early. He should be back soon.” If Mama said one more word…

“I have chores. I’ll be back for lunch,” Abigail called, leaving the house with an armload of laundry brought home from the battle.

Down at the creek, she met Miriam. Their brothers were talking a ways off. Neither girl said anything as Abigail set to work. After a while, she noticed Miriam was watching her. “Anything wrong?” asked Abigail.

“I thought you would tell me. Everyone in town is talking. You see, Nabal told the Levite who will be performing the ceremony, and he told his sons who told my brothers who told me. I think that is what they’re talking about over there. At least they were. You are so lucky!” Miriam could talk sheep up a mountain. “Well, aren’t you excited?”

“Excited? No. Nervous? Yes.” Answered Abigail. It seemed like a reasonable reply. She hoped Miriam wouldn’t ask any more questions. The tears were already threatening to burst out. But she had no such luck.

“Understandable. Mama says every bride gets nervous. How did you accomplish such a thing?” Miriam had pushed it too far.

“Accomplish such a thing?” Abigail burst out crying and screaming. “Accomplish? Me? I didn’t accomplish anything! Just because Nabal is a descendant of Caleb and has lots of money, he thinks he can do whatever he wants.” By now Joshua and Miriam’s brother were there, trying to calm Abigail down. “Now he decided that what he wants is to ruin my life. No problem.” She broke into sobs.

“Umm,” said Joshua, “I think we’ll take a walk.” Then to Abigail, “Come on; it’s going to be ok. You hear Mama and Father talking last night, too?” It wasn’t a question. He already knew. “When Father comes back, you’re going to have to try to be happy and surprised. Do you want to practice?” His forced smile was so terrible; she couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s better,” he laughed. “Since we can’t change it, we might as well laugh at it.”

Joshua and Miriam helped Abigail with the laundry. Everything Joshua folded looked like someone sat on it, but it made Abigail laugh. Abigail carried the pile home. She laughed, talked, and smiled all the way. Joshua seemed to have the magic touch.


Abigail’s father was home for dinner, but he didn’t seem excited or anything. All evening, Abigail watched him, looking for some sign, but it didn’t help. Finally, the time came to go to bed. “See you with the sunrise, Sunshine!” her father called. Everything was the same.

She lay awake in bed, too worried to sleep. Soon, she could hear quiet whispers in her parents’ room. “That’s wonderful,” her mother said. “When shall we tell her?”

“Shhh. You’ll wake them. We will tell her tomorrow after it has been finalized with his father and the elders.”

“She will be so happy. I can hardly wait.”

“I hope so,” came her father’s reply. Abigail didn’t sleep all night.


“Sunshine, I have some news for you,” started her father. Joshua watched her closely from the corner, praying. “You and Nabal the Calebite are to be married!”

No one in such circumstances could have been a better actress. Abigail was excited and eager, her father confident and pleased, her mother joyfully wistful, and her oldest brother calmly happy. Joshua sat apart, still in his corner, looking relieved and laughing at his wild, beloved sister.

In a few months, after making a new dress and informing all of the family, everything was finally ready. Abigail was excited. Maybe he would be better once she got to know him. When everything around her was rejoicing, it was hard not to be happy. Only Joshua looked distressed, but he tried to be cheerful around her. She needed it, even if he was the only one who knew that.

When the evening of the ceremony came, Joshua thought she nearly glowed. Nabal actually smiled at her. Joshua toasted their happiness with all his heart, danced as little as possible, and left for home.

The quiet walk away from the party was almost a relief. Joshua prayed as he walked that God would make her happy and give her the chance to show the greatness and beauty she was born with. His heart told him she would stand out.


Years passed and Nabal’s wealth grew. His home in Maon was one of the finest in Israel or Judah. When his father died, he left him all of his property, including one thousand goats and three thousand sheep. Nabal did not change his ways, however, and he became surly and mean in all his dealings.

To everyone but Joshua, Abigail appeared happy. She hosted banquets and parties without limit. Abigail also grew in beauty and intelligence, often counseling Nabal in the difficulties of the day.


This morning, the event being discussed by everyone from elders to servants was the death of Samuel. She had felt a strange love for the wise old man, and she went with Nabal to mourn his death. David was there in the company of his mighty men, looking very distressed, much older than when she had seen him before. He and Samuel had been close friends.

Soon after their return home, the announcement was made that David and his men, who had protected their borders for some time, were coming to live in Maon. He had been in and out of the gossip often in the years since his victory over Goliath, but Abigail had not seen him before the funeral service since the victory parade.

Nabal began, soon after, the busy task of shearing his many sheep. One morning, a few days into the task, Abigail awoke with a sense of foreboding. She passed it off as worry over the selling price of wool. Abigail went down to visit her mother and spent the better part of the day with her. When Abigail returned, however, the foreboding was stronger, so she asked a servant about the events of the day.

“Yes, Miss Abigail, something rather strange did happen today. David sent messengers from the desert to give our master his greetings, but Nabal hurled insults at them. Yet these men were very good to us. They did not mistreat us, and the whole time we were out in the pastures near them, nothing was missing. Night and day they were a wall around us all the time we were herding our sheep. Now think it over and see what you can do, because disaster is hanging over our master and his whole household. He is such a wicked man that no one can talk to him.”

Though Abigail knew her servant was right, she scolded him for his disrespect. After he had gone, she sighed, wondering what to do. When Nabal was angry, it was true: no one could talk to him. So, without speaking to him, she gathered a great supply of fine food from her pantry and sent it with her personal servants to David. Then she quickly changed into a fresh dress and followed them on her donkey.

She reached David’s men in a narrow mountain ravine. They were armed and headed for a night raid on Nabal’s home. “Stop! Who are you?” they demanded, drawing their swords. “What brings you here?” Her thoughts at that moment almost made her laugh. She realized that she had rather expected them to be raising slings and loading them with rocks.

When Abigail had picked out David from among the troops, she dismounted, stepped forward into the light of his torches, and bowed before David with her face to the ground. For a breathless moment she wondered if they would even listen to her, a stray woman in the wilderness at night.

David was a just man. He heard her story and accepted her gift. Nabal was forgiven, and all David’s men praised her bravery. Then the famous warrior told her to go home in peace. Abigail and her servants rode home quietly and without fear.

She rejoiced in David’s kindness. Through her years with Nabal, she had come to doubt whether anyone was good, or if all men, deep inside, were like Nabal. This had hardened her and made her almost bitter, but David’s mercy had begun to soften her heart.

With this newfound hope, Abigail thought she could face anything – almost anything, that is. Returning home, she found Nabal in the middle of a drunken banquet. Disgusted, she left the dining room and fled for privacy.


The bright desert sun shone through the window onto the bed. Nabal groaned and pressed his eyes tighter shut. What a headache! Presently, he heard Abigail’s sweet voice singing and her footsteps flitting around the room.

He opened one eye, then another. What happened to his room? It was so clean and, “Ouch!” so bright. Abigail seemed happy like he’d never seen her before.

“You’re awake,” she declared,” but are you sober?” Abigail smiled reproachfully. “Drinking all night again?” she teased. Nabal wondered what was going on. Abigail was always angry when he got drunk.

“What happened to you?” he questioned. The calm little Abigail suddenly disappeared.

“I saved your life; that’s what!” she yelled. Nabal looked confused. He couldn’t remember anything life-threatening that had taken place. Abigail went on, telling the story from the beginning. “You risked all of us by your – your arrogance! What were you thinking?” She asked, but she was never to receive a reply.

Nabal’s heart failed him at that moment, but he was still alive. Abigail’s parents came to help, but she sat with him all day long. Joshua didn’t come.

Those were the worst ten days of her life. Abigail feared Nabal would continue like this forever, trapping her in a marriage that meant nothing. Would the elders and priests take pity on her and let her leave Nabal to his miserable fate? Gifts were sent from neighbors. Rumors were started. Nabal? He just lay there, not doing anything.

Her fears were finally ended when after ten days Nabal finally died. Abigail went into mourning. A faint, unheard sigh went through the land as the news spread. “Nabal the Calebite has passed away. Not to speak ill of the dead…” So it went.

When the news reached David, he sent his condolences. A startling message was sent along with his sympathy, though. He asked Nabal’s widow to marry him! Abigail was amazed and thrilled to the depths of her soul. Could she have made such an impression in so short a time? She knew she had stuttered, terrified for her life and the lives of her servants when she met David. Yet this – he wanted to marry her?


After the days of mourning, Abigail put up her hair, dressed in her favorite dress, and with five of her maids, rode out to meet David. She left a steward in charge of Nabal’s land and property.

Joshua appeared for her wedding with David, smiling happily. Abigail truly shone this time – and continued to shine for the rest of her life. When she gave birth to their son, Daniel; when David was crowned king; and when the Ark of the Covenant returned to its rightful place, Abigail was there, smiling adoringly at David.

“God blessed Abigail. She was born for such greatness,” thought Joshua. “Now she is the queen of the greatest nation on earth!” He recorded this and many other stories of the first kings of Israel. Joshua became David’s chief historian, who carefully left a record of Israel for all people, for all time.

To God be all glory.
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