Talitha || A Short Story by Yours Truly

Greetings and salutations! *winks at AiO lovers* How has everyone been finding my posting schedule (or lack of it)? I have been writing here about once a week, on no particular day. I could possibly do more frequent posts, but we shall see... What is your opinion?

Oh, and I realised last night that the desktop version of this site crops off the bottom of my "The Seeking Book" banner. I never really use a computer at home, which is why I hadn't noticed before. I do everything from either a tablet or iPad. I tried to adjust it - is it fixed and in proportion now? Let me know!

So, today I will be sharing some of my creative writing. I wrote this piece for a literary group called S.P.O.G.G.L.E.; I think it was at the beginning of this year. (God willing, you will be hearing more on S.P.O.G.G.L.E. in the future!)

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed the writing! I was really happy that God helped me to write something glorifying to Him. It's wonderful when we can write for and with our Father; I think sometimes we forget how infinitely creative (and willing to give advice) He is!

So... here it is!       

                           

                                                    Talitha

It was a fine day; the birds were chirping in the olive trees and the sun was beaming benevolently down on the sparkling waters of the gulf. A few fishing boats were bobbing about on the ocean, and tarry sails were being unfurled for a trip to deeper waters. On the beach below, some burly Galilean fishermen were heaving boxes of tackle and provisions into their three ships.
Three strangers were sitting by the side of the road; an old man with a whitened beard and twinkling blue eyes, and a boy and girl by him. They seemed to be enjoying their noonday meal under the olive trees – that is, they were until a cloud of dust from the chalky road materialised into a furiously riding man on a chestnut horse, which galloped past, spraying limestone chips at the travellers.

The girl took the old man’s hand, and they stepped hastily back from the road. “Come, Grandfather, we should be starting for the shore. The Master may be there already!” The old man nodded in agreement, and with that, the three crossed the white road and were soon lost from sight as they made their way down a narrow path that wound down the cliffs to the beach.

At the shore, an eager crowd was already gathered. They murmured excitedly, the children skipping round their mothers on the sands. A group of boys at the ocean’s edge were straining their eyes on the lookout for boats; actually, one boat in particular. Most of them had no particular ideas of what this vessel looked like – but the general consensus was for a majestic barge decked out in royal colours with a king at its helm.

Therefore, the young watchers’ hearts were a mixture of disappointment and great excitement, when, in the distance, an ordinary fishing boat coming in their direction was seen. “Father, they’re here – Ezriel saw the boat!” A boy turned to the expectant crowd, and the talk became even more loud and excited.

“Miriam, did you hear?”, said one housewife in the tones of someone who has much to say and little time to do so. “Machla told me he healed her cousin from leprosy just the last week! Of course, she didn’t tell me it was her cousin, you know how she is about being so secretive, but word spreads. Almost everyone in Arach knows now.” Miriam tried to add a few words to this voluble stream of information, but was silenced as her companion flowed on. “Anyway, all he needed to heal Machla’s cousin was just to pass over him with his shadow. And he was clean! Well, I can tell you, he is powerful.”

As the woman talked excitedly on, the boat in question drew nearer to the shore. All eyes were fixed eagerly on it. Yes, the vessel was ordinary enough – nothing too special. But the man at it's helm!

There was no beauty or comeliness in his face, but what attracted the crowds was his love for them, whether commoners or rich. True, most only followed him to gape at the miracles like at some spectacle from afar. But a few truly believed. That the Son of God, the Messiah long promised would care for a beggar by the wayside, or a leper seeking healing, was truly strange but altogether wonderful.

Yes, he was very different from the king on a mighty stallion that the Rabbis' heralded – but somehow this son of a carpenter who communed with fishermen and rode on donkeys was more of a hero.

As Jesus preached to the spellbound crowd sitting on the rocks and sand, a man drew in his panting chestnut horse and dismounted at the edge of the gathering. He looked like a man of status, and some watchers turned to murmur and stare – yet he bowed his head and listened with reverence to the great Teacher, like everyone else.

When Jesus had finished speaking, the crowd began to disperse, but some moved in closer to speak with him personally. The man led his horse over to a cheerful urchin lingering on the sand. “Here boy, hold my horse and I’ll give you a half shekel.” The child’s eyes lit up greedily. “Sure, sir.”, he said, clutching the horse’s bridle. Freed of this responsibility, it’s owner turned and hurried to the small cluster around Jesus.

He was jostling his way through the group, when a hand on his robe caught him, and a voice said eagerly, “Ah, Jairus! About those cattle you sold me for three hun-” “Matthias, not now.”, said Jairus tersely. He turned and kept pushing his way through the crowd, until he was looking at Jesus. Jairus closed his eyes for a moment, hesitating. A wave of doubt and sadness washed over his mind. What if she was already… dead? Would the Christ even come with him? What if…?

When he opened his eyes, Jesus was gazing right at him. A little faith gave him the courage to raise his voice above the clamour of the crowd. “Master, Rabbi…”

Jesus disentangled himself from a few clutching hands, and stepped in the direction of the call. Jairus bowed his head, searching the sands for composure… but he could not hold his long pent-up longing in any more. He fell to his knees at Jesus’ feet, begging him, “My little daughter lies at the point of death: I pray you, come and lay your hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live.”

He did not look up for a minute, and so did not see Jesus' thoughtful and compassionate gaze resting on him. The sky was growing grey, and a gusty wind was playing over the dunes. A few silent tears trickled down his cheeks. Now that he had laid bare his emotions, he felt weak and vulnerable, but almost calm. He wept more for a sense of relief – relief from the heavy burden of fear he had worn for weeks.

He lifted his head and felt Jesus' hand resting on his shoulder. Jesus smiled, and said, “Come. We will follow you to your house.” Jairus rose to his feet, feeling hope and joy well up within him. “Master, thank you – I'll give you anything; gold, garments, land, if only you can heal her!”
Jesus only sighed, and turned away. “I do nothing for unrighteous mammon, but for my Father who is in heaven.”

It was later that day when the travellers neared Jairus' house, tired, footsore and dusty from the crowd which had thronged them on the journey, trying to get a glimpse of the controversial carpenter in their midst.
A few had straggled on to the end, hoping to witness a miracle.  But Jesus walked quietly, a look of great peace on his face as he communed with his Father.

The villa was just in sight when a servant on a horse came galloping up. It's rider dismounted and bowed his head. Jairus took a quick, short breath. “Levi. What tidings do you bring? How is she?”
The servant answered nothing, but looked his master slowly in the eyes. Jairus stepped forward and grasped his servant's robe with a vice-like grip, his hands trembling. “Tell me!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Tell me!”

The servant bowed his head again. “She is dead.”
Jairus moaned and turned away. “No!” he cried, rending his garments from top to bottom. “No!” He sank down in the dust and lifted his hands to the skies. From far away, a crow cawed mockingly in a pine tree.

Jairus stumbled into his courtyard, looking grey and ashen. His wife ran out weeping into his arms. “Oh, my darling, my girl, my only child!”, she cried.
Jesus and his disciples were led into an adjoining room, where clusters of people sat around, all making some kind of noise. Four women sat in the corner, rattling tambourines and wailing loudly. Another one was singing an eerie chant, her hands lifted up. Jesus frowned and raised his voice above the hubbub. “Silence!”

Everyone stopped and stared. “Give place, for the maid is not dead, but sleeps.”, he said gently. Immediately the room burst into raucous laughter. “Ha, ha, ha. She sleeps! Why, she's been dead since the seventh watch of the morning.”, jeered a man who was making good use of the food provided for the mourners. “Have a little compassion for Jairus and his wife!”, said another, sniffing sanctimoniously.

They stopped when Jairus himself appeared at the door. Quickly everybody resumed their tearful attitudes, and some shuffled up to offer their condolences. The master of the house ignored them, but called wearily to Jesus. “Teacher.” Jesus turned to him – Jairus was beckoning.
“You are most welcome to stay. The servants can show you to your rooms. I am sorry to have brought you here for nought.”, he said quietly. But Jesus shook his head. “Where is she?” Jairus looked up in suprise. “I am sorry, Teacher, you know she is... she is...”

“Yes, I know. Where is your daughter?”, Jesus asked gently. Jairus gestured to a small door that lead off from where the mourners where. “She's in there.”, he said turning his face away.

 Jesus called a servant nearby and asked him something. The man frowned, but seeing Jairus nod, raised his voice obediently. “Out, all of you, out! The master has said so. Please leave now!”

With much grumbling and a little enforcement from the servants, the guests filed out, leaving Jesus, Jairus and the disciples alone in the huge courtyard.
Jesus stepped away from the group, and paced over the stone flags, his eyes uplifted and on his face an earnest expression. The watchers could not hear what his silently moving lips said – but a peace fell on them all.

Finally Jesus stopped and headed slowly for the small door. But he paused. A small girl was sitting motionless by the bubbling fountain, her head pillowed on the stone seat encircling the cool waters. At Jesus' footsteps she looked up, startled, and was about to shrink away when he sat down beside her.

“Daughter, what it is?” he said very kindly. There was something about his loving demeanour which inspired confidence, so she took a little courage and lifted her tear stained face. “My best friend just died. And I loved her so much.”, she said brokenly, fiddling with her dress. Jesus smiled, and said. “Do not worry. I am the Great Physician.” She was silent for a moment, eyes darting up and down Jesus. “I think he already left. My mother saw him go.”
Jesus the doctor smiled again, and said “Stay here. I have something just for you!” She looked puzzled, but managed a tiny smile too.

Then he stood up, and went into the small silent room. It was dark, and black curtains covered every window. Jesus went over, and reaching up, pulled one off with a rrrrip. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the little specks of dust in its path into tiny stars swirling in the air. Let there be light.

He walked over to the wooden bed, and gently lifted the black cloth which was draped over. A still, white, face with closed eyes was revealed. Her cold hands were folded, but Jesus reached down and took one, rubbing it gently. An invisible cloud of myrrh wrapped around the two figures like a shimmering silken cloth.

Jesus spoke quietly. “Daughter, arise.” Two simple words, yet loud enough for Death to hear and understand. It loosened its' tightening bands from the girl and shot out of the room.

The feet that had wandered in the shadow of the grave twitched. The lips that had been nearly silenced moved again. The eyes that had seen the blackness of death blinked and beheld the King of Glory standing in victory by her bedside.

Jesus helped her out of the smothering folds, and the King and one of his little ones walked out to the sound of the angels' trumpets.

                      ____________________________________________________

 Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed my short(ish) story! ;D Have a great weekend, everyone!

Blessings,

~ Jemima