She was the stuff of dreams, and I would know, because I'm the one who dreamed them. When she smiled, I lost my breath. When her emerald eyes looked my way, my quaking knees collapsed. When she laughed her gossamer giggle, angels bent to listen. We met when we were 12-years old, and I'd spend every day of the next six years trying to convince her that she liked me, too.
Lisa overcame me on the first day of seventh grade at Belview Elementary School. My family and I had just moved to Virginia from New Jersey, after having lived a little less than 40 miles outside the Apple for five years.
Arriving in the small Southwestern Virginia town during the 1971 World Series, we lived in the Holiday Inn for our first few weeks there, all the while looking for a more permanent home. Mom and dad finally found a suitable one, and we moved into the salmon-colored split level house that had been built in the mid-60's. It was a comfortable home with a quarter acre lawn, a couple of red maple trees scattered about the property, and a dog barking in the backyard. The best thing about it, though, was that it was in her neighborhood.
The first Saturday we spent in our new house dawned clear and crisp. The leaves on our maples had just about finished turning from their chlorophyll-laced green of summer to their chromatic scarlet hue of Autumn. You could see your breath that morning, but by noon it had warmed to a very comfortable 65 degrees.
"What do you want to do after this?"
I hadn't even heard Donnie's question, so I continued to sit cross-legged on the chilly, hardwood floor of my bedroom, rifling through my baseball cards. I wanted to find a good one to put in the spokes of the back tire of my bike.
"Hello?" Donnie knocked on my head with his fist. "You in there?"
"Oh, sorry. I didn't hear you, I guess," I said through a slight North Jersey accent that I'd unconsciously lose in just a few months. "What did you ask me?"
Donnie pursed his lips with agitation and repeated himself. "What do you want to do after this?" He was the best friend I had since we'd moved in and he was over most every day. He only lived a few doors down.
"I don't know," I said. It's a nice day out. What do you wanna do?"
He took a deep breath and exhaled impatiently. "How 'bout riding bikes?"
This was my favorite thing to do and Donnie knew it. I had an old, yellow and silver Huffy one-speed with a black banana seat and sissy bar in the back. It was so 70's that it should have been wearing bellbottoms.
"Yea, that'd be good," I replied. "Wanna go down around the big block?"
Donnie looked at me knowingly. Our neighborhood was in the shape of a figure-eight. The small block, which I lived on, was about a half mile around and the top of the eight. We lived up on top of the hill, our loop going progressively downhill until it reached the intersection with the big block. That loop was a full mile from start to finish. It also went downhill on both sides until you got to the bottom near Doug Cranford's house. Lisa lived on the left side of the lower half of the eight.
"I wonder where YOU want to go," Donnie said with a slight twinkle in his eye. He'd been the only one I'd confided in about my feelings for Lisa.
"Will you stop?" I demanded. "It's not like that. I just like to ride bikes."
Donnie laughed and grabbed a Richie Hebner card from the pile. "Yea, whatever. Come on, this one will do fine," he said, and launched himself out the door. I took the Merv Rettenmund from the top of the pile and chased after him.
Running out back to the clothesline, we took a couple of mom's wooden clothes pins and secured the cards to the back fork of our bikes and put them through the spokes. Donnie's bike was an old, beat up Schwinn that his cousin had given him. It was actually too big for him, but it got him where he wanted to go.
Racing down the hill toward Carol Robinson's house, we imagined ourselves riding motorcycles, the engines revving louder with every slap of the cards against the spokes. We were the epitome of cool.
I felt my heart beat more wildly with every stroke of the pedals. I stood up in the saddle and let the hill blow cool wind through my short, blond hair. At the bottom of the hill I took a quick right turn and headed up the hill toward Lisa's street. Taking that left, I again stood on the pedals and raced down the hill, momentarily taking my hands off the handlebars and gripping the middle bar with my knees until I felt the fear of disaster.
My mind raced. In a few short seconds I would pass in front of her house. Oh, how I hoped she would be in the front yard, playing with her sister or sitting in the porch swing that was hung from the eaves just outside her front door.
But today, there would be no such luck. Her dad's car wasn't even in the driveway. No one was home.
"Rats," I thought, hitting the brakes and coming to a screaming halt. I put both feet on the ground and turned back. Donnie was just coming around the corner to ride down the hill.
We rode around the block together for about another hour, passing by Lisa's house as often as I could without awakening Donnie's keen sense of suspicion. Just before going by I'd speed up so as to leave him behind, then, while keeping my gaze firmly on her front door, I'd slow almost to a crawl, excusing it as waiting for him to catch up. I just wanted to get a glimpse of her, or maybe even a wave. But it was not to be. I'd have to wait for school on Monday.
That night, as I sat watching Hee Haw on the color television mom and dad had bought when we moved in, I tried to devise a plan to get her to like me. What could I do? It almost seemed that she didn't know I existed.
"That's why I love her and that's why I do right," Roy Clark sang. "And if there's a reason God gave me a feeling, baby, it's you."
I hated country music, especially the twangy kind, so I got up off the couch to change the channel. Not even the sometimes funny, always corny comedy was worth this.
"She hates tangerines," he sang. "She loves the ring, volunteers me for everything. And the bank has never been right in her life."
My jaw dropped and a knowing smile pursed my lips. At that very instant, I knew what I had to do. Roy Clark had inspired me in a way he'd never know.
Coming soon - Part II
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Tender Mercies
Several years ago I was driving down a two-lane country road near my house. I was on the way to work and by this time I'd driven down this same road literally hundreds of times. I've now worked in the same office for 12 years and change, taking the same route nearly every one of those nearly 3000 days, both to and from work. So, you can imagine that I was very familiar with the intimate nuances of this particular road.
Pageland Lane cuts off of one of the main roads in our town, and stretches for about four miles before connecting with another main road on the other side. For me, it's a shortcut, allowing me to bypass a lot of traffic that goes through the battlefield. Around here, any shortcut, even if it only shaves seconds off your time, is priceless.
After turning off the main road, you first encounter a small rise before going downhill on a straight stretch that lasts almost a mile. The road bends after that, going through some dense woods, over a creek and past one of my favorite ponds and several cow pastures. It concludes after a sharp dip and another short, straight section.
I've seen countless people pulled off to the side by police officers on this road over those 12 years. As is true anywhere, the police have their favorite places to hide. Just past that initial rise there is a small road that turns off and goes over to an old Civil-War era house. That turnoff lies behind a little bluff, behind which the police like to lurk.
There's another hiding spot a couple of miles down, a little closer to the end of the road, where a cop actually pulled me over many years ago. I was passing a school bus and he got me going 54 in a 45. He let me go with a warning, but I've slowed down since that day and, knock on wood, haven't been pulled over since.
This particular day dawned beautifully, just as all days seem to around here in Autumn. The air was crisp, the leaves were a crescendo of color and a light zephyr caused them to quiver as if they were shivering in the cold.
Canada geese swam around on the pond, patiently searching for food and running off anyone else that dared inhabit their space. It had rained several times in the two or three weeks prior, so there was plenty of water to hide the small frogs and fish that made the pond their home. I always liked driving past the pond, for there was always something new to see.
The speed limit on this road is 45 throughout, but today I was going about 53. As I neared the first of several tight turns, a nearly audible voice spoke my name. "Stefan," it said, "you need to slow down."
It only spoke once, for I understood what it meant. There were police ahead and I was going to get a ticket. I slowed to 44 mph and rounded the second turn where I expected to see a police cruiser waiting to nab the next unsuspecting lawbreaker.
Instead, a deer scampered out in front of my car and into the woods on the other side. A large dump truck bore down from the opposite direction, and that's when it hit me. There's no police cruiser. It was the deer.
If I'd continued at my too-high rate of speed, I would have hit that deer and pushed him into the other lane where he would have been hit by the dump truck. The truck would most likely have sent him back into my lane and maybe through my windshield.
Yesterday, I came to work an hour early. I lay in bed at 5:30am, awake and wishing I weren't. The alarm wouldn't go off until 6:30, but instead of lying there awake for another hour, I decided to get out and get ready for the day. After showering, dressing, praying and packing my lunch, I left the house at 6:10am.
It's dark here at 6am, so I flipped on the headlights and off I sped. I was nearly to the turnoff for Pageland Lane when a voice in my head spoke my name. "Stefan," it said, "you need to slow down."
Having been in nearly the exact situation several years before, I slowed down immediately, and from my left I saw a deer run out in front of me and into the woods on the other side.
I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, nor am I the most righteous. I try my best to be a good man, but sometimes I still come up short. I don't now all of the ways of the Lord, but one thing I do know without the least shadow or hint of doubt. The Lord is there and He sees me. He knows my name, as I am His son. He loves me and He watches over me and my precious family. I've felt His tender mercies on more than these two instances and I am very, very thankful.
"The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works." Psalms 145.9
Pageland Lane cuts off of one of the main roads in our town, and stretches for about four miles before connecting with another main road on the other side. For me, it's a shortcut, allowing me to bypass a lot of traffic that goes through the battlefield. Around here, any shortcut, even if it only shaves seconds off your time, is priceless.
After turning off the main road, you first encounter a small rise before going downhill on a straight stretch that lasts almost a mile. The road bends after that, going through some dense woods, over a creek and past one of my favorite ponds and several cow pastures. It concludes after a sharp dip and another short, straight section.
I've seen countless people pulled off to the side by police officers on this road over those 12 years. As is true anywhere, the police have their favorite places to hide. Just past that initial rise there is a small road that turns off and goes over to an old Civil-War era house. That turnoff lies behind a little bluff, behind which the police like to lurk.
There's another hiding spot a couple of miles down, a little closer to the end of the road, where a cop actually pulled me over many years ago. I was passing a school bus and he got me going 54 in a 45. He let me go with a warning, but I've slowed down since that day and, knock on wood, haven't been pulled over since.
This particular day dawned beautifully, just as all days seem to around here in Autumn. The air was crisp, the leaves were a crescendo of color and a light zephyr caused them to quiver as if they were shivering in the cold.
Canada geese swam around on the pond, patiently searching for food and running off anyone else that dared inhabit their space. It had rained several times in the two or three weeks prior, so there was plenty of water to hide the small frogs and fish that made the pond their home. I always liked driving past the pond, for there was always something new to see.
The speed limit on this road is 45 throughout, but today I was going about 53. As I neared the first of several tight turns, a nearly audible voice spoke my name. "Stefan," it said, "you need to slow down."
It only spoke once, for I understood what it meant. There were police ahead and I was going to get a ticket. I slowed to 44 mph and rounded the second turn where I expected to see a police cruiser waiting to nab the next unsuspecting lawbreaker.
Instead, a deer scampered out in front of my car and into the woods on the other side. A large dump truck bore down from the opposite direction, and that's when it hit me. There's no police cruiser. It was the deer.
If I'd continued at my too-high rate of speed, I would have hit that deer and pushed him into the other lane where he would have been hit by the dump truck. The truck would most likely have sent him back into my lane and maybe through my windshield.
Yesterday, I came to work an hour early. I lay in bed at 5:30am, awake and wishing I weren't. The alarm wouldn't go off until 6:30, but instead of lying there awake for another hour, I decided to get out and get ready for the day. After showering, dressing, praying and packing my lunch, I left the house at 6:10am.
It's dark here at 6am, so I flipped on the headlights and off I sped. I was nearly to the turnoff for Pageland Lane when a voice in my head spoke my name. "Stefan," it said, "you need to slow down."
Having been in nearly the exact situation several years before, I slowed down immediately, and from my left I saw a deer run out in front of me and into the woods on the other side.
I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, nor am I the most righteous. I try my best to be a good man, but sometimes I still come up short. I don't now all of the ways of the Lord, but one thing I do know without the least shadow or hint of doubt. The Lord is there and He sees me. He knows my name, as I am His son. He loves me and He watches over me and my precious family. I've felt His tender mercies on more than these two instances and I am very, very thankful.
"The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works." Psalms 145.9
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Wonderous Gift is Given
The moon shone brilliantly through the large stone window, throwing shadows over the young, powerful body that stood behind the stone counter. Owning the inn was a large job for even the healthiest man, and keeping it clean kept Aha in very good shape. It had only been three years since he had purchased it from Elizar of Damascus, but for Aha every day had been filled with strenuous labor.
Today had been an exceptionally hard day, filled with cleaning, dusting and the like. There were so many people in town now, all come to pay their taxes and be counted. Now he stood behind the counter anxiously waiting the time when he could finally go to bed.
Aha's bright blue eyes glistened in the silvery light as the clouds crept silently across the moon's path. "There is more light than usual tonight," he thought as he walked toward the window. "There is always much light in Jerusalem, but not here in Bethlehem. It is such a small town. I wonder where it comes from."
As Aha leaned on the stone window, he saw a brilliant star far away in the eastern sky. It was a star he had not seen before, and Aha stood for several minutes transfixed by the beauty of the celestial body.
A sudden rap on the door snapped Aha out of his dream and back into reality. "Who could be calling at this hour?" he whispered to himself.
As he pulled the heavy oak door open, he saw outside a poorly-dressed man and a woman sitting on a small donkey. "They are Nazarenes," he thought, looking at their tattered clothing. Dust covered the man's face and both looked very tired and in great need of a night's rest.
"Sir," the man said, "we have traveled many days and my wife is great with child. Do you have a room where we could rest for the night?"
Aha looked at the woman. Her weathered clothing did her no justice, for she was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen. He could tell that she was extremely tired, but her eyes still danced with joy, and the smile on her face made Aha's heart leap within him.
But they were Nazarenes. He could not let Nazarenes stay in his inn. What would his brethren say if they found out?
"I am sorry," he said. "I do not have a room for you." The words sounded deafeningly in his ears, for he knew he had a bed in which the woman could lie down.
The woman looked into Aha's face and smiled. "Are you sure?" her husband asked. "We have already been to all of the other inns. You are our last hope here in Bethlehem."
Aha gazed into her eyes again. There were so beautiful and seemed to entrance his heart with charity. Love swelled his heart and he smiled. "I have a bed where your wife can rest, but it is in a room that is already occupied."
The man's frame dropped slightly, but he smiled and said, "Thank you," as he turned to leave.
Aha looked at the woman. She was still smiling, but now slightly sadder. Aha's heart nearly burst.
Quickly he cried, "Wait!" The man turned abruptly and Aha said, "I do have a small stable that I think would be very comfortable. Sometimes travelers stay there if the town is very crowded. You would have privacy there and the hay is very soft. Come, I will show you."
Aha quickened his pace as he led the couple to the back of his inn, his heart overflowing with inexplicable joy.
Aha busied himself with making the two comfortable. Running back and forth between the inn and the stable, he noticed that his body ached no more, but rather he felt stronger than he had in weeks. Blankets, pillows and hot stew filled his arms while love for the woman filled his soul.
That night, the woman delivered her first born baby, a son. Aha brought out more blankets for the baby, for the night was becoming chill. As he wrapped the blanket around the child and put him back in the manger, Aha looked into his eyes and dropped to his knees. Never before had he beheld such a precious baby. Only minutes old, his bright blue eyes twinkled as eh looked into Aha's face and smiled.
Far into the wee hours of the morning, Aha tended to the needs of the small family, ignoring the aches and pains that presented themselves with no small force to his mind. Gone were the misgivings about his unforgiving brethren. Gone was the hesitation. Gone was all hatred he had ever felt. They were all replaced by an inexorable amount of charity. No gift, no matter how precious, was too for this child.
Thirty-three years pass in what seemed like one beat of Aha's heart. He reflected many times on the occurrences of that night so long ago. He remembered how he had cried into his pillow for many hours and how his heart had nearly exploded with love when the child smiled at him. Never would he forget that smile and the look of love that emanated from those electrifying eyes.
Walking toward Jerusalem, Aha noticed that his leg hurt more today than it usually did. It had been nearly twenty years since he had fallen off the ladder as he put the finishing touches on his inn. It had needed a good whitewashing for quite some time, but after the fall he had to leave the inn business to someone else. The doctor told him that he would never be able to walk without a limp and that small, wooden cane would, from thenceforth, be his constant companion.
Aha laid the hated cane on the ground and sat down on a large rock. Many times had he wished that his body would do the things he loved to do in his youth; running, jumping and playing with his children. But it was not to be. He was now nearly 60-years old, and his leg would not move with the grace that it once did.
He looked down at the crippled limb and gave it a brisk run. "I do not have time for such thoughts today," he whispered as he shook the dreams from his head. "It is Passover time and I must get to Jerusalem before they close the gates."
Gingerly, Aha grabbed the can and stood erect, continuing on his journey to the Holy City.
A huge crowd had gathered in Jerusalem that day, more than the usual Passover throng. A buzz rang steadily through the air, something about a blasphemer and a false prophet. Full of curiosity, Aha hobbled to the front of the crowd. He had seen public trials before in Jerusalem, but this one today filled him with an indescribable horror. People, Jews like himself, were crying for a man's crucifixion.
What had this man done that was so terrible that God's chosen people were asking the heathen Romans to put him to death?
Several minutes later, Aha felt the rush of the crowd lining the streets of the city. The man had been convicted, sentenced to death by the Roman emperor, Pontius Pilate. The convicted man would pass by soon, carrying his cross.
As the man approached, Aha felt pity for him. Never had he seen a man treated with such disdain and degradation. Several times the man fell beneath the weight of the huge cross, only to be whipped by the unfeeling Roman soldiers. Men, women an children, even members of the illustrious Sanhedrin, derided him and spit upon him. His head dripped with blood, his back scarred and bleeding. The rough stones of the rugged road had opened large gashes in his knees. Despite all of the persecution which rained about him, Aha thought he could sense an air of kingly dignity about the man.
Stumbling along the road toward his death, the man fell directly in front of the old inn-keeper. Aha quickly hobbled to a nearby fountain and filled a gourd with pure, cold water. Returning, he pressed the gourd to the man's lips, but the centurion pushed Aha aside, spilling the water over the cold stone.
Looking up into the man's face, Aha was transfixed by the deepness of his eyes. "I'm sorry," said Aha, smiling. The man nodded.
A burning began in Aha's breast and spread until it had filled his whole being. That smile. That beautiful smile! It was the same smile he had seen more than thirty years earlier from that beautiful child in the manger. It was the same love he had felt that night for the child and his mother. This was that wonderful baby!
Aha watched from the ground as the centurion forced the man to his feet and made him continue his agonizing journey. People stepped over him and kicked his battered leg, leaving him at the back of the morbid procession. Tears welled up in his eyes as his love for the man grew to immeasurable bounds.
Aha had watched the pathetic criminals make their way slowly through the cobblestone streets to Golgotha many times. But he had never grown accustomed to the gruesome sight and sound of steel ripping massive holes through the person's flesh. It made him sick to think of it. But today, he watched carefully as the man he loved was nailed to a cross.
"He is the Messiah," something whispered in his heart. "He is the promised one, the Savior, the King." Aha looked up at the Man, falling to his knees in front of the cruel cross.
"Why is this happening?" he asked. "If He is the Messiah, He must be a just man. Why do they do this to Him?"
"Do not worry, Aha," said the stirring voice. "He IS a just man and He will ride again from the dead in three days. He dies now for you. Lay your burdens at His feet. He alone has power to save you from your sins."
The words cut quickly and deeply into the soul of the inn-keeper. Tears coursed his face and his trembling hands were lifted in a mighty prayer of repentance. "Please forgive me, Lord, of the wrongs that I have committed."
He brushed the tears from his face and looked into the eyes of the One on the cross. A bitter smile swept across His face, and even then, in the gall of His agony, that same love that Aha had seen thirty-three years before from the eyes of that baby, exuded from His soul. It was then, when Aha felt that same charity radiating like the sun from the Man's eyes, he vowed to make the rest of his life more like the short life of the Man on the cross. He would let the world know of Him and what He had done. Like no one else, Aha had a wondrous story to tell.
Aha picked himself up off of the ground, wiped the dusty trails of tears from his face and turned toward Bethlehem. For only the second time in his life his heart smiled as much as did his face. Slowly, Aha made his way back to his hometown, walking now without a limp, and the small, wooden cane, so long his constant companion, lie at the foot of the cross.
Today had been an exceptionally hard day, filled with cleaning, dusting and the like. There were so many people in town now, all come to pay their taxes and be counted. Now he stood behind the counter anxiously waiting the time when he could finally go to bed.
Aha's bright blue eyes glistened in the silvery light as the clouds crept silently across the moon's path. "There is more light than usual tonight," he thought as he walked toward the window. "There is always much light in Jerusalem, but not here in Bethlehem. It is such a small town. I wonder where it comes from."
As Aha leaned on the stone window, he saw a brilliant star far away in the eastern sky. It was a star he had not seen before, and Aha stood for several minutes transfixed by the beauty of the celestial body.
A sudden rap on the door snapped Aha out of his dream and back into reality. "Who could be calling at this hour?" he whispered to himself.
As he pulled the heavy oak door open, he saw outside a poorly-dressed man and a woman sitting on a small donkey. "They are Nazarenes," he thought, looking at their tattered clothing. Dust covered the man's face and both looked very tired and in great need of a night's rest.
"Sir," the man said, "we have traveled many days and my wife is great with child. Do you have a room where we could rest for the night?"
Aha looked at the woman. Her weathered clothing did her no justice, for she was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen. He could tell that she was extremely tired, but her eyes still danced with joy, and the smile on her face made Aha's heart leap within him.
But they were Nazarenes. He could not let Nazarenes stay in his inn. What would his brethren say if they found out?
"I am sorry," he said. "I do not have a room for you." The words sounded deafeningly in his ears, for he knew he had a bed in which the woman could lie down.
The woman looked into Aha's face and smiled. "Are you sure?" her husband asked. "We have already been to all of the other inns. You are our last hope here in Bethlehem."
Aha gazed into her eyes again. There were so beautiful and seemed to entrance his heart with charity. Love swelled his heart and he smiled. "I have a bed where your wife can rest, but it is in a room that is already occupied."
The man's frame dropped slightly, but he smiled and said, "Thank you," as he turned to leave.
Aha looked at the woman. She was still smiling, but now slightly sadder. Aha's heart nearly burst.
Quickly he cried, "Wait!" The man turned abruptly and Aha said, "I do have a small stable that I think would be very comfortable. Sometimes travelers stay there if the town is very crowded. You would have privacy there and the hay is very soft. Come, I will show you."
Aha quickened his pace as he led the couple to the back of his inn, his heart overflowing with inexplicable joy.
Aha busied himself with making the two comfortable. Running back and forth between the inn and the stable, he noticed that his body ached no more, but rather he felt stronger than he had in weeks. Blankets, pillows and hot stew filled his arms while love for the woman filled his soul.
That night, the woman delivered her first born baby, a son. Aha brought out more blankets for the baby, for the night was becoming chill. As he wrapped the blanket around the child and put him back in the manger, Aha looked into his eyes and dropped to his knees. Never before had he beheld such a precious baby. Only minutes old, his bright blue eyes twinkled as eh looked into Aha's face and smiled.
Far into the wee hours of the morning, Aha tended to the needs of the small family, ignoring the aches and pains that presented themselves with no small force to his mind. Gone were the misgivings about his unforgiving brethren. Gone was the hesitation. Gone was all hatred he had ever felt. They were all replaced by an inexorable amount of charity. No gift, no matter how precious, was too for this child.
Thirty-three years pass in what seemed like one beat of Aha's heart. He reflected many times on the occurrences of that night so long ago. He remembered how he had cried into his pillow for many hours and how his heart had nearly exploded with love when the child smiled at him. Never would he forget that smile and the look of love that emanated from those electrifying eyes.
Walking toward Jerusalem, Aha noticed that his leg hurt more today than it usually did. It had been nearly twenty years since he had fallen off the ladder as he put the finishing touches on his inn. It had needed a good whitewashing for quite some time, but after the fall he had to leave the inn business to someone else. The doctor told him that he would never be able to walk without a limp and that small, wooden cane would, from thenceforth, be his constant companion.
Aha laid the hated cane on the ground and sat down on a large rock. Many times had he wished that his body would do the things he loved to do in his youth; running, jumping and playing with his children. But it was not to be. He was now nearly 60-years old, and his leg would not move with the grace that it once did.
He looked down at the crippled limb and gave it a brisk run. "I do not have time for such thoughts today," he whispered as he shook the dreams from his head. "It is Passover time and I must get to Jerusalem before they close the gates."
Gingerly, Aha grabbed the can and stood erect, continuing on his journey to the Holy City.
A huge crowd had gathered in Jerusalem that day, more than the usual Passover throng. A buzz rang steadily through the air, something about a blasphemer and a false prophet. Full of curiosity, Aha hobbled to the front of the crowd. He had seen public trials before in Jerusalem, but this one today filled him with an indescribable horror. People, Jews like himself, were crying for a man's crucifixion.
What had this man done that was so terrible that God's chosen people were asking the heathen Romans to put him to death?
Several minutes later, Aha felt the rush of the crowd lining the streets of the city. The man had been convicted, sentenced to death by the Roman emperor, Pontius Pilate. The convicted man would pass by soon, carrying his cross.
As the man approached, Aha felt pity for him. Never had he seen a man treated with such disdain and degradation. Several times the man fell beneath the weight of the huge cross, only to be whipped by the unfeeling Roman soldiers. Men, women an children, even members of the illustrious Sanhedrin, derided him and spit upon him. His head dripped with blood, his back scarred and bleeding. The rough stones of the rugged road had opened large gashes in his knees. Despite all of the persecution which rained about him, Aha thought he could sense an air of kingly dignity about the man.
Stumbling along the road toward his death, the man fell directly in front of the old inn-keeper. Aha quickly hobbled to a nearby fountain and filled a gourd with pure, cold water. Returning, he pressed the gourd to the man's lips, but the centurion pushed Aha aside, spilling the water over the cold stone.
Looking up into the man's face, Aha was transfixed by the deepness of his eyes. "I'm sorry," said Aha, smiling. The man nodded.
A burning began in Aha's breast and spread until it had filled his whole being. That smile. That beautiful smile! It was the same smile he had seen more than thirty years earlier from that beautiful child in the manger. It was the same love he had felt that night for the child and his mother. This was that wonderful baby!
Aha watched from the ground as the centurion forced the man to his feet and made him continue his agonizing journey. People stepped over him and kicked his battered leg, leaving him at the back of the morbid procession. Tears welled up in his eyes as his love for the man grew to immeasurable bounds.
Aha had watched the pathetic criminals make their way slowly through the cobblestone streets to Golgotha many times. But he had never grown accustomed to the gruesome sight and sound of steel ripping massive holes through the person's flesh. It made him sick to think of it. But today, he watched carefully as the man he loved was nailed to a cross.
"He is the Messiah," something whispered in his heart. "He is the promised one, the Savior, the King." Aha looked up at the Man, falling to his knees in front of the cruel cross.
"Why is this happening?" he asked. "If He is the Messiah, He must be a just man. Why do they do this to Him?"
"Do not worry, Aha," said the stirring voice. "He IS a just man and He will ride again from the dead in three days. He dies now for you. Lay your burdens at His feet. He alone has power to save you from your sins."
The words cut quickly and deeply into the soul of the inn-keeper. Tears coursed his face and his trembling hands were lifted in a mighty prayer of repentance. "Please forgive me, Lord, of the wrongs that I have committed."
He brushed the tears from his face and looked into the eyes of the One on the cross. A bitter smile swept across His face, and even then, in the gall of His agony, that same love that Aha had seen thirty-three years before from the eyes of that baby, exuded from His soul. It was then, when Aha felt that same charity radiating like the sun from the Man's eyes, he vowed to make the rest of his life more like the short life of the Man on the cross. He would let the world know of Him and what He had done. Like no one else, Aha had a wondrous story to tell.
Aha picked himself up off of the ground, wiped the dusty trails of tears from his face and turned toward Bethlehem. For only the second time in his life his heart smiled as much as did his face. Slowly, Aha made his way back to his hometown, walking now without a limp, and the small, wooden cane, so long his constant companion, lie at the foot of the cross.
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