Chapter 18

Miriam began her own story. “Even though I maried young, it was many years before I was able to bear a child. And ten years ago I watched her marry and leave our village. Shortly after, my husband died and my body began to change rapidly. One day I felt a stiffness in my back, the next, a small lump and over the years, this.” Miriam twisted her body towards Mary. “I looked forward to the times that my daughter and her husband would visit but wept bitterly as they would exit the city gates.” Miriam paused, fought back tears and continued on.
“When my daughter came on her next visit she held such excitement in her voice. She was traveling through Nazareth and met a man named Joseph. He was a carpenter. She said his workmanship was the finest she had ever seen. She told this Joseph about my condition and asked if he could make a chair that would be comfortable for me to sit in. Joseph said that he and his eldest son would create something comfortable and beautiful. On her next visit, my daughter brought me this chair.” Miriam stopped to run her frail hands over the smooth texture of the wood. “You should have seen the looks they got as they carried this odd shapped fixture through the city on the back of a mule. People didn’t know what to think of it. But my daughter and her husband proudly unleashed the chair from its’ carrier and set it outside the house for all to see. They wisked me up and into the chair to test its strength and function. I was a little scepticle and nervous at first, but when I sat in this chair, everything changed. My body contured to the bends of the wood. And as time has gone by and my back has protruded, the chair has adapted. When I sit in it, the weight is lifted. Rest and comfort seems odd when you see me sit here, but this chair relieves and soothes all pain. A few years ago, as I began to notice how unique this chair was, I asked my daughter about the carpenter who made it. She confessed to me that the father, Joseph hadn’t made the chair, but his eldest son had. Even though my daughter seemed jublient when she presented me with the chair, she had praised the workings of Joseph so much that she didn’t want me to know that it wasn’t made by his hands but by the son. It seems that when my daughter was telling Joseph about my condition, the son was listening and asked his father if he could make the chair himself. Do you know the son’s name?” Miriam asked a sleepy Mary.
“Jesus,” Mary said with eyes closed and a soft smile.
“Yes.”