Chapter 3

“Did you sleep well, child?” Mary jumped. She blinked her eyes several times and slowly looked around the room , trying to remember where she was. She fixed her eyes on a crippled old woman standing over her.
“Where am I?”
“You are in my home, dear one. I brought you cool water and some bread. You need to eat and regain your strength.” Her voice was soft and comforting. It didn’t match her physical frame. She was bent over from some ailment, a large knot on her back. Her hair was gray. It was braided and set over one shoulder. Her face, wrinkled and sun worn, however she carried the sweetest smile.
“Do I know you?”. Mary asked.
“No, dear. You don’t, but I know you. Eat, drink and then we will talk of what and who we know.” Mary’s hunger caught up with her as the smell of the warm bread crept up her nostrils. Her hands, trembling from the lack of nourishment, took the bread. As Mary ate, the old woman laborously pulled a small chair across the dirt floor and sat as comfortably as she could waiting silently while Mary ate and drank. So many thoughts ran through Mary’s mind.
“Tell me about you and the Master. How did you meet? What was it like to be among the brethen for so long?” Mary stared hard.
“How did you know I was with them?”
“I knew. Tell me Mary. Tell me everything. From the very beginning until now. And not just the facts, but your thoughts, your inner thoughts that you try so hard to hide. I’ll wait until you’re ready.” Mary began to cry. How does this woman know me? Why does she want me to remember when I’m so confused by all that happened? Can I tell her everything. My deepest thoughts? My deepest feelings? Will she judge me? Will she believe what I’ve seen? Will I be crucified too, for what I say?
“Trust me.” The old woman said. With that simple phrase, Mary lifted her eyes and looked intensly into the old woman’s and her story began.
“When I was eighteen, my parents died. I got everything I had ever wanted. I had money and freedom to choose my own lifestyle. I answered to no one, and did whatever I wanted. Some forms of freedom always come with chains. Loneliness and guilt became my companions for a while. Then wine and drug inducing herbs followed. Hopelessness drove me to insanity and that’s where I met Jesus. A few years ago, He was traveling through Magdala. I didn’t know or care, but a few of my servants had heard of Him and the miracles He did for others. They loved me enough to convince me to go with them and ask for help. If He had come three months earlier, I would have fought everything and everyone who tried to get me to Him but my anger and bitterness had dissolved into helplessness and I wanted to die. I would have killed myself, had it not been for the faithfulness of the servants who kept watch over me.
I don’t remember much about the first time I saw Him. It was when He touched me that I thought I had died. He cupped my face into His hands and spoke words I couldn’t understand or couldn’t hear, but in that moment, a rush of something unexplainable flowed through my body. I know now it was hope.
My eyes began to burn and the sound of voices pierced my ears. Had I been blind and deaf? I was suddenly aware of everything around me. The faces of my servants, the throngs of people staring at me, and the face of this man who touched me. I squinted my eyes, desperatly trying to focus on His. He still held my face in his strong hands and the warmth I felt was almost overpowering. But His eyes, the way He looked at me, as if He could see every part of me. Every past word, every deed, every evil. And He smiled, and said, “come”. I can’t explain why I followed. I just did. It went against every ideal I had. I even asked myself why I was following Him. It was because I saw something in his eyes that I wanted. Something that I had never seen in anyone else. Not my father, my mother or any man. I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, I was just following. You should have seen my servants. They were stunned beyond words. The girls were franticly trying to fix my matted hair as we walked and the menservants had run home to give the good news of my miracle to the others in the household and to gather some decent clothes for me to wear. I had never spent a lot of time on my appearance but I could only imagine how I looked at that moment.
“The crowd followed Jesus to the outskirts of town. That’s where I first heard Him speak. He always spoke in parables, in stories. Some I understood and some are still a mystery to me. The first story He told was of a farmer and his seeds. I listened intently while my servants still fussed over the care of my outer appearance. But inward, I felt whole. Beautiful.
“Over the past two years, I have heard Jesus tell this story of the farmer many times as we traveled, and each time, I would glean something new about who He is and who I am in Him. God’s kingdom. That’s what His stories were always about.