Devorah began this morning as she began every morning, walking amongst her herbs and vegetables and flowers - waiting. Devorah waited every morning for him to arrive. But he never did. Today she did not have time to walk. Much preparation still waited for her. However, this moment of solitude - this moment she grasped for herself. This daily moment of anticipation was hers and hers alone. But he never came.
Devorah’s mind wandered to her son. Her husband and all the men of the household would be at the synagogue immersing in the waters of the mikvah. She had gone with Rebecca yesterday for her cleansing. Rebecca’s mother treated Devorah graciously, but she was not known as a very hospitable woman. Devorah questioned her husband when he negotiated the bride price for Rebecca, but her husband reassured her that Rebecca‘s family was one of note and prosperity and much blessing would come to their household by joining with Rebecca and her people. Devorah’s oldest son found Rebecca pleasing, so Devorah consented the marriage should take place.
Devorah worried about the wedding feast. She and Rebecca‘s mother planned and prepared, and Devorah’s garden yielded a bountiful harvest, which helped greatly with the feast preparations. But Rebecca‘s family had been stingy and provided little additional wine for the celebration. Rebecca‘s mother declared that the groom bore the responsibility of supplying the wine for his guests. Devorah could only pray the wine lasted throughout the celebration. They would be disgraced if the feast did not satisfy her guests. However, none of those thoughts overcame her desire to see him just one more time. She prayed, but he never came.
Devorah’s son had worked tirelessly this last year to provide a good home for Rebecca. The fishing he and his father labored at daily yielded great bounty for them over this last year so she supposed her husband had made a wise choice, and God was in fact, blessing her family. Yet still this morning, she walked in her garden. Pleading for him to appear and reassure her that he still existed, and she was making wise choices.
Over thirty years had passed since she last beheld him. She remembered how frightened she had been. He appeared so suddenly, and she had been alone. If anyone had seen them together, her reputation would have been ruined, and her husband would have cast her aside. In her fear, she sent him away. But the memory of him never faded. She recalled the golden color of his skin. His eyes radiated such power yet such kindness. His voice was the sweetest sound she had ever heard, like the rush of a stream after a heavy rain. But in her fear, she sent him away. And every morning she walked and waited. Waited for him to return.
Devorah needed to go home. The men would arrive shortly, and she was expected to be ready to meet Rebecca and her family when the shofar sounded. But Devorah did not want to leave her garden. Not on this day. The wedding day of her son.
“Please God,” she begged. “Do not hide your face from me. Please let me see him just once more on this special day.”
“Mother mother, you must return. The men are here. The men are here.” The voice of her youngest son resounded through her mind and awoke her from her stupor.
Devorah turned at the sound of her son’s voice. She could not help but smile as he bounded from their home into her place of solitude. He had grown so tall. His lanky arms too big for his body. She laughed aloud at the sight of him running toward her. His smile stretched so wide Devorah could not be heavy-hearted. Her son personified the joy of the day, and Devorah vowed she would be happy too.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the garden toward the house. Her cousin greeted her with a wide smile and true joy in her eyes. Devorah was glad Mary came to help her plan for this day. Mary’s life had been hard these last years. For so much time, Devorah envied Mary. Her husband worked as a carpenter and never came home stinking of fish and smelling of brine. But her husband was gone these five years now.
Mary’s husband had been in the quarry, supervising the removal of the masonry for a fine home he was contracted to build. His sons labored at the home, framing the structure and preparing for the stone to arrive. A large slab of rock fell from above and crushed Mary's husband. Devorah sat in mourning with Mary and her family. She recalled the joy and care Mary’s husband provided for her and her sons. Joseph was a good man, and Devorah’s heart ached for Mary as she watched her suffer the years since his death.
Mary’s younger son, James, continued to labor and provide what he could for his mother, but without Joseph’s talent and influence as a carpenter, his jobs were limited to menial wages. Mary’s older son did absolutely nothing as far as Devorah could tell. He loved to study and teach but training as a rabbi put no food on the table. Devorah silently thanked God for her strong and steady husband and her diligent, hard working sons. Even her youngest who beamed up at her with such joy and pride pulled his weight to help his father and brother’s fish. He proved extremely smart and demonstrated great ability to negotiate the best price for the catch which made the income last to provide all their needs. Devorah loved this boy's clever eyes.
Devorah ruffled her son’s hair, and he bounded away to find the other men. She guessed he was also a man now. Mary embraced her warmly and led her out to the street to greet the wedding party. Devorah thanked God for Mary and her strong yet tender grasp of her hand. Devorah drew strength from her and held her head high as she invited all to bless the marriage of her son.
Devorah reclined at the family table and surveyed the feast laid out before her guests. Her husband beside her laughed boisterously at something Rebecca’s father said. She knew he enjoyed the rich food and wine as she saw the pink of his cheeks and the red of his nose darken with every sip and each chortle. She gazed on her son and his beautiful new bride. Rebecca demured her head and a blush rose in her cheeks as Devorah’s son whispered something in her ear. Devorah felt pleased with the night, happy with the marriage and the feast. But still she gazed round the room looking for him. Thinking maybe he would come on this joyous night. But of course, he was not there.
Devorah’s eyes fell to Mary’s sons seated across the room. They were not handsome like her sons but pleasing enough. They were built like their father, broad shoulders, strong arms, muscle corded from lifting and heavy labor. Tonight, they lounged among the strangers they had brought with them - Devorah had been told their names and of course they were welcome, but she wondered at the strange group. They were men, she assumed, but looked as young as her own precious boy. Their eyes held none of her own son’s cunning, but they looked kind and well mannered.
Devorah sat with her thoughts as she watched those around her until a servant with a stricken look came to whisper in her husband’s ear. She watched with fright as her husband’s face turned from its rosy pink to a deep and alarming crimson. He stood abruptly, knocking over his cup. Devorah watched the red wine cascade from the table and trace a meandering path through the dishes. Why did she notice the trail seeming to flow as blood toward her guests? Devorah stood too and followed her husband and the servant.
Devorah did not have to wait long until she determined the problem. The wine had run dry. Her greatest fear now realized, she turned to face her husband and his growing anger.
“This is that stingy woman’s fault. She would not allow any wine from her stores to be shared for her daughter’s feast.” Devorah’s husband bellowed. Devorah gently placed her hand on his arm. She did not want the situation to be made worse if her guests heard them insult their new family.
Devorah’s husband wrenched his arm out of her grasp and stormed from the house. The servants looked at Devorah in anticipation, waiting for her to tell them what to do. Devorah felt the hot sting of tears forming in her eyes, when she felt a gentle hand in her own.
“What is the problem dear cousin,” Mary’s soft voice whispered as a tremulous sound on the slightest of breath.
“We have no more wine,” Devorah choked, and the words felt like glass in her throat.
What happened next blurred in front of Devorah like so many birds taking flight when the fox enters the field. She watched in numb blindness as even her youngest son ran to the well with extra water jars.
“What good is water when we have no wine?” Her husband bellowed as the servants continued to follow someone’s orders.
Who were they listening to? Who were they following?
Then Devorah saw Mary’s son, standing in the center of the commotion, calmly asking of the servants to fill each jar to overflowing. Devorah looked at him, really looked at him. His hair was long and unkempt. She guessed his father died too early before ever finding him a bride to care for him. His clothes were worn and not exactly dirty but certainly not fine enough for a feast. His nails showed dirt, and his hands were calloused from the years of working with his father. He demonstrated no exceptional qualities, unlike her sons. His face, however, did not show the lines of his age. He was only slightly younger than her own son who now sat with his bride at his wedding feast.
His unlined face. Devorah studied it carefully as the servants buzzed around him. His eyes showed such warmth and kindness, unlike any eyes she had ever seen…except for him.
The memory overwhelmed Devorah, and she began to weep. She wept for the embarrassment her family would suffer for not providing for their guests. She wept that her son’s wife may be as callous as her mother. She wept that her youngest son was now a man and no longer the child who accepted her affection and offered his own in return. But most of all she wept for the day he left her, alone in her garden, shanking and forlorn.
Devorah felt a warm and gentle hand on her shoulder, and she looked to find Mary’s son staring down at her, a tender smile on his face and love in his eyes.
“Keep your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for the reward for your work will come. God understands your wandering. He has collected your tears in a bottle. Know, my sister, that He is for you. Trust. Do not be afraid. You may stumble, but walk with God in the light of life.”
An unnatural warmth flowed from the touch and filled Devorah’s very being. She thought she would be overwhelmed and faint, but a raucous cry came from the feast. Devorah stumbled to the door to see the commotion and saw Rebecca’s father standing with his cup.
“Oh God, it is empty. He will leave and turn his back on all of us. What are we to do?” Devorah cried as she slumped against the frame.
“Everyone sets out the fine wine first, then, after people are drunk, the inferior. But you have kept the fine wine until now!” Exclaimed Rebecca’s father as he passed the jug among all the guests.
Confused, Devorah swayed and shuffled to her seat and reclined into Mary’s arms.
“Jesus did this for you.” Mary whispered.
Devorah found his eyes near her youngest son. They both smiled at her, and Jesus raised His cup. Devorah could do nothing but be still.
Devorah bounded into her garden that morning. The air so cool and crisp her lungs seized as she inhaled the chilly air. She coughed and coughed until a gentle voice asked,
“Are you unwell, Devorah?”
She swayed at the sound of her name and stood paralyzed with fear. Standing before her was one like a man, but the radiance of his presence overwhelmed her. Light shone all around him, and a rainbow of color danced among his hair. His skin glowed golden with the early morning dew, and when he smiled at her, Devorah fell on the ground and wept from both the beauty of him and the fear of him.
“Arise Devorah, for I stand in the presence of God. And I speak good news. Fear not. You are highly favored, and the Lord is with you.”
Devorah did not rise, but she somehow found her voice to speak. “No word from God will ever fail. I am the Lord’s servant, but I am fearful. Please depart from me so I will not die.”
Devorah heard a sound like the rush of a stream after a heavy rain. “If you ask me to depart, I will leave, but God will speak if you are brave enough to hear.”
“I am not brave, sir. I am but a silly girl. Please leave me or I will surely die.” Devorah cried into the soft earth.
“Then live and be blessed, and I will depart.”
Devorah walked amongst her herbs and vegetables and flowers. The wedding feast over, the guests departed, she returned to her mornings of solitude. She remembered so clearly the day he came. She had not been brave then. She was but a child. But so many times she wondered how her life would have been different if she had the courage enough to listen.
Devorah thanked God for the blessings of her sons and her new daughter. She asked God to bless her son’s marriage and show Rebecca how to be charitable and hospitable. She thanked God for Mary and her friendship. And she thanked God for Mary’s son, Jesus, who rescued her in her time of need.
As the sun warmed her skin, a new day began full of promise for the future. Devorah did not wait for him to return today. She saw the smile of Jesus. She saw the light in his eyes. She felt his gentle, warming touch. And she thanked God for her life and her blessings, even though he never returned.
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