The Sword of Ruth: The Story of Jesus' Little Sister

by V. M. Franck

Ruth

  Daniel huddled in the corner of the room he no longer shared with his brothers, thankful his mother was away. His father was in Capernaum installing cabinets. His sister, Ruth, was preoccupied with her writings, weaving and the discomforts of late term pregnancy.

  It gave him the chance. This was between him and God.

  He shuffled to the kitchen and stepped outside into the bright sunlight. It hurt his eyes. These days they ached most of the time. Quietly closing the door he left the house, staying close to the edge of the buildings, so he would have something to hold onto in case he became dizzy. The children playing in the courtyard paid him no attention. He had never been one for children. It was not that he disliked them. They were just too busy, too noisy. Of late, he preferred quiet moments. It was then he felt his connection with God.

  At the gatehouse he nodded to his brother, David, who was on guard duty, and headed toward the boulders on the hilltop. It had become a refuge, the place he preferred to be when he talked to creation.

  Overhead, clouds were pilled high. The air was still and eerie. Weary, in spirit and body, he eased between the boulders and entered the enclave, noting the rose staff was still in place. Ruth had tried to remove it after the rain softened the ground, following the White Rose Ceremony. It would not budge. Even Uncle David, as strong as he was, had been unable to pull it out.

  Daniel stumbled over to the staff and admired Uncle David's rose. He remembered as a child sitting on his uncle's knee. Nestled in his arms he felt safe, peaceful. He always wanted to feel peaceful. That's why he was here now.

  It was God he sought. So many said so many things about who and what God was. He knew. It was not a loud knowing, not one that needed sharing with others. It drifted within his being as a comforting breeze. Without words, he made a plea. God did not need words. God did not need worshiping. Worship was for the spiritually young. What people called God was really the sky, the trees, everything, every being, everywhere. Opinions, masquerading as truth, changed and as such were unreliable. Religious debate changed nothing.

  He placed a hand on top of the rose, tingling at the connection. It was a similar sensation he felt when he admired the sun on the horizon. It was the same sentiment he experienced with Ruth. The others thought Mary Martha was his favorite, because he made over her. He did so because she needed it, especially since she had lost herself to religious doctrine. Since early childhood he had known that religion and spirituality were not the same thing. He wondered how long it would take humanity to realize it.

  Stilling his heart he placed the other hand on top of the first and closed his eyes. Overhead he heard a ripping of the clouds. A bolt cracked the sky, shooting down into his hands, along his arms and through his body to his feet. He stiffened and collapsed.

  ~~~***~~~