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“Noah! Boy, get back here!”
Noah ignored his grandfather’s angry call as he ran through the crowded streets of Capernaum. He’d deal with the consequences later; he had a purpose to fulfill. He knew a severe punishment awaited him when he returned, but that didn’t matter now—all that mattered was saving Mama.
There was only one person that could help him—Yeshua.
She won’t die, she won’t die. Please don’t let her die. The thoughts kept repeating through his mind, synchronized with the beating of his heart. He kept running as fast as his little feet would take him to Simon’s house, where Yeshua was staying.
As he turned the last corner heading to Simon’s, his heart sank. The street was packed with people!
He jumped, trying to catch a glimpse of Yeshua. It didn’t help. He was only seven; everyone around him was taller.
Would he ever get to see Yeshua?
There is a purpose to everything—a season for everything under heaven.
He heard the simple wisdom from the scriptures that Mama had taught him. Mama’s sickness, the tense atmosphere at home, everything had a purpose in life. And now was the time for patience.
He uttered a prayer. “Adonai, help me be patient today, for Mama.”
More words ran through his head as he walked closer. A time to weep, a time to laugh…a time to mourn, a time to dance… Noah prayed laughter would replace tears.
He could see Yeshua clearly now, healing the sick around him. He was so close now! Noah saw his chance to move forward. He made his way up to the line of people waiting to be healed.
“Noah? What are you doing here?” He heard the voice of his cousin Simon and looked up at him. “Where’s your Papa?”
“I have to see Yeshua!” Noah said eagerly. Surely Simon would help him get closer!
But Simon misunderstood. “Yeshua can’t play now. Go home before you get into trouble.” He directed him away from Yeshua.
“No, Simon! I need him to help me!”
But Simon wasn’t listening; he kept pushing him farther away. He couldn’t go back now, he just couldn’t!
“Wait.”
They stopped. Yeshua had come!
Simon moved away as Yeshua came near Noah. He bent down to Noah’s level. Noah quickly told him everything. “Mama’s sick and she might die, Yeshua. But I know you can help her!”
“My son, will you take me to her?”
Noah felt a surge of energy rush through him. He held Yeshua’s hand and led him down the street towards home.
Noah ignored the angry face of his grandfather that greeted them. He didn’t care if he had objections about the healer’s ways; Mama was going to be healed without his permission.
Noah led Yeshua into the room, lit by the dim light of the oil lamp. Mama’s mother was standing at the edge of the pallet; Papa was holding tightly to Mama’s hand. Noah could feel the weight of darkness and death in the room. He held Yeshua’s hand tighter. “Papa, Grandmama, I brought Yeshua. He’ll heal Mama.”
His father took his hand. “Son…”
Yeshua placed a hand on Papa’s shoulder. Without any objections, he moved away from the pallet. Noah let go of Yeshua’s hand and stood back with his father. He saw that Mama had worsened since he’d left; she was unconscious now and struggling to breathe. Noah grabbed his father’s hand, waiting in the stillness. Please heal her, Yeshua.
Yeshua bent down next to the pallet and grabbed Mama’s hand. He placed his hand over her heart and prayed silently. Noah thought time itself had stopped.
Suddenly, Mama gasped! Noah saw her eyes open, tears coursing down her cheeks. He saw her smile!
Yeshua helped her sit up. Noah heard his grandmother knock over the small wooden table in the corner and moan. For the first time, he felt his father sob uncontrollably.
Noah was so happy he laughed. He hugged Yeshua, happier than he could ever remember. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Yeshua patted his head and Noah heard him laugh. He heard the sounds of others in the courtyard laughing and praising Adonai for the healing.
Noah turned around from Yeshua and saw Mama beckon him with her arms. He hugged her tightly and looked back at Yeshua, his dark brown eyes smiling in darkness of the room.
There is a purpose to everything—a season for everything under heaven.
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