A Gift Multiplied - WINNER of the Writer 750 May Challenge

It was around the time that I turned twelve years old when my father was killed during an uprising in Jerusalem. We were visiting family during Passover when zealots started rioting against the Romans who have occupied my land and claimed it as part of their empire.

“THE WORLD IS ROME!” shouted a proud Roman centurion, “You will pay your taxes as declared by the divine Caesar.”

 This proclamation only angered the mob. Tempers flared as the Jews retorted with hateful shouting. They hurled stones at the soldiers. The massive throng pressed my father against the small cavalry. There was no escape as my father was trampled beneath the hooves of a soldier’s horse. He lived only a few hours until he went to his eternal home. I was robbed of my only parent, not even given the chance to speak to him before his passing. Forsaken. Broken. Where was my God when I needed him?

Fortunately, my father had a brother who was kind enough to take me in. Uncle Abijah lived in the city of Tabgha. He taught me that I should forgive the soldiers responsible for my father’s death since God forgave me of my trespasses. I escaped my grief by helping my uncle tend to his flock of goats every day. My eyes traveled to the mountains of Gilead that loomed high above the Sea of Galilee off to the distance. It was a balm to my soul.

One day Uncle Abijah sent me to buy food for dinner. He reached in his clay money jar and gave me some coins to make the purchase. I stared at the coins in my hand while I strode through the dusty ally into the noisy marketplace. The stamped image of Caesar reminded me again of those overbearing occupiers in my land. When would God deliver us from these oppressors?

After purchasing five loaves and two fishes, I noticed that people were chattering and getting excited that the Galilean had arrived in the city. I found myself swept along with the crowd, curious to see for myself what this holy Man was all about. I had heard that He gave a blind man back his sight, that he raised a girl from the dead. Too bad he wasn’t around when my father died. Why did it have to be so, that others got their miracles but not me? I felt a pang of sorrow. My feet felt heavy as I tread up the mountain along with the thousands of people who wanted to be ministered to.

Soon the masses of people sat, waiting for the Galilean to speak. I was busy looking around me until I heard the words, “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted”. Suddenly it was as if I was the only audience on that mountain. His words became alive within me. “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you that you may be the children of your Father in heaven.” My heart began to break again. This time it was breaking in order to heal. Love and hope swelled within me in waves. Tears coursed down my cheeks. It was at this time that Jesus looked at me. There were thousands of people there, but He saw just me, a small orphaned boy.

Later after the sermon, the people wouldn’t leave. Jesus asked, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?”

His disciples looked dumbfounded – one answering that it would take a whole year’s wages to feed them. I remembered that I had purchased some food before walking up the mountain. I pulled my dinner out of the cloth wrap and looked at it. Could God use my gift?

Andrew, a disciple of Jesus, saw me. He helped me to my feet and proclaimed that he had found some food. “But how can this help feed a crowd of so many?” he asked.

Jesus asked them to bring the loaves and fishes to Him. He lifted His eyes to the heavenly Father and gave thanks. Then he told His disciples to distribute them to all of the people. Miraculously the loaves and the fish multiplied to feed the thousands. I watched as my little dinner was passed out to the throng and was enjoyed by many. When everyone had his fill, baskets were passed around to collect what was left over. There were twelve baskets full!

As the crowd disbursed, I was left there wondering how I was going to carry all of this food back home. James and John came over to me to ask if I needed help. Soon each disciple carried a basket to my Uncle Abijah’s house. I was so glad that it wasn’t left for me to explain this one.

 Want more stories by Glenda Reynolds? Go to Write On (an Amazon writers' platform) and read Short & Twisted Tales. http://amzn.to/2iS2fId