She is certain she won't hear,
"Hang on."
"Sorry, he's not in."
"He's busy right now."
"Wrong number."
Instead she'll hear Him as He calls out.
"What is wrong, child? I'm here if you need me. Anything?"
She lulls in shame and despair. Tears gush out in torrents. She needs not say a thing. He knows. He cares.
"I'm glad you called."
She knows she has made the right choice. She asks through her anguish, why yearn for someone or other people who loves you not? Why not be contented with only ONE person who loves you MOST?
She has met people with many excuses.
People who do not return her affections.
People who belittle her, taking her for granted.
Then she remembers the solitary carpenter from Nazareth.
She feels His veins.
She feels His heart.
Even His hands.
Holy Land seems so close.
Images. De ja vu.
The bible being a diary.
A journey.
A legacy of hope and repentance.
What if she was there during the final hours of His life on earth? Or minutes after He died so gallantly, passionately for us on the ragged old cross up that hill?
Only she did not have a name she had now. Just a passerby. Can He transport her back to then?
"The deed is done."
She sees the 3 crosses on the hill. She looks to the middle one with an aching nothing can heal. It is too late. He has breathed his last. A hand taps her shoulder. A lady in a white veil.
"He is gone."
She turns to the veiled one. "No, no, no. He will rise again, as in the scriptures."
"Hush yourself silly woman. The man is dead. King of Jews indeed," one of the guards near them ridicules her. Yet some guards only remain quiet. Perhaps they know something and believe.
"What is your name?" she asks the veiled one again.
"Mary Magdalene. And you?"
"I wish I knew," comes the forth right answer. She cannot put into words her origin. The future. Mary Magdalene puts her arm around the other lady's shoulder, kindred spirits though strangers.
"But at least we are here for the same reason."
The language is Hebrew but she has no idea how she understands. To be present is only what matters to her right now.
"Did you know He died for us?" the lady asks Mary Magdalene.
"He's the Messiah. There is no doubt about it. But the agony, the sheer pain of it all. Such love. Do we really deserve it?" Mary replies.
"I think He thinks we deserve it," the other woman professes. She states her intention to approach His cross only to be held back by the guards. 5 of them.
"Let me pass," she hoarses.
"The man is dead, I tell you. Go home. You must be one of his lunatic followers," the tallest of them speaks.
"I only want to see Him."
"Do you want to be whipped, woman?"
"Shame on you for not letting a woman visit her beloved. The only one who loves her. You, all of you knew He was innocent. Yet He had to die."
"Save your words, woman. He cannot even save himself."
She can only stare at his battered body, a sight enough to make her weak to the knees. Mary Magdalene catches up with her.
"You are very determined," she says.
"I have to. This is God in the flesh. You do believe me, don't you Mary?"Her look itself gives an answer. They march on only to turn back as they are jeered by the guards, attempting to poke them with spears.
Jolted, she returns to present times. She by the table, the phone at her hand. Was it all an illusion?
"Are you still there?" she whispers to the other end.
"Always," the familiar voice echoes.
She mouths a gracious thank you with eyes glistening tears. She has to put down the phone eventually but the fact that no lines will ever be disconnected again soothes her immensely.
The chronicles of the cross.
It saves her today.
The power of His undying love, the emblem of faithfullness.
"I love you."
And He is not just someone.
He is the Living God.
The Bloodied Cross of the World.
The Sufferer.
The Innocent Sacrificed Lamb. The Saviour.
2 more years and she would be 30 like him when He first ventured out, when He was absolutely certain of what He was commanded to do. Is there any mission for her? She awaits in anticipation.
So in her sufferings, she will not find these paths lonely again.
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