She takes a pastry from the plate and sits against the wall. She tucks the stray hair back beneath her veil. The hair is slightly damp with sweat. She almost frowns and then the corners of her lips turn up and her eyes begin to water. This is the first wedding she has danced at in many, many years.
The last one was her daughter’s. Oh the girl was beautiful that day. She was so happy. It makes a mother happy to see her daughter happy. They had all danced and laughed. The marriage was good. The two of them still loved each other.
She thought longingly of her husband. He had been a good man too. It was rare though that a couple would live long together-so many diseases and accidents were visited on the people. Her people were better off than most. They at least washed on a regular basis. The Romans-they didn’t.
Ah anyway, she thinks and leans her back against the wall. It is still strange to feel the wall down the length of her back. It wasn’t so long ago that she was bent over, able only to look at her feet. The wall would have touched just her shoulder. The memory of the pain sent a shock through her. She sat up straight. Then, she smiled- a full smile this time.
Jesus! Thank God for Jesus. He saw her in the temple. He saw her bent over, miserable in pain, tired of looking at nasty toes. He saw her! He touched her and her back straightened and she looked HIM in the eyes. They said he said something to her but all she heard was the sound of heaven. Still, late at night she holds on to that little whisper of sound. Oh, to go there someday.
She can still feel where his hand touched her. Her heart jumps every time she thinks of it. Her heart jumps like a silly young girl in love but she knows it is so much more than silly young love.
She snorts a little under her breath and the smile fades. She bites into the pastry and lets the honey fill her mouth. She saw how they treated him. She saw them crucify him. They crucified her savior! She knows that he could have stopped it. She felt that rush of power and heard heaven. He could have stopped it. But he didn’t. She winces at the image in her mind.
As her back teeth grind into the pastry and the sweet honey flows from the layers she relaxes a little. They say he rose from the dead. His followers say they have seen him. They say they have eaten with him. This makes her happy. This makes sense. God could not be killed and she knows he was God. The wrinkles on her forehead spring up at that thought. He was man too. Another bite of the honey and she smiles again. It isn’t for her to understand.
All she has to understand is that because of him she can dance. The tambourines start up again. She rejoices in the strength of her legs and back. She licks the last bits of honey from her fingers and joins the dance.
In her heart, she knows he is alive. She knows that he saved her. She laughs with a heart as light as a child’s. She knows he will call her home when her time is done. Every footstep is a prayer of thanksgiving as she dances at her granddaughter’s wedding.