tetrahedron. “And now that Sarah contains her own light, it reflects the purity of our sacred union.” The gift from Belshazzar has returned to our glorious hues of silver and purple.
In Magdala, Martha gave birth to a big healthy boy—Micah—and after forty days of the required respite, sent our mother to Nazareth. Ima arrived with an entourage of servants and gifts for her granddaughter, most distraught to discover that Yeshua shared my bedchambers.
“Mary! The Torah is quite clear. Eighty days after the birth of a girl child! Your husband will not be able to visit the sanctuary without the rites of purification!”
Knowing Yeshua would rather be with me, I changed the subject. “How are Martha and her son?”
“They are well. Her figure has nearly returned while Micah grows fat. ” She held Sarah up to the light to make her appraisal. “Your daughter is beautiful, but thank Adonai, does not have skin as dark as yours.” I smiled at the barbed compliment, well accustomed to my mother’s tongue. “Mary, why do you not have a wet nurse? You are of royal blood. It is unseemly to put this child to your breast.”
“Ima, I take much delight in nursing Sarah, and my husband is fully supportive.”
“Hmm! Well, you shall see how delighted he will be when your breasts lose their beauty for the benefit of his child.”
“I do not believe that nursing my baby shall harm my body!” Determined, I set my intentions to maintain my feminine wiles in all their glory. Captivated by her granddaughter’s gurgles, Ima ceased her lecture and thankfully returned to Cana just before dusk.
My memory is interrupted by Sarah stirring in my lap. Sensitive to her every need, my still lovely breasts become heavy with sweet milk. A natural extension of my being, when she needs to relieve herself, I have taken to holding her over a small pot or, if outside, over the ground, so changing my soiled daughter has become a rare chore. Growing ever so quickly, already five-and-a-half months, I hope she does not walk too soon.
I want to walk, Ima! I want to see the world.
“Well, my sweet baby, until you are a bit taller, your vantage point will be no farther than my arms.” Smiling a toothless grin, milk oozes around sweet lips.
The hayye of the olive grove shifts. She pulls away, milk streaming all over, and reaches for Teoma. “Wait, Sarah, you are making a mess.” Kissing her milky cheeks, Teoma tosses her over his head. She laughs delighted, he is her favorite. I warn, “Dod Teo risks a dousing with curdled milk if he is not careful.”
I struggle to disentangle myself from the hammock, when Teoma, with Sarah in one arm, helps me to the ground. “I believe you are lighter than you were before you became pregnant.” I shrug, unconcerned. “Mary, you must make more of an effort to eat richer foods.” He lifts Sarah over his head onto his shoulders. “This little pumpkin seems to be drinking away your fat. I will bring more meat and cheese to fatten you up.”
“If you alert Joseph to my condition, he will want to bring in a wet nurse.”
Teoma smiles down at me with Sarah clinging to his short tight curls, gurgling and biting the top of his head. “Certainly a good wet nurse would be eating richer meals.” Grimacing, he tries to lift Sarah off, but she kicks and holds on tightly.
“Wait, let me help you.” As he bends forward, Sarah spits up her lunch onto his head. I take his arm and lead him to the fountain, where I wet a nursing cloth.
Although I stand on the edge of the fountain to better extract my daughter and Teoma tries to lean close, Sarah pulls back in a game of keep away. “Hold still, little one.” I reach over his head and grab her arms, pulling them closer. Extracting her chubby fingers from his hair wet with sour milk is difficult, but finally I hand her squirming down.
Silently, Teoma takes the baby as I attend to the mess, but his breath down my cleavage causes heat to rise in my loins. I step back, nearly falling off the narrow ledge. Teoma catches me. We are much too close. The spit up milk will have to wait.
“Abba! Abba!”
Sarah calls happily to a shock-still Yeshua. I cannot move. At least Teoma has enough presence of mind to lift me off the fountain and hand Sarah to her father. No one has spoken.
I retreat into Teoma’s solid form away from Yeshua’s anger.
Sarah corrects me, No, Ima, it is fear. I want to explain, but hold my tongue. Teoma nods a sad farewell.
Late in the evening, Yeshua returns to our chambers with an unwelcome announcement. I whirl around from combing my hair. “But why? What is in Judaea that Teoma must leave before the holidays?”
“It is what’s not in Judaea.”
Before passion controls my tongue, Sarah wakes up crying. I nurse her back to sleep and turn to my husband, but he lies as far on his side of the bed as he can get. Unable to sleep, I rise to walk in the garden. My baby will not wake again till after dawn.
In the olive grove Archangel Gavriel attends my meditation in full sensory form. Wings of light spanning the width of the tree, white aura luminescent with a golden edge, a face so beautiful he could be a young woman. He speaks in my mind with a bell-like voice. Before the night is through you will be escorted by the morning star to a very dark place. Be assured, dear Mary, that this is part of the divine orchestration to assist all with a clearing of fearful energy. In his embrace, I am at peace. He tells me to spend the rest of the night outside.
Wondering if I will be missed, but trusting the angel’s guidance, I slip through the thick flap of my beloved’s tent and crawl onto the soft cushioned bed. So comfortable after my meditation, no more worried thoughts to interfere with my sleep, I begin to doze, only vaguely aware of being watched. Why did I not notice before?
“Mary, I was praying that I would be able to speak to you before I left.” Teoma whispers from the other side of cushions.
I nod, hardly able to breathe, “I came out to the garden to meditate and was guided to lie here.” This is unbelievable! The Divine plays with fire.
“The angel sent you here? What does it mean?” Perhaps he has not had many prayers answered or maybe not so quickly.
“You were praying to be able to speak to me, so now we have some private time to talk.” He smiles, piercing blue eyes soft with longing. What if I can’t control my passion?
“That is not all I prayed for.”
I call out silently and Gavriel arrives. Follow your heart.
Teoma’s ruggedly handsome face has a day’s growth of beard. Although incredibly attracted, I love Yeshua and will do nothing to jeopardize our marriage.
“Teoma, I love and desire you,” he catches his breath as I take a long deep one, “but my destiny lies with Yeshua. I love him but it pains me to see you without your heart’s desire.”
“I cannot imagine loving anyone else, Mary. Yeshua asked me to be your protector, but how can I if he sends me away?”
“Why do you feel you must spend your life in service to Yeshua?” His devotion is more than his desire to stay in my presence,
“Because,
