Have you read Mark's book yet? Did you see the story about the time Jesus healed my daughter? I know it was some years ago, but I'll never forget the day.
    You see, Jesus came to the inn where I worked. I heard everyone talking about him.
    "That's the man who has been healing people down in Galilee."
    He came with some other men, all Jews. There must have been a dozen. It made some folks nervous to see such a large group of foreigners in our inn at one time, but what was really unusual was that Jews would stay at our inn at all. They usually won't have anything to do with us non-Jews.
    In the kitchen they were saying he had come secretly, that he didn't want people to know he was in town, but of course everyone in the inn and courtyard knew it soon enough. The serving girls remarked that he was unusually courteous to them. I listened to their chatter, but when I heard one mention that he cast out demons, I peeked out into the dining room to look at him, because that really roused my curiosity.
    You see, my daughter was about four years old then, and a demon plagued her. It made her life wretched. When she was well, she was the dearest, brightest, happiest little thing. She made us all laugh. She gave our home joy. But when the demon seized her . . . Sorry, it's hard to talk about it to this day.
    I looked into the room and saw men sitting around the tables, mostly at one end of the room. Keeping to themselves, of course. One or two talked a bit to other folks, but cautiously. They seemed squeamish, as if they were worried we would soil them. One man sat quietly in a corner. Seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. I studied him and decided he was Jesus. He looked like any other man, but also different. I think it was his eyes. They reminded me of my daughter's eyes after the demon has left her - as if she has seen things she cannot understand and cannot tell.
    He looked weary, too. I thought I'd make him something
    special. A nice hot drink, so he'd sleep well. Goat's milk with a spoonful of honey.
    The drink was almost ready and I was heating a pitcher to keep it warm, planning to send it out to him by one of the maids, when my son came flying in at the back door. He was breathless and stammering, and the minute I saw him, I knew why he had come.
    "Mamma, Sissy's doing it again. Come quick. Aba says hurry."
    I tore off my apron, threw it at the hook on the wall, and was almost out the door when it suddenly hit me.
    The stranger! He heals! He casts out spirits!
    I turned back, straightened my robe and ran fingers through my hair to make it more orderly. I poured the hot milk into the pitcher, picked up a mug, and started into the dining room.
    "Mamma," my son almost shrieked, and I could see Jonah, the innkeeper grow red.
    "Hush, son," I said. "This time it will be different. Go home and tell Aba I'm coming."
    I walked into the dining room and headed straight for that corner table.
    Jesus was talking to two of his friends, so I set the pitcher and mug down in front of him and waited politely a moment for him to finish his sentence. He'd been reminding them of some past event:
    " . . . when there was a famine, and Elijah stayed with a widow in a place called Zarephath. You remember the story? How God kept her jar of meal and her cruet of oil from becoming empty until after the rains came? I wonder where Zarephath is."
    He looked up at me then to ask, "Isn't Zarephath near here somewhere?"
    "Yes, sir, north of here about sixteen or seventeen miles. Near Sidon. Sir, my daughter is in the grip of a demon. I know you can heal her. I beg of you to do so."
    His reaction was predictable. He was, after all, an arrogant Jew. He just turned back to his conversation and ignored my request.
    "What's your point?" one of his friends asked him. "About the widow and Elijah."
    "God kept that widow all through the famine, and when her son died, brought the child back to life through Elijah's . . . "
    "And you can heal my daughter," I interrupted. "I know you can. She's severely possessed this very moment. Have pity!"
    "Go away, woman," said one of his friends. Another almost shoved me. Another one told Jesus to get rid of me.
    "No, listen. You can heal her. If you could see her, you'd want to."
    "Send her away."
    "Lord, help me." I dropped to my knees. Imagine me, a Syrian, kneeling before a barbarian, a Jew.
    "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel," he said.
    "If you could see her, you'd want to help her. She's as beautiful a child as God ever made."
    "It's not fair to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs."
    O, what a horrid thing to say! Just like a Jew. I suppose he expected his rude remark to make me angry enough to leave, but I swallowed my pride.
    "Was the widow of Zarephath a Jew or a dog?" Woops, I caught myself. Be humble. Don't make him angry. "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master's table."
    An amazing change came over him. You could see two thoughts play back and forth across his face struggling to get his attention: bewilderment and amusement. Then that look that comes when truth wins, and he burst out laughing.
    "Oh, woman! What faith!" He paused a long moment, then, "It is done. The demon has left your daughter."
    Oh, I was relieved, for I knew he spoke the truth. I took up the pitcher and filled his mug.
    "Drink," I told him. "This will make you sleep well tonight," and I left the room and hurried home.
    My daughter was fine when I got there. She has never had a seizure since that day.
    The men left town the next day. I don't know whether or not they went to Zarephath to see where Elijah worked his miracle, for I heard no more of him until some years later when men and women came preaching about his death and resurrection, and I knew it was this same Jesus.
    But I knew from the moment that he laughed who he was. Someone sent from God.

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