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Taylor’s Time

Glad to have you back!

Taylor’s back, and this time she’s got something a little bit different. I won’t spoil the surprise, but it’s a different perspective on a familiar story is all I’ll say.

The usual disclaimer: this is a work in progress, which means it’s not perfect and it’s still subject to revision. What you see here is not necessarily what you’re going to see when it’s all said and done!

In the meantime, here’s a little music she recommended for you:

Raising God


“They have no more wine.” I said, placing a hand on my son’s shoulder.

Yeshua broke away from conversation with His students, stood from His chair and took me aside.

“Dear woman,” He began with a chuckle. “What has this to do with me?”

I looked at Him, confused by His question. He placed a hand to my arm and exhaled as if He was indignant.

“My hour has not yet come.”

His voice was firm, but His manner was gentle as it always was with me. His patience was extraordinary, but His kindness was even more so. I was not about to let His true nature go unnoticed.

I moved away from Him, and walked briskly to two of the servants. Gesturing to Him, I said,

“Whatever He tells you, do it.”

Walking back to my seat, I half expected Yeshua to go back and sit with James and John. But when I arrived at my table, I saw that He remained exactly where I’d left Him, smiling warmly at me. He knew my faith in Him and He knew it well. He would do as I said despite His undying patience with the Lord. I smiled back at Him and nodded. At the sight of my nod, He beckoned the servants with a wave of His hand and spoke to them.

When He’d finished speaking and sent the servants away, my son walked not to His table, but to mine. Taking notice that I hadn’t yet seated myself, He pulled out my chair and waited until I sat down to push it in. He then sat in the empty chair beside me and we watched the servants fill six stone jars with water and take them to the master of the banquet.

Several moments later, the guests, including my son and I, were served fresh wine and everyone was joyful.

“The son of David is among us!” The Servants cried, pointing at our table. “He has turned this water into wine! He works miracles!”

All eyes were on Yeshua now; my beloved son. The people lifted their hands towards the stars above and cried out their thanks and praise to the Lord. My son’s eyes welled up with tears. I saw them in the light of the torches around us. I smiled. This is what He wanted. This made Him happy.

The wine lasted the entire night, much longer than anyone had expected. Some drank themselves drunk while others simply enjoyed the wine that Yeshua had given to them. Many of the departing guests stopped to lay their hands on Him and pat Him on the back. I beamed with pride at the sight of it.

The bride and groom came up to us even as we gathered our bundles to prepare for our journey to a nearby Inn. They thanked Yeshua. They kissed His hands. They praised me for raising such a gracious son.

“I did nothing,” I said, hugging my bundle close. “All of the praise goes to the Lord.”

And, they bid us farewell.

The stones that lead through the crooked streets of Cana were hard under our sandaled feet. A band of pipes played in the distance. The roofs of the Inns were alive with singing and laughter and torch light and cooking meat. There was no room for us.

Our kindred, who were also at the wedding, traveled with us; my niece and nephew and their children. The disciple John led an ass by a rope. On its back lay our blankets and bundles and swaddling clothes for the children and also my niece, Anne and her son, little Moses. We were all very tired, especially Yeshua.

Little Anne, my nephew’s youngest, fussed and cried as all little ones do when they are tired, but don’t want to sleep. I wanted to help soothe the child, but I was already holding onto her brother, little James, who was finally asleep. I lifted my eyes to the heavens and prayed that the Inn would not be too full or too expensive for us to take our ease. i was anxious to get to it. Though the rooms were small and full of hay that offered little comfort, we would all be warm and sheltered. We would have bread and baths for the children.

The night was cold and dry. We shivered under our robes. The wind blew hard, nearly tearing off the men’s head coverings and the women’s veils as we traveled on. The streets were bright with torch light and flooded with conversations that could be heard through the closed wooden gates of nearby courtyards.


“Turned water into wine!”


“Nothing is impossible with the Lord.”

Little Anne was thrashing now, frustrated by the cold and her tiredness. Her father was stressed and weary. I could see it in his heavy steps and hear it in his groans. Yeshua, who walked in front of us, slowed His gait to match my nephew’s.

“You look tired, Simon.” He said softly. “Let me take your child.”

Little Anne’s crying and thrashing continued. Simon grunted as he tried to keep her still.

“No, Yeshua,” Simon replied sternly. “I can’t let you do that!”

My son laughed softly.

“I want to. Please Simon, let me take her. You’re exhausted. I can see that. Put her in my arms.”

My nephew hesitated for several moments as if he were deep in thought. Finally, he gave his daughter to Yeshua. The child was soothed immediately.

“He has a way with the little ones.” Simon said as we started up a hill.

“He always has, my nephew.” I replied, smiling.

Little Anne was calm and quiet, her head rested against Yeshua’s shoulder. It was the safest place for her to be; in the arms of my son.

When we arrived at the Inn, my fears had come true. We were far too poor to stay. I felt I might cry. The ass and the children were growing tired and the men were becoming flustered and impatient and so were the women.

Where would we sleep?

What would we eat?

How would we shelter ourselves and the children?

We turned towards my son, who kept a gentle grip on little Anne.

“Rabbi,” John started, pulling the ass closer to him. “What do we do?”

Yeshua said nothing. Instead, He turned His head to a nearby grove of grass and trees. It sat on a hill just outside the town of Cana. He walked in its direction. We followed Him.

When we reached the top of the hill, Yeshua began to speak.

“Lay the little ones down on your mats and cover them with your blankets. Be sure they are warm and comfortable before you yourselves are warm and comfortable.”

We did as He instructed, retrieving our blankets from the back of the ass and our mats from our bundles. We lay them on the grass and lay the children on top of them. We tucked them in tightly to ensure their warmth.

“But rabbi,” James called from our crowd. “Where are we to sleep? The children have taken our mats and blankets. We now have no place to lay our heads.”

My son gave little Anne back to her father, who tucked her into his mat. He pointed to a nest of trees.

“James, help me gather wood for a fire.”

He looked to John.

“John, see to it that everyone is cared for until we return.”

Both men nodded and did as they were told. It was quiet here, except for the trickling of a stream, and the chirping of insects. I’d never known such quiet. John took the ass to the stream and let it drink before tying its rope to a tree. He gathered small stones from all around us and placed them into a circle for the wood to laid. He saw to it that everyone was calmed and comforted from their worries.

James arranged the wood. Yeshua started the fire. We sat around it. It was little, but it warmed us and the children. To my dismay, the grass was soft, not at all brittle and dry as I’d expected.

“What do we feed our children in the morning, Yeshua?” Anne asked. “We have no bread.”

My son said nothing as He warmed His hands by the fire. It occurred to me right then that He hadn’t provided any answers to our questions. He breathed into His hands, rubbed them together and looked around at all of us.

“Why are you so troubled?”

He placed His fingers to the grass beneath Him.

“Behold your mat.” He said.

He gestured to the fire.

“Behold your blanket.”

He stood and walked to a tree that bared fresh fruit. He gestured with His hand.

“Behold your bread.”

He walked to the stream.

“Behold your bath and your water.”

He pointed to the nest of trees ahead of Him.

“Behold your shelter.”

He laughed quietly as He sat back down.

“My brothers and sisters, do you not have eyes that can see all that our Father In Heaven provides for us?”

All fell silent.

He breathed into His hands, placed them near the fire, and continued speaking.

“It was a man who laid our streets. It was a man who built our wells. It is a man who bakes our bread. But, it was our Father who created our home in seven days. It is He who has given us the knowledge to light a fire so that we may keep warm. Truly I say to you, without our Father, we are nothing.”

And, with that, my son took His hands away from the fire, lay down on the grass and closed His eyes.

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