Ayala's King: Pt. 5

Ayala huddled under a thin blanket, squeezing her eyes shut and doing her best not to eavesdrop. She had been allowed to spend the night with Mary and Joseph on the condition that she behaved herself, and she knew that her mother would never allow such a special event again if she knew that Ayala had intruded on her cousin’s privacy. 

It was hard, however, when her only separation from the conversation in the kitchen was a small cloth, hung from the rafters for her privacy. Unlike the house she’d grown up in, Joseph had only been able to afford a one room home for his family in Bethlehem. 

It had been almost one year since Jesus’ birth on the stable floor. Every month, Mary and Joseph talked about returning to Nazareth, but Joseph had found work in Bethlehem, and Ayala had pleaded with them to stay. She couldn’t bear it if they tore her beloved baby cousin away from her just yet. 

She was just about to shove her fingers in her ears when she heard Mary’s breath catch, and then the unmistakable sound of a sob. Her eyes snapped open. Mary never cried. 

Through the cloth, she could see the shadows of the two of them. Joseph had his arms wrapped around Mary as he tried to comfort her. “Shh. It’ll be alright.” 

“I don’t understand how I’m supposed to be able to do this,” Mary said. Her voice came out breathily as she fought to keep her tears at bay. “Myrrh? Joseph, that’s a burial spice.” 

Ayala clapped her hand over her mouth before she could betray the fact that she wasn’t asleep. 

It had been an unusual day. The family had been visited by three men from the east. They wore clothes embroidered with gold, spoke Aramaic poorly, and honored Jesus as a king. They said they had followed his star, and left him three gifts. A box of gold, a box of frankincense, and a box of myrrh. 

Now she realized why Mary had been unable to thank them properly for their generosity. 

“I know,” Joseph soothed. “But we don’t have to think about it right now. He’s a baby.” 

“He was pierced because of our rebellion, crushed for our iniquities,” Mary quoted, her voice sharp. “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth, like a lamb led for slaughter!” 

Joseph was silent. Mary’s words hung in the room, thick and heavy. Isaiah had been writing about the little boy sleeping across the room from Ayala. He had prophesied his death.

“After his anguish, he will see light and be satisfied,” Joseph said at last. “The story doesn’t end there. He will be glorified as the Holy and Righteous Messiah.” 

“But until then?” Mary asked. “How can I watch them murder my baby boy?” 

The candle flickered. Joseph sighed, letting go of his wife. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know that Adonai’s purpose included us for a reason. He’s given us the strength to move forward so far, and I trust He’ll continue to do so in the future.” 

Mary answered in a low voice, but Ayala didn’t hear her reply. She lay there silently, watching as Joseph blew out the lamp and led Mary to bed. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she realized what Mary must have known all along. That Isaiah’s words were about Jesus. That someday, he would be beaten and reviled, and his blood spilled for the sake of the people. 

But how would the death of one man rescue and redeem the entire world? 

Ayala couldn’t understand it. She turned her face into her pillow and wept silently. 

☙❧

“Ayala!” 

Ayala startled out of sleep, her eyes struggling to come back into focus. Dimly, she realized that Joseph was shaking her awake, his voice urgently trying to get her attention. She pushed herself upright and rubbed at her face. “What is it?” 

“The angel returned.” Joseph words were simple, but they immediately snapped Ayala into reality. She clutched at her pillow, noticing that the curtain that divided the kitchen had fallen. Mary stood in the shadows, her veil falling over her shoulders. She was holding the sleeping baby Jesus. “Ayala– Mary and I need to leave. The men who were here earlier? King Herod has his eyes on them. He plans to learn where Jesus is from them and send his men to kill him.” 

Ayala stared. “What? No…. why would King Herod do that?” 

Joseph dragged a hand down his face tiredly. “I don’t know. He’s a jealous, wicked man who’s a blight on her people.” He reached out and took Ayala’s hand. “But the angel was clear. We need to leave now.” 

“Now?” Ayala echoed. The world seemed to swirl around her. 

“I’m sorry,” Joseph whispered. He got to his feet heavily. “I can’t disobey Him.” 

Tears gathered in Ayala’s eyes. This was what she’d always been afraid of. That someday, Jesus would be snatched from her. That his life would become unattached from hers. 

Who would she be, without the connection to the Messiah? Just a girl from Bethlehem. Nothing special. Nothing to recommend her. A child. 

“Ayala,” Mary said quietly, and Ayala got up and ran to her. She buried her face in Mary’s skirt and tried to rub her wet nose all over the fabric. 

“I’m going to miss him so much,” she whimpered. 

“Oh love.” Mary’s voice caught, and she had to pause before she said, “We are going to miss you so very much.” 

Jesus sighed in his sleep, and Ayala reached up to touch his little foot. “Where will you go?” 

“Egypt,” Joseph answered. He moved to the door and put his hand on the latch. “Don’t cry, kitten. You’ll see him again.” 

Egypt could not be farther away. 

Didn’t her father always talk about how their people had been freed from such a wretched place? And now the very light of the Israelites would march back into its darkness. 

“How do you know?” Ayala asked, and this time she let her tears fall freely. 

Mary knelt down, being careful to do her best not to disturb Jesus. “Ayala, our God is constantly finding his way back to his people. He doesn’t abandon us at the slightest hardship. And neither will his son.” 

“Mary.” Joseph gestured towards her urgently. “We’re ready. We have to go.” 

Mary pressed a kiss on Ayala’s forehead. “Adonai bless and keep you, my sweet girl,” she murmured, straightening up and hurrying to Joseph’s side. 

Ayala sank to her knees. Joseph said something to her, but she couldn’t make it out. 

The King of the World. 

That was what her father had called Jesus on the day of his birth. 

But how could he be a king in exile? 

Ayala pressed her hands to her chest, certain that her heart was breaking. The door creaked, a gust of wind swallowed her, and she was left alone.