Ayala's King, Pt. 6

“No matter where I run, I’m never too far gone. Your grace surrounds me like the air I’m breathing. When I think I’ve lost it, I’ll hold on to Your promise: no height or depth could ever come between us.

When I run out of faith, it’s really just the beginning of Your grace.” 

~Leanna Crawford, “Beginning of Your Grace”  

Years had spun away, slowly transforming Ayala from a little girl into a woman.

Mary and Joseph never returned to Bethlehem. She thought about them often, wondering if they had returned to Galilee, and what Egypt had been like. Her own little life in Bethlehem suddenly felt dull in comparison, and day by day, she stopped putting in the effort to remember the night that had changed her life. 

How does one move on, when the hand of God begins to feel distant? For some, they run forward, pushing through the darkness and gloom, refusing to forget, and refusing to give in to doubt, until finally they fall face first down at the feet of Adonai. For others, they turn their backs on the grace they’d felt, and tell themselves it couldn’t possibly be as wonderful as they remember. They stop focusing on reality until the memories of the love, the warmth and the peace they’d experienced slowly begin to drain away. 

Ayala began to tell herself that she had imagined the Magi. Perhaps the shepherds’ visitation in the hours after Jesus had born and their stories of choirs of angels had been confused. Maybe her father had never believed Mary’s story at all. 

And maybe Mary and Joseph had fabricated the entire story of the Messiah and the Angel. 

Doubt often begins that way. And before we know it, it has taken root in our souls and ripped up the beliefs we hold so dear. 

By the time Ayala was betrothed to Rueben, a rich pottery merchant from Jerusalem, she had forgotten all about the still, holy night so long ago. She married Rueben, and went to Jerusalem no different than any other Jewish girl. 

But now, as she stood in the center of the crowd, her dress torn at the shoulder and her hair uncovered, shame coursed through her soul, and she felt like weeping. 

She remembered everything. 

And coupled with the crippling realization of who Jesus was was the very knowledge that he knew and saw the darkest of sins she’d committed. He hadn’t forgotten her, even when she’d forgotten him. And he bore the name of El Roi, the God who sees. 

Ayala’s father had always marveled at that name for Yahweh. That the Lord of Heaven and Earth stepped close to His people and saw them for who they were. 

But ice struck Ayala’s heart. El Roi. The God Who Sees. The God who saw, the God who knew every single thing. All the dark moments in her bedroom with Tobias. All the stolen kisses in the alleyway. All the empty, murderous thoughts she’d thought against Rueben. The man looking right at her knew it all. 

But he didn’t run away. 

“Rabbi.” Malachi pressed forward, still intent on the prey he’d come to capture. “Rabbi, please. What should we do with this woman? Should we stone her to death, as the law of Moses commands?” 

Arieh sniffed, making Ayala jump. “Or, should we merely imprison her? What would Moses have wanted?” 

Jesus was quiet for one long moment, his eyes never leaving Ayala’s face. The crowd held its breath, shuffling their feet nervously, waiting impatiently for the answer that would either aqquit Ayala or doom her to death. They cared nothing for her, only for the answer Jesus would give. They cared only about Jesus’ knowledge of the law, and if he would answer in a way that would allow them to condemn him. 

The word he’d scrawled on the ground lay starkly against the white marble. Ayala. 

He remembered her. 

“My answer is this.” Jesus’ gaze flickered to Malachi, his face impassive. “The law was built for the man, not man for the law. Let those of you without sin throw the first stone at Ayala.” 

An audible gasp came from the audience. 

Ayala’s knees buckled. Arieh reached for her, but she slid to the floor, bowing her head to the marble, right over the spot where her name was written. She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears hot against her lashes. 

Stunned by Jesus’ answer, Malachi turned slowly, and walked deliberately away from the crowd. Arieh hesitated, then hurried after his master. One by one, the crowd left the circle. 

“Ayala,” Jesus said, and his voice was filled with so much gentleness that it broke Ayala. A low sob escaped her. She pressed her hand to her mouth, but she choked on her tears. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” she gasped, unable to look up. “I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to remember. I wanted to believe.” 

Jesus reached out and lifted her chin up. “Dear heart. My love for you is not measured by how much you believe.” He smiled at her, his own eyes filling with tears. “You are forgiven. Now, go and sin no more.” 

His words tugged at Ayala’s heart. 

But she knew better than to suspect she could promise that. Even though he had abandoned her, she still longed for one last night with Tobias. One last kiss. She still couldn’t stand the sight of Rueben. And she still felt hopelessly lost and confused as to who exactly this man was, standing before her. 

“How?” she whispered brokenly. 

Jesus pushed her hair off her face gently. “Believe in my grace, Ayala. It will be hard. You will make mistakes. But have I not come to erase the record of your sins once and for all?” He smiled again, and Ayala realized it was Mary’s smile looking back at her. “I can’t explain it yet. But you’ll see, and understand soon. My mission is something that is much greater and bigger than just preaching in the synagogues. I’ve come to forgive you. I’ve come to bring you home.” 

Forgiveness of sins. Something only God could do. 

But after all, she had watched Jesus come into this world on the stable floor as God made low. 

“How could you want to forgive me?” she asked. 

The God who had formed Ayala in the womb, who had sung her life into existence and directed every step of her path took her hands in his. 

 Now go, and sin no more. 

It was a definitive command. 

One that Ayala would never be able to follow on her own.

But this man had watched her turn her back on him. He had waited patiently for her for years, and yet still was patiently waiting to forgive her. 

His grace was unfathomable. It surrounded Ayala, hovered over like the very breath in her lungs. 

He truly was El Roi, the God who sees, and yet he wanted her anyway. 

And perhaps, with his help, Ayala could follow the command he’d given. His forgiveness would bathe her heart and mind and renew her from the inside out. She took a deep breath. 

And then Ayala looked up into the face of her Savior. 

The End.