…and many believed in the Lord. Acts 9:42b
Abigail remained seated on the grassy knoll overlooking the river. Chloe stood on the bank talking with Tabitha and some of the other widows. They were all smiling and talking at once, using animated gestures. She could not hear their words, but guessed they were planning another opportunity for Peter to speak and for Tabitha to share her story. What did Chloe call it? She scrunched her brow trying to remember. A testimony of something…something or was it the other way around: something…something testimony? She was always so bad about details. She pulled her knees up to her chest and smiled. It did not matter. Not now.
“She lives.” Abigail whispered the words over and over as she watched one person after another kneel in prayer on the riverbank and then step into the water.
Judah, Peter the Apostle, and some other men she did not know spoke intimately with each person, immersed them in the water, and then pulled them out again. She could not remember what this was called either, but she wanted to know.
This whole thing truly was a miracle! There was no other name for it. There was no other explanation. A dozen witnesses, including Chloe and Judah, swore before the swelling crowd that indeed Tabitha was dead, but now she lives. A few people threw themselves at Peter’s feet and tried to worship the apostle, but they were quickly pulled to their feet while Peter proclaimed with a loud voice that Tabitha lived because of Jesus the Christ, the Living Messiah.
Abigail asked the open air, “Can all our religious leaders be wrong?”
“Yes, they can.” Elias sat down next to her.
The stunned girl murmured, “It is you.”
“Yes.” He smiled broadly. “It is me.”
As if for the first time, Abigail looked deeply into his face. His eyes twinkled with a bright radiance she had not noticed before. Or had she? And his smile was sincere and generous. The richness of his laughter from the Sabbath meal filled her thoughts. Goose bumps suddenly appeared on her arms and she shivered involuntarily. Without a word, Elias jumped up and removed his cloak and then placed it around her. His strong hands lingered for just a moment on her shoulders. The goose bumps doubled in number, but she willed herself to remain composed.
She thought she should say something, but nothing even remotely coherent formed in her mind. All that came out was a barely audible, “Thank you.”
“What?” Elias turned to her. “Did you say something?”
“Oh…uh…” Abigail pulled his cloak in tighter to her goose bump-filled body. “I just said, ‘Thank you.’”
“Ah…well…you are welcome.” A trace of disappointment edged his words, but his addictive smile never wavered.
A well of regret threatened to burst within her. Regret for all the rude remarks and cold shoulders she had hurled at this man…and at Judah…and even at Chloe, her closet friend. She was not always this way, was she? It was all this Jesus nonsense that made her so…so intolerant, just like her father. She gasped!
“What is it, Abigail?” Elias’ smile vanished and concern etched over his face. “Are you ill? I can take you home.”
“I…I need…” She shook her head. “How can I become one of you?












