Little Bird

I read this last night in my writer's group. I loved the story from the minute I wrote it. My friends I've shown it to have all loved it. And my group loved it so much they want to help me publish it to a children's Christian book. :)

*confidence boost*

Written July 19-21, 2013

Writing prompt #33 from christiancreativewriting.com

"A bird is sitting on the wall as Jesus walks by carrying his cross. What does the bird see, hear, smell, feel, think?"

I fly fly fly fly fly. I have flown as far as my wings can carry me and I am thirsty but I have finally reached Jerusalem. The great YHVH above told me to come here today. He told all of us. He said His son would die today. I came because Jesus had not yet visited my city. I want to see him; not just hear the stories about Him. If my King is to die today, it must be a great battle. I came to see a miracle.

I flap flap flap, but I am tired and I must glide. I see shade near the bath in the public square. When water has covered my feathers and I have drank until my belly is full, I realize which square I have arrived in. I am closest to the jail. The people around me shout Jesus' name and I begin to chirp with glee, "He is here! The Messiah is here!"

I tuck myself under an awning and look for His face. I see a man on his hands and knees. He is bloodied and bruised. There are thorns shoved on his head. A man twice his size, in weight and in muscle, is whipping him with leather and bones. The air reeks of both men's sweat. Jesus can't be here yet. This poor man is being abused. The crowd must be calling for Jesus to rescue him.

I listen closer to the human words. Their language is so much harder to understand than bird. Between the shouts of His name, I begin to understand, "Beat him!", "Harder" and, "Crucify!" When someone shouts, "King of the Jews!" The crowd laughs and a child spits in his face! This poor man is Jesus! I smell something new underneath the stench of sweat. Jesus is crying.

I fly.

I forget how tired I am. I circle the court from above.

I shout to the soldier beating him, "Stop! You barbarian! This man is the Son of God! He loves you and look what you do to Him!"

I shout to the crowd, "Stop! Why don't you understand that He is the Messiah!?"

I perch on Pontius Pilate's balcony. I shout in his window, "Make them stop! Please! I beg you!"

I realize the humans do not understand my language. All they hear are gentle tweet tweet tweets.

I fly.

There is one hill that is higher than the rest. It looks over Jerusalem. It even looks over Golgotha, where two men are being led to be crucified later. I land with a skid and my body remains down. I do not bother sitting up. If an animal were to find me, I would look dead. It is then I shout to God, "Why?! Why are you letting this happen to Your Son? Can't You stop them? I thought You were all-powerful," I shut my eyes and sleep.

"Tzipporah," someone sings my name, the same way my mother used to wake me when I was a chick. But the voice is not my mother's, it is the voice that came in my dream. It is Adonai-Tsaddik: my righteous Lord.

The sun is so much brighter when He is here. My eyes adjust and we are flying; Elohim and I.

When the cats were told to go to Jerusalem, they saw a lion. When the dogs were told to go, they saw a wolf. When the insects were told to march across the desert, they saw a tarantula. Every animal in all the tribes of Israel were approached in their dreams by a creature they respected. Maybe that is why the humans don't listen to Him anymore.

To me, and all the other birds, He comes as an eagle - Majestic and enormous.

"You asked if I'm all powerful!"

I look away. I do not want to admit to my God that I doubted Him.

"I have the power to stop the sun from rising and setting. I have the power to change the direction in which it travels. But I choose not to do these things."

"If You have the power, then can't You stop them from killing Jesus? Or do You choose not to do that either?"

"I have the power to end His pain and change the minds of Pilate and all the people in the crowd. It's not that I choose to let it happen, but I must let it happen." He blinked and tears dripped from His eagle eyes.

"I do not understand, my Lord."

"Look down."

It is then I notice we are flying above endless water. We have been my whole dream.

"This is the sea," He says to me.

Before I can tell Him how beautiful I think the sea is, an image appears in the water. The images tell a story as He speaks.

"For thousands of years, my people have killed sheep to pay for their sins. Jesus came to the Earth for the purpose of being the last sacrifice for sin. Never again will a sheep shed its blood for a man. Right now, He is paying for the sins of all men, not just the ones alive now, but also all the men born in the future. If I stop this, I cannot have a relationship with my people anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I hang my head in despair.

"Do not be sad, Little Bird. You will receive the miracle you were looking for." I look back at the water and see Jesus. He is no longer bloodied and bruised. The only proof of this being a future image is the scars, empty holes, on His hands and feet that were not there in the square. Are those from His crucifixion? I have never witnessed one before. The image of future Jesus holds out His hand and I perch there!

I cannot hold back my excitement and I fly circles around my Lord. He, too, spins and we are dancing in the wind until I wake up.

It is raining. Nearly storming. Lightning flashes nearby and I count the moments until thunder bombards my ears.

But I am not wet. I am nestled under a bush. There are three berries and seven seeds neatly on the ground beside me. The berries are ripe and so sweet. My God has taken care of the birds, as He is taking care of His people now.

It is difficult to fly in the rain, so I hop to the edge of the hill and look to Golgotha. Jesus has already been hung. He is already dead. I missed it. I came all this way and I missed it.

I hear a woman wailing. I am getting better at understanding the humans. She cries out, "No, my son, come back to me!"

She is dead weight on the ground save for her arms, which are clinging to the base of Jesus' cross.

The two men from before are also hanging. They are also dead. But no one wails beside their crosses. They have signs above their heads. I want to know who they are. What did they do to deserve such a death? They are not dying for the sins of man. I flutter to the cross on His left and perch on the very top. I learned to read when I would sit in the temple window and read the Torah from behind the rabbi. The sign below me reads "thief" in three languages. A thief? Just a thief and he was sent here to die the worst of deaths?

I flutter to the other man's cross. His sign also reads "thief" in three languages. I am so angry.

I do not dare flutter to Jesus' cross. I am not worthy. That and someone might throw a rock at me. His sign says, "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews" in three languages. Why was he killed under that reasoning? Being the King of the Jews is a good thing!

Just as my thought finishes, a soldier below me says, "With this king gone, no one can challenge Caesar and the Roman Empire will be more prosperous than ever!"

The soldier next to him holds up his canteen, "Yiamas!"

Despicable. I could toss my berries over their cheers.

I wait.

Several hours go by before Mary is pulled from her resting place. She continues to cling and her fingernails are now bleeding. The disciples walk her back to the city as the soldiers take the three men down. The two men are quickly wrapped and thrown in shallow graves. No markers for their place in the ground. Jesus is taken on a length of board to the other side of the hill, where the tombs are.

I follow.

A rabbi gently wraps him and says a prayer. He pours fragrant oil over Him and says another prayer. He leaves silently.

Two guards stand outside the tomb and roll a stone in front of it. Jesus is sealed in.

When the rabbi sees that the guards are not leaving, he says, "What are you doing here?"

"We will guard the door so that no grave robbers may steal the body."

"Thank you." as the rabbi walks away, he can no longer hold back his tears.

My God said I will receive my miracle. I see the image of me perching on the Son's pierced hand.

I will wait.

~end~