My favorite herb Now it’s resting in my windowsill while I’m waiting for it to shot some new leafs… (or what to call it!) Hurry up, will you
My mom and dad are visiting for a short while, so it’ll mean slow posting here at Lime another few days, I guess.
I have a few photos from the weekend I want to get online, so I might make another post with them when I get around to it (tomorrow). We went to visit MT’s friend E Friday afternoon, then to a birthday party for out favorite twin girls on Saturday and today service out of church (but sadly, due to weather, inside the old school house, up in the valley above us).
It’s been a good weekend! I only have to catch some sleep before I show you – MT’s been up bright and early all week – I’m sleepy
He sat there, by the road. Begging, like he used to. When they got there, they pulled him up off the ground, wanted to bring him with them. He did know them, knew that he could trust them. But what did they want now? And what’s the rush?
He couldn’t ask, and even if, he couldn’t hear the answer. He was born that way; deaf and mute. He couldn’t take part in so many things. He hadn’t learned how to read or write. Usually he just sat there by the road, all day, begging for money. The only way he knew that could bring food to the table.
After a little while they stopped. There was another man there too. He had kind eyes. They started talking with him, and he knew they were talking about him when they pointed back at him several times. What was it this time? How he whished he could take part in the conversation, hearing them.
The man turned toward him. Gave him a kind look and then he took him away from the crowed of people. It was only them now. The man moisten his tongue with his spit, he put a finger into his ear. Then he looked up against the sky.
He wasn’t afraid, only excited. What would happen? Could this be the day he had dreamt of for so long? He just knew the man did want to help him. He knew because the man spoke his language. The only language he understood. The language of actions, not words.
“Ephphatha”, – the man said.
And he heard it. He really did, it was true. The very first word of his whole life; he had heard it now. He smiled. Then he tried to use his tongue to mimic the word. Ephphatha.
It worked, his tongue worked. His smile became broader. He turned to the man. Tried to say thanks, but didn’t quite know how. But he saw the man knew what he was trying to say, he smiled too. Then he ran toward his friends. At last he should hear them talk, hear their voices. Take part. Learn to speak like every one else. He could barely wait. It was the best day of his life, a bright new beginning.
His friends could tell him who the man was.
The source for my story is here
I first worte this in 2005, now we are back on the same Sunday (in Norway), so here it goes again!