Day Twenty-Eight
One morning, Jesus noticed a blush of green on the pool banks and knew the grasses had begun. It was all he could do to keep from stuffing the green into his mouth. Just a taste. Just a little something to calm his brain and soothe his stomach. He turned away.
In his mind's eye was a garden. A lovely, fresh garden, cool with afternoon breezes and shady trees. It was a refuge, a place of joy and meeting with God. Until the day evil entered it.
Jesus surveyed his little wilderness garden. He was weak, and getting weaker still. Soon, the enemy would close in around him and try to make this another Eden. The scene of another Fall.
"My Father," he croaked, "make me strong, for their sakes. For the sakes of those to whom you send me. Bless them where they are right now, Father."
Behind his eyes there came pictures of men. There were thirteen of them, and many more beside, but these were the foundation stones. These were the boulders which would protect the pools. Each one danced before his eyes. A man in a boat. A man collecting coins. A boy. A man sitting under a fig tree. And one hanging by his neck from Despair's finger. They were all there, before his mind's eye. And he loved them.
Days Twenty-Nine through Thirty-Eight
Jesus lay quietly in the shade of the boulder. At his side Activism screamed. Jesus ignored him. Above the rock, the air shimmered with ever-changing light as scorching days became freezing nights and clear mornings. When he woke, he chanted the Psalms and spoke to his Father, listening intently to the still, insistent voice in his Spirit. Activism hated it. Twice a day, Jesus rose, steadying his palsied limbs against the boulder and moved slowly to the water. He drank sparingly, in spite of his body's desperate plea for indulgence.
Always, they were in his Spirit. Faces, voices. The people he would meet, those to whom he would minister. The one who would betray him. Sometimes the mere anticipation of the weight of their pain made him tremble and groan, but each time he set his face resolutely toward Jerusalem.
"I will do your will, Father. Help me do your will." He redoubled his grip on the sanity which his dying body threatened to drive away.
On the Thirty-Ninth day, Jesus could no longer walk. He was propped against the boulder when the water in the second pool overflowed and ran out into the desert.