Dream Spinner
....CHAPTER ONE

I rent a small room from Hiram the potter for a small monthly pittance. I know it is mostly through the goodness of his heart, but since he would have no-one know he is in possession of such a thing, I always protest his mean-spiritedness each time I pay him his rent. Petty quarreling somehow seems to satisfy the both of us. I have made my living, such as it is, on Hiram's corner of the market square since the death of my husband nearly five years ago. I recall the old tales that have been handed down for generations around the campfires of my ancestors for as long as tales have been told. Part of the history is about the old gods, whom, it seems to me are pretty much the same from race to race. Only the gods names have been changed from region to region. I can see no logical excuse for these beings. They are all greedy, self-serving; seem to care only for themselves. Yet they are worshiped and appeased daily. If I could design a God, it would be one on the order of the Hebrew God. He seems to be the only one who cares for His people; but I would have one who cares for all mankind. Since no such deity exists, I see no reason for such beings. This city, being on a major camel route, draws men of varying nationalities. I, therefore have the chance to learn habits and customs that I would not have learned elsewhere. I am amazed at the varieties and yet the sameness of mankind. Some trade-goods are brought by ships which hug the coast from the Red Sea to Cush. The prevailing winds dictate the seasons when departure and return journeys take place. From the ships, goods are loaded upon camels who take them inland. A camel train can stretch for miles, as far as the eye can see. It is an ever moving, ever changing city with a population that constantly ebbs and flows. At each major market place, some disembark, deliver consignments to local merchants, set up booths and sell to the locals and those coming in to outlying villages to buy their wares. Others join the part of the train that is still in transit to deliver wares and carry consignments to lands farther off. Always they bring with them a sense of excitement and wonder. Just wandering from booth to booth is an education. From Africa: slaves, ivory, ostrich eggs, feathers, monkeys sold for pet trade. From the desert kingdoms: copper, and precious gemstones, cassias, sweet woods, spices, ivory tusks, precious metals, cosmetics, eye-paints, leopard and lion skins, domesticated animals, livestock, grains, fruits, papyrus rolls. The information and stories from the vendors set my mind and imagination awhirl.
Fabrics. Oh, how I love the fabrics. Tables piled high with fabrics of every texture and every hue. The silks from the Far East, so cool, so smooth to the touch; spun from the cocoon of a worm; cottons, hand-spun; light, airy, silky thin, woven and embroidered with metal threads in beautiful designs and patterns into garments fit for royalty. Egyptian cottons spun into cloths of every width and color; dyed from various plants and insects. From the deserts, one of the vendors tells me, comes the beautiful scarlet color worn by the wealthy. A worm, he tells me, lays her eggs on the trunk of a tree, attaches her body permanently to the tree over the eggs of her young to protect them. As she dies, her body fluids stain the wood beneath her scarlet. From this comes the dye for royal robes.
CHAPTER TWO
As I wander through the market place, I find myself asking questions of vendors: the places they've been, the things they've seen, customs and beliefs of the people who live there? And I touch, smell; and where I can, I taste. Irritating little habit, that's what Hiram's always telling me; touchy, feely, constantly; Can't keep your hands off anything. Had him screaming constantly when I first moved into the rental room. In the mornings before I went to my corner of the square, I liked to wander through the potters shop, looking, touching, and picking up his wares. "Everything you break gets added to your rent; and your incessant questionings. I ought to add my doctor's bill for headaches. This color, this pattern, how? why? This shape, the idea for this design. Doesn't your tongue ever tire out?" I reach out my hand to his shoulder to gain his attention for another question. "Take your hands off me, woman. I have a reputation to uphold in this town. I can't have your touchy, feely habit extending to me." "Why, you conceited old....", I stop as I hear laughter from a corner of the shop, an early customer with a rotten sense of humor. I glare at Hiram as I stalk out of his shop and off to work.
CHAPTER THREE
A Phoenician, extolling the deeds and greatness of Dagon, who is the same as the Greek god, Zeus, male counterpart of Astarte, both of whom were upperpart, human form, lower part fish; is brought up short by a small, robust Hebrew. "Let me clue you in on Dagon from my peoples viewpoint; a few examples, if you please. We serve the one God, Yahwe, creator of all that was, is, or ever shall be. Because of just a half-way commitment to Yahweh, one of our national heroes, Samson, was taken prisoner by the Philistines, blinded and made to grind corn like an ox. The lord's of the Philistines held a great festival for their god, Dagon, to thank him for delivering their greatest enemy, Samson, into their hands. They paraded Samson out before the people to be made sport of. They never once reckoned with Samson being a child of the One God or that he would turn to God in this situation. God gave Samson the answer he wanted and Samson took hold of the pillar of Dagon's temple. Some entertainment. Samson brought the house down.
In a battle with the Philistines which we lost because our God was displeased with us, they made the mistake of taking the ark of our God and setting it in Dagons temple in Ashdod. They set the ark before Dagon.The next morning, Dagon was found fallen on his face. So they set him back up before the ark. This time they found him beheaded with both palms of his hands cut off. Then was the hand of the Lord heavy against Ashdod and He smote them with tumors even unto Ashdods borders. Ashdod sent the ark away to Gath where God's hand was very heavy against Gath, and He smote the men, both small and great with tumors. In desperation the men of Gath sent the ark to Ekron. From Ekron the ark was sent back to the land of Israel after the Philistines had sacrificed unto the God of bIsrael and offered unto Him gifts of golden tumors and mice.
The story of Jonah is well known. The people of Ninevah were known for their idolatrous heathen ways. Jonah was well aware of this. He truly felt if any people needed God's hand to be heavy against them, it was this people. Imagine his feelings when God told him to go to Nineveh and tell the people to repent. "Hah! Not I, Lord. Anything they get is to good for them. I've got better ways to spend my time." When God was insistent? Jonah solved the problem, he thought, by running away. "These crazy, immoral, fish-worshiping people? They don't even believe in eating fish because of worshiping Dagon and they live on the seacoast." So he hopped a ship going in an opposite direction from Nineveh. God prepared a great fish and a storm; so much for Dagon, god of the sea. Jonah was tossed overboard from the ship he was on because the men were afraid they would drown because of him. Gives me the idea that trying to handle even God's disobedient child whom God has His hand upon is more than a demonic spirit can handle. The fish got sick to his stomach and vomited Jonah up on dry land. From out of the sea like the Ninevites believed Dagon came, came the representative of the One God. Short and sweet and to the point the message he gave them. Repent or else. Then he went outside the city and sat and waited for the city's destruction.To his dismay, the heathens repented. Jonah's ungodly behavior aside, I know you see as well as I, that Dagon, or any false god, cannot stand up to the one true God." A battle of words ensued from believers of the many gods worshiped by the people of the market place. It surprised me how knowledgeable the Hebrew was about his God and what he called the idols of the heathen. How can man make a god with his own hands of wood, clay, or metel, and that god be more than the man who made it? Easy, I thought. He couldn't. Therefore, no god.
CHAPTER FOUR
I'm sitting one morning spinning tales for a group of people. The town is swollen once more with new inhabitants from a recent camel train's arrival. My eyes make contact with those of a young boy of about ten summers. The eyes are wise, old beyond their years, yet with a contentment and acceptance of all life has to offer. When he stands to leave, I see he slowly drags one leg behind him. He returns almost daily. His family arrived with the latest camel train. He tells me he was born in transit. The camel trains are all he can remember. They are home to him. He also tells me he knows he is a liability to his family. All his brothers and sisters have daily jobs to do. He is slow and awkward. Eventually they will have to leave him behind. His mind is quick, inquisitive, readily absorbs information around him. He's from one table to the next, looking, asking questions. I have found a soulmate. His hands are never idle; String, yarn, rope, clay, anything his fingers can manipulate, he sticks in them. I am amazed at the things he can create with these materials. With a stick, he draws figures in the sand. With a mere stroke they seem to come alive, take on a life of their own. From his robe, he takes colored powders, sprinkles them on the sand and colors the figures he has drawn. "Your parents, Ahmad, do they know you can do these things? "There is not much I can do to help them. When I have done all I can, they leave me to my own devices."
CHAPTER FIVE
I am smitten with love for a ten year old. A motherly instinct I never knew I had has risen fiercely within me. I keep seeing in my minds eye a dark, curly haired boy in danger of abandonment from all he holds dear. I'm sitting out on the rooftop in the cool of the evening, tears running down my face. "Oh, for the love of..., What meaningless little statement am I being chastised for this time? Here, take this linen. Mop that water off your face. I come up here to relax from the heat and here you are, trying to make me feel guilty for I know not what. Well, it isn't going to work. I refuse to accept it." This time I'm beyond being aggravated by Hiram's words, almost beyond realizing that he's wiping the tears off my face. I sob out the story of Ahmad, his plight, how talented he is, and how no-one realizes the potential this child has; how creative, how knowledgeable. He's gifted in the arts beyond his years. He knows herbs and their uses, both as dyes and medicines. Surely someone should recognize his worth in spite of his handicap. He could sure spruce up the outsides of these shops, create new designs and colors on pottery, even new designs and colors on the weavers fabrics. "Goodness, didn't realize you could be so unenthusiastic about things. Are the waterworks over?" I guess they were. This time I managed to glare at him.
CHAPTER SIX
Warm, dry afternoon; the day has been slow and lazy. I see Ahmad coming towards me, a strange look on his face. "My parents sold me." My heart nearly stops beating.
My breathing goes shallow, my head spins". "Hey, it's alright. Hiram bought me." Alright.?Hiram? Bought him? Made him a slave? Furious. I'm so furious. How could he? A low, mischievous smile crosses Ahmad's face. "And then he handed me my manumission papers. Had them prepared before he bought me. Said he wanted no-one with prier claim on me when we went to court for him to adopt me, which we then did. I am now Hiram's the potters son." He gleefully waved papers in front of my face and showed me a fancy ring with Hiram's seal. "There is more he has promised me but I'll let him settle with you for that." Let Hiram settle with me for that, some proposal. "The child needs a mother. Said that no-one else but you would do for his total happiness. Since we both want that for him, guess I have no choice. I'll just have to make the sacrifice." Thought about really screaming at him, but realized that I'd have a lifetime to glare at him if I really felt like it. So I told him, sacrifice it would be, but I was willing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Another warm day. A ship has docked in the harbor. Excited people in the market place talking about two men holding meetings, talking about the son of God. All we need, some new doctrine about another god; as if there aren't enough to go around. I see a tall young man buying papyrus rolls at the table across from my stall. As he comes past me, he stops. "I hear you love story telling. Why don't you come to the docks this week and listen to my friend, Barnabas and I? The stories we tell are all true. I am writing a record so that all men everywhere can know the truth about the God of all men." "All men? Everywhere?" This is the God I thought I would have if I could design one. I would definitely think about it. Besides, I somehow found the young man, John Mark, very likable. Another day, I"m sitting, thinking about changes. Ahmad has been painting signs and pictures for shop owners all along the market place. The first time I saw him on a ladder, I was beside myself. Hiram told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to hinder Ahmad by treating him as if he was unable to accomplish any job that he felt like undertaking. "We will hold him up, not back. This is non-negotiable." My heart was in my throat but I ended up proud of one determined young man. As I'm thinking this, I see Ahmad walking into the market place, walking straight and tall on two strong legs. I run to him, laughing, crying. "This is real? How can it be?"? "I went to a meeting at the docks," he tells me " Barnabas placed his hands on my head and told me to be whole. This warmth rushed through me. I felt as if my whole body was being infused with warmth and strength. You need to go there, mom. This God, He's real. He's the one you've been hoping for. I tell you, He is." Hiram has run out of the shop as soon as he heard about Ahmad. We will go to thank these men, if nothing else. We go several times over the next few days and listen to Barnabas and John Mark. I can hardly contain myself. The God who loved all men, all His creation? He existed, Really did. Always had. It was as if, somewhere deep inside I had always known this. We had fallen; failed Him miserably, but He could not fathom letting us go. We were His treasure; All he held dear. He came down to us in human form, put Himself on our level, made Himself one of us to teach us how to live. And then, He gave Himself as a sacrifice for our sins. I remembered the scarlet worm who willingly attached herself to a tree as a willing cover for her unborn young, staining the tree with her life's fluids which were used to become coverings for Royalty and Kings. Ah, the stories I shall have to tell. This man/God, He attached Himself willingly to a tree, staining it with his life's blood so that He would have a line of Royal priests and Kings that would be clothed in His Righteousness. I understand the warmth that Ahmad felt when he was healed. All through my being flows the love and warmth of this Savior, King, Mighty God. As long as He shall give me breath, His story I'll tell.

Written by Ruby Haskins