The Call of Love

By Rose Garretson

Historical (Biblical) biographical fiction on Mary Magdala. This is a work of fiction, not meant to be biographical or completely historical. It is based on selected Biblical events and characters. There are other characters in the story who have no relation to anyone alive or gone. The intent of this is to encourage everyone who reads it to have hope. This story is cast from the eyes of Mary Magdalene – called Miryam in Hebrew. There is no definitive, historical evidence convicting Miryam of being a prostitute, yet the reputation exists to this day. She has been painted with a very negative brush. However, her story goes much deeper than the label “harlot”.
This is a story of the transformational power of love, specifically the love of God toward his children, and the personal touch of Jesus. Interaction with Jesus changes people.
Bible verses have been woven in as part of the story and have been left in-tact. The words of Jesus are directly from the Bible and have not been altered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359547012

Book preview

The Call of Love

The Call of Love

From The Eyes of Mary Magdalene

Rose Garretson

Cover art by W. Dan Morrell

Copyright © 2019

By Rose Garretson

All rights reserved. 

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means without written permission.

ISBN: 978-0-359-54701-2

www.KetchPublishing.com

This is a work of fiction, not meant to be biographical or completely historical. It is based on selected Biblical events and characters. There are other characters in the story who have no relation to anyone alive or gone. The intent of this is to encourage everyone who reads it to have hope. This story is cast from the eyes of Mary Magdalene – called Miryam in Hebrew. There is no definitive, historical evidence convicting Miryam of being a prostitute, yet the reputation exists to this day. She has been painted with a very negative brush. However, her story goes much deeper than the label harlot.

This is a story of the transformational power of love, specifically the love of God toward his children, and the personal touch of Jesus. Interaction with Jesus changes people.

Bible verses have been woven in as part of the story and have been left in-tact. The words of Jesus are directly from the Bible and have not been altered.

Special thanks to Camille Beck, Jeanette Ford, Mary Etta Watson, Dr. Myron Wilson, Dan Morrell and Greg Neal for encouraging me to write. Thank you for your input, prayers and patience as this story unfolded. Your insight and friendship is treasured. Also, thanks to Pastor Elmer Floyd for his faithful teaching all those years ago and to this day. I couldn’t have done any of this without my friends! Also the two people who give me my DNA – Thanks, Mom & Dad!

This is a story about faith, hope and love – and truly the greatest Love of all.

PROLOGUE

Perfume hung in the midnight air, thick and sweet. There were no stars tonight – nothing to mitigate the unholy blackness ruling the night. Minutes crept by, with only the sound of her ragged breathing to break the oppressive flow. Her burning eyes gazed out of the small window, desperately searching. She wished with all of her might today was just a bad dream…that she would wake up and realize it was not real.

Touching her stomach, she felt the nausea sitting high and uncomfortably. She had cried until she had vomited…wept until there were no tears left. Everything was gone! Nothing worth living or dreaming for remained. They had been blown to smithereens by a hammer, nails and a final dying breath.

Her world convulsed and she harshly shook her head in denial. It could not be true! This had to be some sort of a nightmare. With each shake of her head the perfume swirled around her, closing in, reminding her of all that had passed, which caused her to gasp in utter dismay and horror.

Splaying her fingers out in front of her face, she studied her hands. They involuntarily clenched into fists as she heard the horrendous sounds of the whip in her mind. His strong and gentle back bore the lash, cut and bleeding. Yet, he made no sound.

A dry sob wracked her. How could this be? How could he truly be gone? Why was the world still spinning? How did it continue in its pattern of day-to-night? Without him, she simply did not want to continue. Life had been meaningless until he changed everything.

Burying her face in the shaking cup of her palms, she moaned against the abject grief and loss. Her hair fell over her face, and the smell of perfume redoubled. In the murky night, she remembered…remembered how everything began. Her mind wandered back to when life was innocent and so was she.

CHAPTER ONE

Sunshine flowed from an azure sky. She sang a nonsense song while running through the tall grasses, seemingly heedless of direction or time. Finally, she arrived at the summit and stood looking toward the Sea and across the lush fields adjacent to it. Birds flew overhead, their singing a perfect accompaniment to the pastoral scene. This was her favorite spot – exclusively her own. This was the place she came whenever she was able to get away, to stand and marvel at the world below. It never ceased to amaze and delight her.

Up here there were no boundaries, no one correcting her, no one telling her to slow down, quiet down or sit down. Up here there was just God’s creation and her, standing together in sublime contentment.

Miryam’s hair hung in loose, titian waves to her waist, unrestricted, without the obligatory kerchief all females were supposed to wear. Somewhere along the run it had slipped off and was, no doubt, along the well-worn path. With a sigh she realized she would have to find it on the return trip. Shrugging, she decided to forget that responsibility for the time being, and simply enjoy the present.

Sinking to her knees, Miryam hummed softly, enjoying the freedom from sound, chores and even the people she loved. Her father told her with twinkling eyes that she was fierce. She lived and played fiercely. Nothing she ever undertook was done in half-measures. From the time her eyes opened in the morning until they closed at night, she was absorbed in living life to the hilt. Miryam thought of her father and smiled. She loved him with her whole heart.

She loved the others in her family, too – but she and her father shared a special bond, probably because she was his only daughter. He was fair with the boys, but when he looked at her, she could see the lights in his eyes.

A gust of freshly scented breeze blew the tendrils back from her heart-shaped face. In her hand was a haphazardly picked bouquet of wildflowers. Quite possibly she would get an affectionate scolding from her mother when she returned with gilt-dusted freckles across the bridge of her nose from being in the sun. Maybe the flowers would prevent the reprimand.

Without a care, Miryam lifted her arms toward the sky and tipped her had back, spinning in a wide circle.

Jehovah… she whispered. You make everything so beautiful. The moment lingered, sweet on her tongue and in her heart. This was an instant to remember, to cling to, to treasure. Even as a child she recognized the very real and aromatic presence of her Lord. She prayed he would stamp this memory onto her soul.

Later that day, just as the sun was setting, Miryam was sitting primly on her stool with her extended family sharing the evening meal. Almost nobody would guess looking at the demure miss that a few scant hours ago she was racing like a hoyden through the upper fields. With a sidelong glance, she noticed her father looking in her direction. With calculated slowness, he ran his finger along the bridge of his nose and grinned in her direction. Freckles! Why did they have to incriminate her?

A slight flush crept along her neck, deepening the color on her already ruddy cheeks. She lowered her eyes, hoping to create the illusion of being ladylike. With a start, she heard her father’s deep rumbling laugh.

What is so funny, Daniel? her mother asked him.

Miryam, he answered, with the smile still in his voice. She is so full of life, Abigail. With a nod, her mother accepted the comment with a fond look.

After the meal was finished and cleaned up, the cousins and elders went to their own rooms. Their compound was large by most standards, and well appointed. Their family traded wares at the docks and were respected members at the Temple and in the town, and considered to be people of influence and of wealth.

As the immediate family gathered around their own hearth, Miryam listened to her brothers discussing the lessons they shared with the Rabbi that day. Their voices were subdued, but intense as they reviewed the Law. Miryam wiggled, restless and slightly irritated that she was not able to join in their lessons. So often she had questions burning in her brain as she listened to them, pretending all the while to stitch or weave. What they discussed was captivating, and she soaked in all of the information she could.

One time she had burst out with a question, and her brothers promptly told her she was just a girl and could not possibly understand and returned to their discussions, effectively dismissing her.

Miryam felt again the sting from their unintentional insult as she looked through the fire-warmed room into their shining eyes. The fabric before her eyes blurred slightly as she blinked back unwanted tears. There were so many things boys could do that girls were not allowed to even attempt. It did not seem fair. Her life was so regimented.

Recently, Miryam was alarmed as she had begun to feel her body changing.  She was approaching young adulthood. Her mother’s eyes were frequently on her in thoughtful consideration these past weeks, but so far nothing on the surface had changed. She had watched other girls transform from playmates to women, and wanted no part of it. The rules, duties and restrictions placed on females seemed onerous and vastly undesirable. There were days when she wished desperately that she had been born a boy.

With typical optimism, Miryam decided to shake off her momentary worries. Some things could not be changed or predicted, and even at her tender age, she recognized that. Rather than dwell on the unknown or pre-determined, she decided to look to the future. Surely it would be bright.

____________________

Gazing into the pool of still, clear water, Miryam saw what appeared to be a broken stranger staring back at her. Her skin looked to be made of porcelain, so pale and tight it was. The deep golden-brown eyes had a haunted, haggard look, and she was slender to the point of frail. At sixteen, Miryam was an entirely different woman from the free-spirited girl who had roamed the hills above her village. She was shattered and alone.

The close-knit family had been devastated by a fast-moving, deadly sickness sweeping through her region. Its cruel slaughter had taken every member of her immediate family with the exception of her. Only a few of the cousins, uncles and aunts remained. Many of them were so ill that it was still uncertain whether they would survive. The area was reeling with the loss, most too ill to grieve or care for the dead.

Jehovah, she whispered, as the wind caused a ripple, disturbing her image in the water. Where are you? Her voice broke on a sob. Where are they? Where are they all?

An angular young man approached her, appearing weak and sallow. Miryam, he said, reaching out to touch her hair.

She backed up a pace, not caring for the look in his eyes as he assessed her. Cousin Benjamin, she replied, emphasizing the word "cousin".

He gave a bitter smile, unable to look away from her arresting face. Even though the ravages of the sickness had left her thinner, she was a delight in color and form to his roving male eyes. He felt equal parts of concern and lust. Why do you back away, he asked in a quiet voice, thinking to soothe her. You know I care about you…

She took another half step back, not wanting to pursue his line of conversation. "Benjamin, you have been like a brother to me, do you understand? A brother…" her voice trailed off, and she hoped he would take the hint and drop the matter entirely.

You cannot stay by yourself, he snapped, suddenly irate. If the Rabbi wasn’t ailing, I would go to him directly. It isn’t proper for a girl to stay by herself. You need to be married. You need to be married to me.

She swallowed, feeling her stomach tighten at the thoughts his words evoked. Her mother had spoken with her several months ago about marriage, intimacy and what occurs between a husband and wife. It sickened her. She vowed it would never happen to her – especially with Benjamin! She could feel his eyes on her as she quickly turned and walked away. She did not want to hurt his feelings, but she would not encourage him, either. The whole thing was too repulsive to consider!

At a near run, she headed to her family’s house. She kicked the door closed behind her. As soon as she entered, Miryam felt their loss as if someone had struck her in the stomach. The air in her lungs released in a hard sigh, and she sank to the floor. In the corner, an uncompleted piece of weaving lay unheeded. Her mother’s unfinished work, carefully folded, was a silent reminder of tremendous loss. Curling herself around the fabric, Miryam could still smell the delicate scent of her mother on the threads. It was a small comfort, and the tears began again.

Hiccoughs and exhaustion made Miryam too weary to move. She slept where she lay, like a discarded rag doll.  Miryam slumbered through the night, and when she awoke, she felt stronger than the previous day, but somewhat stiff from being on the floor.

The sun was just lightening the horizon, and it looked like it was would be a beautiful day. Grabbing a crust of bread, Miryam decided that she would manage to climb to her sanctuary, her retreat – the only place in the world where she would be able to find balance. With determination she made her preparations.

As soon as it was semi-light, she covered her head and walked toward the hills. She had no thought of anything or anyone, other than climbing to the summit. There was no doubt it would take a great deal of her energy, but suddenly she felt the rightness of what she was doing. It gave her the strength to accomplish her goal.

Miryam kept her pace slow and steady – unlike the child who ran pell-mell through the grasses. Her gait was sure, but she knew she had to work within