The Lost Sheep, Coin, and Son
The sun was a white blister in the sky, pressing down on the dust of the road and the crowd gathered around the teacher. I was there, not because I was a follower, not yet anyway, but because my cousin…
The Refiner’s Scarred Hands
The heat was a living thing in the valley that day. It rose from the pale, cracked earth in shimmering waves, making the olive trees on the ridge seem to tremble like mirages. Micah, his tunic sticking to his back…
Prophet’s Unwanted Mercy
The word came to Jonah a second time. This time, he went. His feet were heavy on the road north and east, the dust of the journey coating his sandals and the hem of his robe. It was a walking…
Daniel’s Heavenly Struggle
The air in the room was still and carried the faint, dry scent of old scrolls and dust. It was the third year of Cyrus, king of Persia, but in Daniel’s chambers, time felt both heavy and irrelevant. For three…
The Rock Laid Bare
The salt air was thick that morning, a tangible dampness that clung to beards and cloaks and the striped awnings of the market stalls. Elior ben-Malkiya felt it in his bones, a deep, unseasonable chill as he walked the great…
The Hammer and the Cup
The heat in Jerusalem that summer was a thick, woolen blanket, heavy with the dust of despair. It settled in the courtyards and clung to the robes of those few who still moved with purpose. Among them was Benaiah, an…
The Shattered Flask Prophecy
The heat in the Harsith Gate district was a physical thing. It rose in visible shimmers from the packed-earth path, carrying the fine, choking dust of the Valley of the Son of Hinnom. Jeremiah felt its weight on his shoulders…
The Potter’s Broken Clay
I remember the day the silence began. Not the silence of an empty street or a windless afternoon, but a heavier quiet, one that settled over the whole quarter like dust after a caravan has passed. We’d heard the prophets,…
Watchman’s Burden
The heat in the air wasn’t just weather; it was a presence. It rose from the desert floor south of the city in shimmering, deceitful waves, making the distant palms dance like drunkards. I sat on the flat roof of…
Asher’s Portion
The rain had finally stopped, but the smell of wet earth and crushed herbs hung thick in the air of the narrow street. Asher shifted the yoke on his shoulders, the clay pots swinging gently, their contents—olive oil of dubious…