Before Winter (2)

One: Ephesus

“Thank you for inviting me to share your meal, Demetrius.” As Timothy rose from the table, he reached out to his friend, grasping his arm. It was a relief to come to Demetrius’s house, a welcome break from his busy life. Here he could relax, speak or be silent as he chose, without weighing each word. Much as he loved his work—his calling in life—here he was not a pastor, always giving, but a brother: giving and receiving in turn. 

Demetrius rose with him. “You must stay a little longer. We can read together from the writings of the apostles and prophets.” 

“I have much yet to do today.” Timothy shook his head. “I must visit Damaris and Simon to see their new child, and check on Jason’s progress. I heard a few days ago that our beloved sister Martha is failing, and I really should go pray with her today.” He moved toward the door and bent down to put on his sandals.

“Visit the baby, by all means, but surely Jason will finish copying Paul’s letters without your supervision? And Martha…could you send one of the other elders? You will hardly get home before dark. I would go myself, but I cannot walk so far with this limp.” 

Timothy smiled, imagining Demetrius’s close-cropped gray hair and clean-shaven face walking among the flowing beards and tassels worn by Martha’s brothers, sons, and nephews. “You still look like a Roman soldier, you know. Most of the other elders are Gentile too, and might be equally unwelcome in the Jewish sector.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said Demetrius, “but I still wish I could help you more.”

“Don’t worry.” Timothy straightened up, reaching for his heavy cloak. “I am not neglecting my reading or study of doctrine, even though today I spend my time on the practical side of pastoring.” 

Valentina, Demetrius’s wife, came up and stood next to her husband. “We will see you on the first of the week then, at Simon’s house?”

Timothy nodded. “God bless you both.” 

“The Lord Jesus Christ go with you, Timothy.” Demetrius raised his hand in farewell, and Timothy ducked under the door, out into the afternoon sunshine. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the docks and the smell of the sea. Though the sun was shining, the winter wind was cold in his face, and he bent his head forward, pushing into it. The sound of the market behind him was muted, and a citizen hurried past him, heading for the gymnasium. As he approached the port, the scent of salt water and rotting fish grew stronger, and he wrinkled his nose against it as he made his way to Damaris’s hut, wondering if her husband would be home at this time of day, or out fishing still. 

When he reached the door, propped open to admit more light, he knocked gently on the frame. 

“Pastor?” Damaris, appeared in the doorway and beckoned him in. “Why the uncertain sound? You know our house, surely.” 

Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, Timothy responded, “I didn’t want to wake the baby if he was sleeping.” Seeing her husband sitting in the corner, holding the baby wrapped in a blanket, Timothy nodded to him in greeting. A quiet man, he complimented his wife’s more buoyant personality.

“Oh, he is still too young to care much about noise and movement!” Damaris laughed. “Would you like to hold him?” She flitted over to her husband, who held the baby up to her and settled him in her arms. 

As Damaris approached him with the child, Timothy stepped away from the door, so that the light would not fall on the newborn’s face. “Should I sit down with him?” He glanced around, looking for another stool.

“No need. Just crook your arm out…there. Keep his neck supported, and the blanket around him, and you’ll be just fine.” 

Before he could respond, the baby was in his arms, and the new mother was across the room, asking if she could get him anything to drink. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” Timothy shifted his arm, trying to get into a more comfortable position without disturbing the baby. Every time he held a newborn, he was astonished at how light they were. The blanket slipped a little, and the baby wriggled, waving his hand in the air as Timothy pulled the cloth back around, tucking it in against his chest. 

“Shh.” He murmured, and jiggled his elbow a little. The tiny forehead and mouth, a moment before wrinkled and puckered with the beginning of a wail, smoothed back into contentment. For a little while he stood, contemplating the new life in his arms, before handing the baby back to his mother with a smile. “I see your little one is doing very well. Congratulations to you and your husband.”

“He is perfect,” Damaris agreed, glancing toward her husband, “and thank you for your prayers for his birth.”

“I will continue to remember all of you in my prayers, that God may grant you health and joy,” said Timothy, lifting his hand in farewell as he turned back to the streets.

“The Lord go with you!” Damaris called after him.