Rhoda by Heidi Dru Kortman DTM

Acts 12:1-17

 

That night, the time didn’t matter. John Mark and his mother hosted the disciples and as many other believers for Passover as the house would hold. Everyone stayed on after the meal and prayed. Herod had arrested Peter, and unless our Lord Jesus sent some miracle, we expected Peter’s execution in the morning.

Clusters of people murmured in every corner, but I prayed while I scrubbed down the table. After that, I tackled the piles of dirty dishes and pots. My tears mingled with the water, and I repeated “Please, God, save Peter.”

Now, I’m strong, and can do the work required of any good servant, but I used to be sick. John Mark’s mother accepted me from another household in payment of a debt, though my former mistress said my fevers made me nearly useless to her. My illness disappeared one day, as I struggled back from the well. Peter crossed the square, and his shadow fell on me.

The weakness that always followed a bout with the fever vanished, and I swung the full water jug to my head, and walked steadily, as all the other girls did. My mistress noticed the task took less time than usual, and ordered me to rest, fearing a relapse.

While she visited one of the other women, I rose from my pallet, swept the floors, and hemmed her new cloak. She returned as I slid a loaf of bread into the oven. ‘Rhoda,’ she said, ‘I ordered you to rest.’”

“Yes, mistress, you did,” I said as I kept my gaze on her feet. “But I’m well.”

She commanded me to look into her eyes. ‘When did this happen, Rhoda?’ she said. “On my way back from the well,” I said. “Peter crossed my path, and for a moment, I stood in his shadow.”

“‘So healing happened to you, too,’ she said, and smiled. ‘This is good. Did you thank him?’ My mouth went dry. “N-no, mistress. I had to carry the water home, and Peter was talking to Andrew.”

Her gaze grew sharp, and she said, ‘Have you thanked our Lord Jesus for His work through Peter?’ I nodded. “Yes, mistress.”

“‘See to the bread, Rhoda,’ she said. ‘You’ll have your chance to thank Peter tonight. He’s coming for dinner.’ Since then, I’ve seen him often. He’s kind, and wise, and his laughter can fill the house.

When I could see nothing else to do, I found a small space near the door, and joined the prayers. One missionary from Antioch prayed loudly, but under his voice, I thought I heard pounding. I slipped out to the courtyard. “Who is there, and what do you want?”

“‘Rhoda, let me in.’ I heard Peter say, and I dashed back indoors, calling, ‘Mistress, Peter is at the door!” The praying stopped, and they told me I had lost my mind. “Peter is there,” I said, “ I know his voice.”

Peter kept knocking, and Andrew let him in. The guests swarmed into the courtyard, all of them talking at once. ‘Hush!’ Peter said, as he waved both arms. We didn’t need to attract the attention of a Roman soldier on patrol.

When even the missionary fell silent, Peter described his escape. I seemed to feel the cold chains on my own wrists, and blinked as he had done in the sudden bright light. While his words led the others past oblivious guards, I slipped through the crowded courtyard, back into the house. I understood he couldn’t stay long, and knew he’d appreciate food. The lamb had been consumed, as the law demands, but I gathered a bundle of unleavened bread, dates, some goat cheese, and a small wineskin.

I ran behind the crowd to wait at the door in time to hear Peter’s last words to the group: ‘Now I know without a doubt that the Lord sent his angel and rescued me from Herod’s clutches and from everything the Jewish people were anticipating. Tell James and the brothers about this.’

Andrew made sure the street was empty, and I shoved the food bundle and wineskin into Peter’s hands. He slipped away into the dark, to another place. Will the others ever let me forget that I didn’t open the door?

  

Heidi Dru Kortman DTM

God's gifts and call are irrevocable.

heididrukortman.com.

 

Heidi Dru Kortman, a CWG Apprentice graduate, ACFW member since 2004, and Word Weaver member has

published devotionals in various newsletters, and a collected volume of devotionals. Her poetry, flash fiction, and short stories have appeared in small magazines, and a website. She is applying herself to the task of writing smoothly polished fiction.