Jennifer Tan
St. Thomas More and St. Francis de Sales Writing Groups
“Sarah!” Her mother called as the twelve-year-old entered the house. She had just come back from her sewing class. “Can you please bring this walnut-raisin bread to Tabitha? She loves it, and I hope it’ll cheer her up a bit.” Tabitha, who lived three rows away, had been ill.
“Certainly, Mama. And I can show Aunt Tabitha the shawl I finished making at class today.”
“Well, do hurry before it rains.”
“Yes, Mama.” Sarah took the basket of bread her mother had prepared and, with her sewing bag still slung over her shoulder, went out again onto the streets of Joppa.
Almost everyone in their community knew Tabitha. She sewed beautifully and often gave away tunics and other clothing she made to widows, like Sarah’s mother. Besides the clothing, Sarah and the other children loved her for the stories she told, the songs she taught them, and the food she cooked. Tabitha used to babysit them when their mothers had to be away. The past week, she had been homebound due to fever and a cold.
Sarah hurried down the lane to the left of their house, glad to be seeing Tabitha, but also anxious. She had visited only two days ago with her mother. Tabitha could hardly talk and was so pale and thin that Sarah almost couldn’t recognize her. The dark clouds gathering above seemed to read Sarah’s thoughts as they cast a gloom over the neighborhood.
After turning at the corner, Sarah almost bumped into a crowd around a peddler woman sitting by the roadside. On display were shawls with the most interesting motifs and pictures she’d ever seen. The warm fabric prompted her to consider getting one for Tabitha. A glance at the prices made her hopeful of buying one. After some time, she saw one depicting a deer by the river. That’s Aunt Tabitha’s name in picture!
Sarah had just enough money to pay for it. Her joy was short-lived, though, as she felt a big raindrop while she tucked the new shawl into her bag.
Suddenly, it began to pour. Sarah ran home instinctively. She got wet, but fortunately, the basket lid kept the bread dry. Her mother was dismayed upon learning what had happened.
“Well, Sarah, you shouldn’t have stopped. Tabitha makes the most beautiful shawls herself. It’s the bread that she won’t be able to get.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I couldn’t help admiring the shawls. And they’re comfortable. I didn’t expect it to rain so soon.”
“Well, we don’t know when it’ll stop raining now. You’d better dry yourself before you catch a cold. You can bring the bread tomorrow.”
The next morning, Sarah was about to take the bread to Tabitha when her mother came in the front door.
“You don’t have to bring the bread anymore, dear. We’re going there together shortly.”
“Why, Mama?”
“Tabitha has passed away . . . last night.”
Sarah felt a lump in her throat. I would’ve seen Aunt Tabitha for the last time! The bread would’ve been a fitting farewell gift . . . the shawl . . . it’s all in vain now.
Her mother was equally shaken, but she gave Sarah a hug before they set off in silence.
When they reached Tabitha’s house, it was already packed, and visitors were still arriving. Tabitha’s children and their families looked rather lost, as were most of the neighbors present. Some were sobbing uncontrollably; some were teary-eyed; others looked solemn. Sarah tried hard to remain composed. She sat with her friends while the grown-ups helped in whatever way they could. The younger children played among themselves amid hushes. Several people calmly went about getting Tabitha’s body ready while others were preparing for prayers.
Tabitha belonged to the newly established church of Jesus Christ in Joppa. She’d often hosted the disciples—called “saints”—for fellowship, discussions on the apostles’ teaching, the breaking of bread, and prayers. Tabitha would also teach the children about the faith through songs and stories. Now, at her sudden death, the saints’ support and presence comforted her family.
After they had washed Tabitha, they laid her in a room upstairs. At midday, two of the saints brought a stranger into the room. The praying congregation’s voices dropped as they surveyed the dark and weather-beaten man. Except for his simple tunic and resolute demeanor, he looked like many of the sailors in Joppa.
One of the saints addressed them: “Brothers and sisters, this is Peter, whom Jesus Christ had appointed as leader of the Church. He was in Lydda and has kindly come at our urgent request to pray over Tabitha.”
The congregation began to whisper among themselves. Some nodded reverently at Peter. The widows went to his side, tearfully showing him the tunics and other clothing Tabitha had made for them. “We can’t believe that she has left us; she’d been such a great blessing,” they said.
Peter appeared moved. Gently, he ushered all of them out. They waited for what seemed like ages, not knowing what to expect. Finally, Peter opened the door and called them. Walking out slowly, with Peter holding her hand, was Tabitha—alive!
Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes. The people were bewildered.
“Tabitha!”
“Aunt Tabitha!”
Then, the women and children rushed to hug her. The saints started praising God. They thanked Peter profusely, but he said, “My friends, it was Jesus who gave back Tabitha’s life. I merely prayed in his name for God’s mercy upon her and all of you. The Lord has restored her life, so that you may believe that Jesus is the risen Christ and be saved.”
Suddenly, Sarah understood the Resurrection Rhyme that Tabitha had taught them. She started singing:
“Death is our final farewell no more,
For the risen Christ has for us restored
Life with him in heav’n forevermore—
We’ll all be meeting on the other shore!”
Soon, everyone was singing along. The news spread throughout Joppa; many more came to believe in the Lord. As for Sarah, she was grateful for the unexpected second chance to gift Tabitha the shawl, which delighted Tabitha immensely.
Twelve years later, Sarah got married and moved to Thessalonica. She accompanied and kept a lookout for her elderly mother-in-law, since her husband had to travel often. Communication with her mother and Tabitha was through letters and parcels, which were infrequent due to the long distance.
One day, Sarah’s mother-in-law brought in a parcel for Sarah. As always, she opened it joyfully. This time, though, her face fell on beholding the shawl she’d given to Tabitha. For some time, she held it close to her heart, her head bowed.
“Sarah?”
She started. “Yes, Mother?”
“What’s the matter?”
“This shawl I gave to Aunt Tabitha . . . it has come.” Sarah held it up before her mother-in-law, who didn’t know about it, though she’d heard about the miracle. Her mother-in-law’s expression changed. She moved closer and inspected the shawl’s right-hand corner.
“How did you get this, Sarah?”
Sarah narrated the whole story. “The miracle seemed to me like the resurrection of the body at the end of time,” she concluded.
Both of them fell silent, each lost in her own thoughts.
Finally, her mother-in-law said, “Why has the shawl come?”
“Before I came here with Daniel after our wedding, Aunt Tabitha said she’d get it sent to me . . . we knew that I wouldn’t make it to her deathbed.”
Her mother-in-law hobbled to a chair and sat down.
“So, you’ll be going back to mourn as our custom requires.”
“I can’t leave you alone here, Mother. Also, the mourning period would’ve been over. I’ll pray for Aunt Tabitha’s soul here and send a condolence letter.”
“But won’t you regret it later? Also, whatever would others think?” She wasn’t a believer; the faith of Jesus Christ had just reached Thessalonica then.
“You’ve more need of me here, Mother. I will stay, especially since Daniel is sailing.”
“You know, Sarah, why I asked about the shawl? . . . The deer by the river . . . my best friend stitched it. I’ve just realized that I was the peddler you bought it from.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. She hadn’t remembered what the peddler looked like.
“I followed my husband on his trip to Joppa then. My friend passed me her shawls to sell for her. She stitched beautiful, unique pictures on them . . . I’d usually recognize them straightaway, like this one. The little rose at this corner, her signature, confirmed my suspicion just now.
“While I was away, she died in an accident. I’ve always regretted not being able to mourn her death properly; it was all over when I came back . . . I don’t want that for you.”
Sarah knelt beside her.
“God knows our hearts, Mother. And Jesus has promised eternal life at the end of time. He thus invites us to meet Aunt Tabitha, your friend . . . all who died before us . . . again.”
She smiled softly.
“We’ll meet them on the other shore.”