46. The Serpent and the Staff

My time is coming. I know that. My husband knows that. My daughter and her husband know that. They're all just waiting. Waiting for the Lord to take me. Waiting for my last breath to slip out of me. But I can't go yet. I haven't said goodbye to everyone yet. My son's wife is in labor. Their baby is nearly here. They send word of her progress every hour. She must deliver soon. I don't have much time left, and I want to meet this grandchild before I leave this world. I want to give this child my last blessing. So I lay here and I concentrate all my remaining energy on making it to the next minute. I want to meet this baby. 

My nephew enters my tent, puffing his breath. He bends, his head between his knees as he calms. He speaks. "The sickness is being lifted. Moses has placed a serpent on a staff, and all who look upon it are healed. Aunt, you can be healed!"

Healed. I can be rid of this poison in my body? "Where?" I whisper. I dare not say more, but my brother hears and asks what I cannot?

"Where is it? Where is this staff sent by our God? Where is Moses?"

"He is just come from the mountain," my nephew answers.

The mountain. We are as far from the mountain as we can be. Our camp stretches for miles. Thousands of families who fled from Egypt. We are only one of many. It will take days for the prophet to make his way to us. I don't have days.

My daughter says as much.

Her husband answers. "We could carry her to Moses. We could get her to the mountain before nightfall. She might make it."

I might. I might make it to the mountain. I might make it to Moses and be healed. I might live another decade. But I might not. And if I don't, my grandchild will not receive my blessing. I will not meet the little babe. 

I choose to stay. If it is God's will that I live, he will help me keep my strength. But I must give all I can to see this child. After the babe comes, I will greet my Father.

"No," I whisper. "Wait."

They argue amongst each other. Should they take me. Should they let me rest. I close my eyes and look inward. God has granted me a good life. I am not afraid to meet my Maker. 

There is a rustle as the tent opens. It is my son. He holds a small bundle of cloth in his arms. My grandchild has come to me.

My daughter lifts me so that I sit against her.

My son kneels at my side and turns the little child toward me. "It is a girl," he tells me. "We will give her your name."

My little girl. She is wonderful. So tiny, so perfect. I reach my hand to her, and my son places her in my arms. My daughter helps me to hold the tiny creature and I am filled with joy as I remember holding each of my children in their first moments of life. 

I know as I kiss her that this will be my last kiss. Hers will be the last hand that I hold. And I couldn't be happier than this moment, surrounded by all my family, with this most perfect child in my arms.

My time is come. I go to meet my Father.