Sarah stood in front
of the dusty old
shop in Nazareth and
looked again at the
chair. It
carried scars of
abuse, yet even they
didn’t distract from
the extraordinary
quality of
workmanship or the
general condition of
the chair. True, it
needed repair but
every few days she
looked at it with
longing, hoping one
day to save enough
to purchase it for
her own modest home.
As a seamstress, her
wages were meager
but she managed
regularly to deposit
a few more coins in
the small, clay pot
hidden behind her
bed. After
several months,
Sarah hurried to the
shop and counted out
her coins to
purchase the old
chair which was by
now covered with
dust blown in from
the desert sands.
“I don’t know why
you’d want this
chair in the first
place,” commented
the shopkeeper.
“You can have it for
a little less since
no one else has ever
shown any interest
in it and it’s not
worth much.
I’d guess it’s about
75 years old.”
Dusting it off with
the hem of her long
robe, Sarah thanked
the shopkeeper and
tenderly carried the
small chair to her
home. She kept
it next to the open
window where she
read or often rested
after a long day’s
work. Sarah
lived alone.
Her three grown sons
lived in Nazareth
but only one came by
with any regularity
to visit. Ben
was the youngest and
displayed more
interest and
affection for his
mother than the
others.
For the next several
years, Sarah
suffered declining
health and began to
require more care.
Ben dutifully
brought her meals,
kept her as
comfortable as her
bedridden state
would permit.
Sitting beside her
bed in Sarah’s
favorite chair, Ben
read to her or
recounted events of
his childhood,
stories which made
his mother smile in
faint remembrance.
One morning, with
her breathing more
labored than usual
and sensing that her
time was near, Sarah
whispered to Ben,
“Son, after my
death, I’d like you
to have this chair.
I know it’s always
been your favorite.”
Ben held his mother
in his arms as she
drew her last
breath, then laid
her back against the
pillows. He
kissed her tenderly.
“Go with God,
Mother,” Ben wept.
“I don’t know how
I’ll ever fill the
void you’ll be
leaving in my life.”
Pulling the blanket
up over her body, he
rushed across town
to alert his two
older brothers.
Thomas and Seth
helped prepare her
for burial and
attended the
traditional service.
Sarah was buried
with her fore
bearers in the
designated spot near
their place of
worship. After
the burial, the
three young men
returned to their
mother’s home to
discuss the disposal
of her material
possessions.
There was a small
table, a bed, some
urns, several items
of clothing, clay
pots, and a few
items that had been
passed on to Sarah
from previous
generations.
It was these items
that Seth and Thomas
began arguing over.
Each claimed rights
to them, each
claimed their mother
had promised the
items to him.
Each remained
intractable.
Ben remained quiet
throughout the
afternoon as his
brothers’ tempers
flared and their
voices grew more
agitated.
Finally, Ben said “I
only want something
to remember mother
by. Just
anything will do.
I would be just as
happy with this old
chair, since I often
sat in it beside
mother’s bed to talk
to her during her
long illness.”
The older brothers,
relieved that at
least Ben was out of
the equation,
reached a compromise
and began removing
the furniture,
clothing and other
items from their
mother’s home.
Ben took the old
chair to his house
where he dusted it,
tears spilling down
his cheeks. He
remembered his
mother so often
sitting in the chair
with her sewing on
her lap. It
was still a good
chair and had been
crafted by careful
and experienced
hands. Maybe
it wasn’t worth much
to someone else, but
it held great value
to him because it
had belonged to his
mother.
He turned the chair
over to make a minor
repair. Hidden
in an obscure place
behind one of the
legs were carved
these words:
“Carpentry by Jesus
of Nazareth”
Mariane Holbrook
http://www.marianholbrook.com
Mariane Holbrook is
a retired teacher,
an author of two
books, a musician
and artist. She
maintains a personal
website
http://www.marianholbrook.com
and welcomes your
Emails at
Mariane777@bellsouth.net.
