The Midwife Who Delivered Jesus
Published by Marcie R. Rendon at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Marcie R. Rendon
As Hannah put another branch into the fire in the corner of her small hut she mused over some of the wonders she had seen. Her many years were visible in the wrinkles that lined her olive face and the gnarls on her seventy-three year-old hands.
She remembered the time the shopkeeper had sent his servant to fetch her. It was a hot summer night and his wife was in labor with her first born. Hannah had been young then, 20, a year past her apprenticeship. She had put on her prayer shawl and grabbed her basket of herbs and ran on sturdy legs through the village to the shopkeeper's house. There she had squatted with his wife throughout the night. As dawn broke, she had eased his firstborn son out of his wife's birth canal.
As the years passed, her skills and knowledge grew. Hannah could be seen in the spring and fall gathering the herbs and plants she would need to attend the women in their birthing time. She had learned, through prayer and communion with her God, the different plants and their uses.
She would also mix teas for women to ease them during their time of the month. The Rabbi relied on Hannah to counsel couples about the rituals surrounding that time of the month and the time following the birth of a child.
Word of Hannah's abilities spread, so that soon she was being sent for by the Romans and Gentiles as well as her own people. They spoke of her healing touch, her gentle manner and the compassion in her eyes that quieted more than one fearful first time mother and anxious father.
Hannah knew her gift was a gift from Jehovah. Many a time when she had thought a child wouldn't turn in it's mother's womb; or it crowned purple and un-breathing, many a time she had felt her own human hands filled with a power not hers. And many a time her human heart had quickened with fear, only to be washed over by a calmness and serenity from somewhere outside of herself. She recognized that, yes she was truly blessed.