The Weary Widow

by Donna Poole

I’m bone weary, more exhausted than ever, but what a day it’s been! I wish I had the pen and parchment of a scribe to write my story, but I’ll whisper it to the wind blowing by my little temple chamber. Perhaps it will carry my tale down through time to someone who cares enough to listen.

They call mine a sad story, but do you believe a warm river of joy can run under the ice of sorrow? I do, and I’ve lived in that joy for one-hundred and five years. That’s right; I’m a very old woman. Some think me only eighty-four, but no matter; old is old, and no one denies I’m that.

Oh, but please excuse my lack of manners. Let me introduce myself. I’m Anna, daughter of Phanuel from the tribe of Asher. Long ago, in Deuteronomy 33:25, Moses wrote of my tribe that “your strength will equal your days,” and that has been true of me.

 It seems almost like a life another lived when I recall my few married years. I wedded my beloved husband when I was only fourteen years old, the common age for marriage. Our happiness was beyond words. We talked about everything. My favorite topic was the coming of the Messiah; I’d been fascinated by that since I’d been a tiny girl, and my beloved never tired of listening to me.

“Do you think, dearest, we’ll live to see the Messiah come?” I asked my husband so many times.

He laughed and pulled me into my favorite place, the circle of his arms. “I hope so, but remember, people have been waiting for the Messiah for centuries. Meanwhile, let’s talk about having a family.”

That was his favorite thing to talk about, and I desperately wanted children too. I remember standing together under the night sky, his arms around me, looking up at the stars.

“Dearest Anna,” he said, putting his rough beard on my cheek, “perhaps God will bless us with so many children our offspring will be like those stars, too many to count. Our great grandchildren will sit at our feet and listen to our stories, and our children will nourish us in our old age. I will love you even more when your hair is silver and your smooth cheeks are lined than I do today.”

It was a beautiful dream, but it was not to be. After only seven years of marriage and no children, God took my wonderful husband.

Shattered, I wept in heartbroken despair, feeling the best part of me was forever gone. I was alone with no family to rely on, a harsh place to be in Jewish society. A widow with no means of support was dependent on the charity of others.

As I lay on my mat, eyes swollen almost shut with tears, I heard the quiet voice, and not for the first time. “Anna, my dear child, I have plans for you. Will you take my hand?”

I’d heard the voice so many times during my seven years of marriage, sometimes when I was pounding grain or kneading bread, sometimes when I was sweeping the dirt floor of our tiny home we loved so much. The voice never alarmed me. I knew it was my heavenly Father, and it filled my heart with even more joy than when my husband stooped to enter our home and pull me into his arms each evening after work.

Each time I heard the voice I whispered back, “Yes, I will take your hand. Where are we going?”

But no answer ever came. This time, I sat up on my sleeping mat, wiped my tears on the sleeve of my robe, and answered, “Yes, I will take your hand. Where are we going?”

“Go to the temple.”

I rolled up my mat, took what I could carry, and went to the temple. I wish you could have seen the look on the priests’ faces. I stood before them, a twenty-one-year-old woman, face still wet with tears, clutching my belongings. I looked at them silently; then suddenly I felt the powerful hand of God on my shoulder.

I opened my mouth.

I don’t remember all I said now, but a torrent of joy poured out, proclaiming the goodness of God in the land of the living, promising Jehovah would keep his promises soon and send the Messiah for the redemption of Jerusalem and the world.

The words were not mine, and when Jehovah finished speaking through me, I dropped my head and waited quietly.

The priests whispered among themselves as I waited, praying they would not misjudge my motives and try to marry me off to an acquaintance. The women of my tribe were known for their beauty and often sought after for marriage, even the widows, though not by priests. Priests could marry only a virgin or the widow of another priest.

Please Lord, let them see I desire only what King David did, “One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in his temple.”

Even then, on that first encounter with the priests, I knew instinctively why the Holy Spirit had brought me to the temple; David’s desire was mine and would be forever. I could feel my face glowing with the intensity of it.

After a bit longer of a wait, a young priest, Simeon, approached me, asked my name, and I told him.

“Prophetess Anna,” he said, “we offer you sanctuary here. You may stay in one of the little chambers in the outer court.”

Prophetess! I’d never thought of myself as such, but God had spoken through me.

You may find it hard to believe, but I never left the temple courts after that. Day and night I remained in the temple. I served God by praying and by encouraging others to look beyond the mundane everyday of life, and to live for what matters, because soon they would see the King!

I spent most of my time praying and fasting. At first women glanced at me and then away or at each other. I knew they thought me eccentric; who wouldn’t? But as time passed, they came to me and shared burdens. I reminded them of the two things we so easily forget, the shortness of time and the length of eternity. In helping them discover joy, my own sorrow faded though never totally left. My past life with my beloved faded to a dream and I spent my real life in anticipation. The Messiah would come in my lifetime; I knew it!

You cannot possibly know how quickly you can go from young to old unless you’ve done it yourself. The passing of years took my agility and my smooth skin, but people often remarked about the young fire in my eyes. I gave that glow a name; I called it hope.

Though countless days faded into night; though more than four-thousand Sabbaths came and left with no sign of the Messiah, I did not lose hope. It grew stronger. Each night before I lay down on my mat, I tried to picture him. How old would he be? Would he be dressed like a king? Each day in the temple my eyes searched the face of every young man, looking for the Messiah.

And then one day I heard Simeon, the young priest who’d first welcomed me, now grown old like myself, shout louder than I’d ever heard him. He was standing next to a young couple who’d come to present a baby boy to the Lord and to offer a sacrifice as the law required. They were just an ordinary looking couple, but Simeon was holding the child in his arms and as close to dancing for joy as his old limbs would allow.

He blessed the child, praised God, and prayed, “Lord, now let me die in peace! You told me I wouldn’t die before I’d seen the Messiah, and here he is in my arms, a light to the Gentiles and the glory of Israel!”

What! The Messiah is a tiny baby? Can it be true?

I hurried to see for myself. As soon as I saw the smiling face of the baby boy God’s Spirit fell on me and I thanked the Lord and told everyone who would listen the Messiah had been born!

Simeon may have been ready to die, but I certainly was not. I wanted to see this child grow into manhood, conquer Israel’s enemies, and set up his kingdom.

That night as I lay on my mat the voice I’d come to know and love so well spoke to me once more.

“Anna, my dear child. I have plans for you. Will you take my hand?”

I didn’t ask where we were going, I knew, and I didn’t want to go. Not yet.

“Wait, Lord, shouldn’t you be taking Simeon? He’s the one ready to go. I want to see the Messiah set up his glorious kingdom.”

“Dear Anna, what if the Messiah has come to deliver his people, not from Roman rule, but from sin? And what if that deliverance involves his own death on the cross, a cruel, humiliating, excruciating death?”

I thought of that baby’s smile, and I wept. But then in a brief flash of light I saw an empty tomb, and the Messiah’s triumphant return as king centuries later, and I caught my breath at the beauty of it all. Millions upon millions of his followers returned with him, and I was one of them, and so was my beloved husband!

They call mine a sad story, but do you believe a warm river of joy can run under the ice of sorrow? I do, and I’ve lived in that joy for one-hundred and five years.

“How soon will you take me, Lord?” I asked.

“Very soon.”

I feel my strength fading, but I’m not uncomfortable. I feel like a sleepy child being tucked under warm robes at night by a loving mother.

Quickly now, while I’m still able, I’ll whisper my story to the wind blowing by my little temple chamber. Perhaps it will carry my tale down through time to someone who cares enough to listen.

The End

This story is fiction based on fact. The Bible doesn’t say that Simeon was a priest or even that he was old. It doesn’t tell nearly this much about Anna. Read the true story for yourself in Luke 2.

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

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