Page 39 of Unveiled Tamar’s Story (Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible #1)

Read on for a sneak peek of another exciting story

in the Mysteries & Wonders of the Bible series!

A Life Renewed:

Shoshan’s Story

by Ginger Garrett

F rom her deep sleep, Shoshan heard Him.

“Shoshan, wake up.” At the sound of His voice, so rich and familiar, she tried to stir and open her eyes, but something pinned her arms to her sides. Besides, her eyelids were so heavy.

“The veil is torn,” He whispered. “But wait for Me.”

His palm rested lightly over the hollow of her throat. Warmth from His hand flooded over her cool skin. She sensed that He leaned down, His face inches from hers as He breathed the words of life. His breath was a soft breeze, like the first spring morning after a bitter winter.

She inhaled, a gasping sound, as His breath entered her body, sweeping away darkness, loosening stiff muscles. She struggled to open her eyes. She wanted only to say His name and look into His eyes again.

The bindings at her sides held fast. Shoshan fought against the bindings, and suddenly she was alone in the darkness.

She sensed that He was not here with her anymore.

He had gone somewhere, a deeper place, a more dreadful darkness.

How she knew this, she could not say. He had left her here, but not forever. He would return.

She felt life returning to her limbs. Her chest rose and fell as breath moved in her body. It was good to lie here in the grave and wait.

Some time later, Shoshan awoke. How long she had dozed peacefully in the darkness, she did not know.

When she still couldn’t open her eyes, she realized her face was swathed in linen.

There was a light near her feet. She could see the glow through the bindings around her head.

Her body rested on a flat, hard rock, laid flat as if she had merely stretched out for a nap.

The rock was uncomfortable, digging into her shoulder blades and hips.

She wanted to stand up and rub her arms for warmth.

Had the world always been this cold? She could not remember.

She inhaled deeply again, but this time a strip of fabric was sucked into her mouth.

Spitting it out, she wiggled her head side to side then up and down to loosen the bindings.

When the lower half of her face was free, she breathed in big, greedy inhalations, ignoring the brackish smell around her.

There was another scent, too, a strong woodsy note, like…

myrrh. Yes, it was myrrh. Myrrh and cassia, too, were heavy in the air, but just underneath was the sickening sweetness of rot.

Unnerved by that rotting scent, she worked to free her right hand.

With that done, she tore at the linen strips around her face and body.

They had been soaked in oil and easily tore away in her hand.

She struggled to remember what she was doing or where she had just been.

Had she woken from a dream, or was she in a dream?

The light at the end of her feet beckoned her.

She was in a cold, dark cave, one where the dead were buried. But she was alive. Who had bandaged her like this and why? Had she been injured? Slowly, her mind pieced together little bits of memory, like mending tears in a garment, bringing jagged edges together, trying to make them fit.

Jesus had been here. She could feel something in the cave that could only be explained by His presence. He shifted the atmosphere in a way that no one could explain.

She remembered that now, how His presence changed a room.

She had been with Him before, before waking like this, back when He taught people in the hills, and He had blessed a boy’s fish and bread.

It had mesmerized her, how He had blessed the meager portion before breaking it, and after He broke it, He gave it away.

Somehow, that moment stayed with her above all the others.

Blessed, broken, given. After that, those three words became a chant under her breath, the rhythm for her days.

Even when…

Her mind snapped shut, not wanting to show her its secrets. Not yet, not until she was free and standing in the sun.

The light at her feet told her there was an entrance not far, although it was partially covered by a stone or a door. If she could get her legs free, she could get out. Something told her she had to, that He was ready for her to walk out.

She wiggled and pushed her body until both arms were free.

After ripping the remaining linens off her legs, she stood next to a wall in the shadows, panting from exertion.

Something furry and warm scampered across her foot, and she shrieked, jumping back, one hand out to brace herself in case she stumbled.

Her hand pressed against the wall, dislodging a pile of old dry bones.

The bones rained down, covering her feet and calves.

She stared at the bones on the ground as her knees began to tremble. The myrrh was so strong, yet she never used it as a body oil or in her laundry. Lifting a strip of linen from her shoulder to her nose, she inhaled again the sharp spicy scent. Myrrh was used for the dead.

Now she knew she was right. She was standing in a grave, surrounded by the dead. But no, Shoshan corrected herself, I am standing in my grave. Someone put me here, as if I was dead.

I was dead.

An involuntary shudder ran through her.

The stone that stood at the entrance of the cave had a huge crack running through the center.

Edging to it, feeling her legs move as they once did, marveling at the sensation of the cold dirt under her feet, she pressed her palms flat against the stone, inhaling sharply.

It was cold and smooth to the touch. She ran her palms over it, feeling the surface, her arms tingling as if each sensation was a marvelous discovery.

She felt weightless, as though she could walk through the break in the stone if she wanted, walk right out.

Had she been dead? The thought was strange.

That was impossible. She wasn’t a ghost, was she?

Every child in Rome was raised on mythical stories about ghosts and monsters.

Those stories popped up in her mind, as if that was the explanation.

Pressing harder against the stone, she felt her muscles flexing.

She had always been told that ghosts had no physical body.

But she had a body, so clearly she was more than a spirit.

From the other side she could hear voices.

An argument had broken out. Their harsh tone made her step back, away from the light.

She had forgotten how anger sounded, how it made her heart accelerate.

But if one of them had peered into the grave, through the stone, maybe they were arguing out of fright. Neither knew what hid in the darkness.

“It is all right! I am alive!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the tomb. The voices went abruptly silent.

“Can you hear me?” she called again, louder. No reply came. Someone had been on the other side though, just a moment before. Someone must have heard her.

The stone groaned as it was pushed to one side.

Someone pushed it for her. She would thank them.

Eagerly, she stepped through the doorway into the open air.

The light pierced her eyes, and she threw her arm over her face, her eyes watering.

After blinking back the tears, she slowly lowered her arm and looked. She was alone.

She was on a hillside, just above a lovely city made from limestone bricks that glittered in the sun. Below, fruit trees were adorned in emerald green leaves and waving white blossoms.

She sat down beside the stone and breathed deeply.

The air was fresh, and she drank it in, feeling the air whoosh in and out of her lungs, a delicious sensation.

She could spend the whole day just sitting here breathing the cool garden air.

Below her, the grass was brilliant green. The sun on her shoulders was tender.

Life was a miracle. But maybe this was all a dream? Surveying the city below, she felt recognition hit her with a jolt.

Jerusalem! Oh, I remember you!

It was spring, and she was in Jerusalem. She lived here, didn’t she? Yes, she remembered that much now. She lived here with her husband, Antonius, and her…her hand fluttered over her abdomen. Her mind snapped shut again.

Do not panic. Think. Where am I?

She was on the north end of Jerusalem, on the other side of the hill where criminals were executed.

The thought made her cold. Concentrating, she closed her eyes and inhaled again.

It was there, yes, the faint but sharp odor of old blood.

Someone had been crucified there recently, maybe days ago.

She had to get home to her husband, Antonius.

She had been raised to life, but everything else remained shrouded in her memory.

He would remember though. Antonius was a shrewd man.

Below, to her far right, the temple was visible, and directly beneath her was the city wall.

Everywhere around her were tombs. Some were sealed, as they had been for generations.

Others, like hers, stood open, the stones rolled away.

Many stones were cracked as if by violent force.

The cracks split the rocks wide enough to illuminate the graves within.

The graves were empty, and linen strips littered the garden path.

She needed to follow that path down the garden’s hill, back into the city of Jerusalem. Someone had been just outside the grave, arguing. She had heard them. Something was terribly wrong, but she did not know what it was.