When a young boy comes to an old sandal maker and ask him to make a pair of adult-sized sandals for a baby, the man is confused and surprised by his request. After all, so many children of that time never made it to adulthood and so his request seemed foolish. The boy tells the old man that three great men came to see the baby and one of them looked into the manger and said Rab and the boy figured if the child was going to grow up to be a rabbi, he would need good footwear. The boy says his father has given him a lamb to start his own flock, but now, after seeing the baby, has given him permission to use the lamb for the leather. And there their journey begins.
Shoes for the Shepherd
By Dixielee (Reed) TrippAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Dixielee (Reed) Tripp
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-2288-8 Chapter One
The old cobbler sat, his knees gripping the sides of the wooden workbench. His nimble fingers worked the sandal snugged tightly to a clay last. He had formed the lasts using his own foot as a model and then mounted each one on a post of wood which sat firmly fixed into a hole in the bench.
He worked a sharp awl through the leather of the insole and into the wooden sole below. Each hole had to be pierced through the layers of leather and wood so that a binding of leather thongs pulled securely through them would hold each of the glued layers. His name was Jubal ben Eliazar.
He was a slight man, well past 60 years. His hair was silvery white; his skin burnished from the desert sun which beat against the earth nearly every day of every year. The years of making sandals had caused his fingers to become bent with knobs of bone jutting out at angles.
He smiled to himself thinking of the times he had pointed one of those fingers to give directions only to realize that because of the bends and knobs he was pointing in the wrong direction. Another brief smile crossed his lips and his eyes shimmered with the thoughts of his infirmity.
He had been a sandal maker since childhood, first learning the skills from his father and then, passing those skills on to his own sons long gone to their own homes, families and lives. His skills had given him a good life.
And so he sat, as he did each day, his shoulders bowed over the last, stitching then pulling on the thongs of leather through the edge of each sole until he had completed a durable thing which, because of the soles thickness would keep the heat of the desert sand from burning the feet of his customers .
He was alone. His precious wife, Esther, had long ago left the earth to bide her time in Heaven while she waited for him to join her. But his time had not yet come and so he toiled year after year, mounting each sandal on a last, stitching and shaping and stitching again. In a time when many people went without sandals or just used a simple thong tied to a wooden sole, his sandals and his talent were respected. He was a master craftsman and so admired by the priests of the Temple in Jerusalem that he had become their personal cobbler.
His small home was his world. He had built it himself with the help of his sons, mixing clay, sand, manure and water, brick by brick, until they had created a comfortable dwelling for Esther and him. The walls were thick to keep the heat of the desert out, the roof flat so that hot nights could be spent sleeping beneath the clear star-filled Heaven, a gift from God to those he had chosen. The rooms of the home were large enough to fill with the love he had always felt for Esther and their sons. He was a man contented save for the loneliness without her.
This one room, set aside for his business, was filled with the goods of his trade. Across the room neatly cut squares of sheepskin were stretched on frames for drying. He had carefully clipped the wool from the outside of the hides down to the cuticle and then scraped the flesh from the inner side. After the tanning process he had hung them on wooden frames to cure allowing them enough time to make them just right for the next pair of sandals he would craft.
Chapter Two
Without quite realizing why, the old man felt the presence of another person. He turned to see a young boy standing in the doorway quietly watching him working at the lasts.
The boy was about eight years old. His deeply tanned skin glowed in the light that surrounded him emphasized by oil from the sheep he and his family raised in the pastures surrounding the town. His knees were knobby, his legs spindly, his feet bare. He wore a short chemise made of home-woven wool which his mother had carded and spun from the lambs his father herded. Dust from the desert had settled on it giving it a sandy-brown look.
The old man knew him as the son of one of the shepherds who plied their trade in the desert among the surrounding hills and valleys. His name was Michah.
"I have come to ask you to make a pair of sandals." Michah said.
"And what can you pay me for these sandals?" Jubal said somewhat surprised at the request for he knew no child of Michah's age could have anything worth the price of the sandals with which to pay.
"I cannot pay for them." The boy whispered.
"Oh, and you expect me to give them to you free?" the old man laughed.
"No, father, I want to trade for them."
Jubal smiled at the reference to him as 'father.' The term of endearment he had not heard for such a long time softened his heart to the boy's request.
"I want to trade for them." The boy said again.
"Ah, such a young boy and already prepared to haggle in the streets for something you don't even need. How many boys do you see wearing sandals, lad?" The old man asked.
Michah blushed and said quickly, "None, but they are not for me."
"Oh, then for your father I suppose?" Jubal asked.
"No. not for my father either." Michah replied.
"Well, tell me then, who are they for and what do you have to barter with that will make my work worth the doing? Come now, speak up!" Jubal said.
Michah hesitated for a moment and then quietly said, in a voice almost impossible to hear, "I want them for a baby."
The old man laughed heartily. "Since when do babies need sandals? You are wasting my time, which is precious to me to make sandals for a child who can't even walk? This is nonsense!"
"Hear me out, father for I have not come to this task lightly nor out of the foolishness you attribute to children. I know what I need. I do not want a pair of baby sandals. I want a pair of men's sandals so that when the baby grows to manhood, he will have the best sandals anyone can offer."
"My you certainly have your mind made up, don't you." Jubal said. "So who is this baby whom you have decided needs sandals so early in life?"
"His name is Yeshua ben Yoseph."
"I have no recollection of such a name for a child born here in Bethlehem. Where have you found this child? In the pastures with your sheep?" Jubal questioned.
"No father, he was born in the old stable behind the inn three nights past. Did you not see the wondrous star that night? Did you not ask why it shone so brightly? And did you not see that the light of that star shone the brightest on the stable?" Michah asked.
"Goodness me, so many questions." Jubal said. "Do you ever run out of questions and answers even before I have had time to ask them?"
Michah smiled. "But I know what I need to know and all I ask is that you help me."
"Yes, you certainly seem to know. And now you come to me and I'm supposed to take you at your word and make shoes for a baby, but they are supposed to be the size of a man's foot and you want to barter for them because you have nothing else of value and ..." Jubal stopped, realizing that nothing he could say at this point would change the child's mind.
"But the star, didn't you see it?" the boy asked again.
"No, but then it had been a long day and I was tired. I went to bed early that night. I saw nothing." Jubal said.
"But I did," Michah persisted. "I was there and I saw the star. And I saw the baby." Michah's voice was filled with wonderment. "And now I must have a pair of sandals and they must be the very best you can make. Please father, I do have something to trade."
...
