The feeling was so strange, it took me a few moments to place it. Absence. Wait, no, it was more than that, more specific.

Absence of pain. The lingering cough, the weight on my chest, the chill that invaded my body. The other reason I was so disoriented was my sudden awakening. What had woken me up?

Slowly a realization dawned on my groggy, confused mind. I wasn't in my room. I couldn't tell where I *was*, but it certainly was not in my house. No wonder it was taking me a while to orient myself.

I looked around. I was in a featureless expanse. How long it might go in any direction was anyone's guess. But what made it remarkable was the silence. It was complete, pounding on my eardrums. Another absence.

But beyond the silence lay something else. Something just beyond the edge of my hearing, like the person you know is behind you but you can't quite see. Though I could not hear it, there was something there, a tense, expectant sound, almost a humming.

One thing was clear. However I had gotten there, something was about to happen. The silence grew until it fairly sang with anticipation.


Then it happened. There was a ripple in the silence, a faltering of the waiting buzz. Then it was back to a steady presence just beyond my senses. It faltered again.

Finally, a sound broke through. The silence flew into a thousand pieces, suddenly being replaced by something rich and warm. A voice swelled out from the hum, audible and clear.


Child, arise.


The command was unmistakable. I wasn't sure how to obey, but I knew I had to, somehow.

Suddenly, I opened my eyes. I hadn't know they were closed. There was still absence. No pain. But now I was undoubtedly in my room, in my bed in fact.

My mother and father were on one side of the bed, faces tearstained. I wondered what was wrong.

The face closest to me held my gaze though. His eyes matched his voice. I knew he was the reason for the hum. He was what was going to happen.

He reached out his hand to me. It was rough and browned, used to hard labor: a carpenter's hand I took it and sat up slowly. Then I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

I felt strangely unsteady as I stood, tired as if from some difficult task, but his hand was on my shoulder, encouraging and steadying me. I gave him a grateful smile and turned to my parents. They were standing stock still, eyes wide and faces incredulous.

The carpenter bade them get me something to eat, then beckoned to three men who were standing across the room. The four turned to leave while my parents found me food, still looking dazed.


In a flash I understood where I had been, in the silence. I wanted to call out to the carpenter, to thank him over and over, but I realized that I didn't even know his name.

He turned back in the doorway and smiled one last time. I knew he understood.

Then he vanished, the gentle carpenter, the reason for the hum, and the man who pulled me from death into life.


Based on Luke 9:49-56

Author's note: This is just a short story I wrote in a moment of inspiration. If you do not know the Bible reference, it is based on the story of Jairus's daughter, told in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. I based mine on Luke's account. Please let me know what you think about it.