The next day, I feigned illness. I was flushed and my eyes bright. The housekeeper mistook excitement for fever and sent me to the slave quarters with a foul smelling elixir. As soon as everyone was at work, I dressed in peasant's clothes and slipped into the courtyard. It was easy to cover the tattoo that marked me as a slave. While slaves wore no head coverings, pious women did, and so I simply donned the appropriate headgear and the brand was hidden.

I waited in the shadows of the gates until I saw the three men enter. They left servants outside with loaded camels. Evidently the Zorastrians did not travel lightly. I approached a servant and asked where they journeyed, telling him I was looking to attach myself to a group bound for Bethlehem. I was told that, as yet, they had no specific destination, but I could wait. Once they found out, I could travel with them if they were headed in a southerly direction.

The Magi were not long in Herod's Court. They exited, telling the servants that their destination was Bethlehem. As they mounted camels, they talked animatedly about Herod's helpfulness and his desire to worship this youthful messiah once they located him. My heart chilled to hear them talk of returning to Jerusalem with news of the young child, providing directions so Herod could seek him out. This, I knew, could not happen. I assumed it was up to me to prevent Herod from finding and slaughtering the child whom these men sought, for surely that was his real plan. I had heard his tirade about a usurper. I knew he masked his true intentions toward the child.

Curious about the heavenly luminary that brought the astronomers to the court of Herod, I had ventured out into the gardens after dark descended the previous night. I searched the sky for a bright, unfamiliar star, but to no avail.

The goddess Sopdet was the star I always sought first when searching the night sky, for she was stationary. I could easily trace the short-handled gourd she anchored and the nearby long-handled gourd. I was told by mother that the two gourds together formed a bear, but I could never locate the animal in the constellations. My imagination was too limited.

I could find many fanciful animals and other objects in the clouds, but discovering the ones the astronomers labeled in the stars was a challenge. I detected two of the "stars that know no rest." There were five of them, but all were never visible simultaneously. Disappointed, I returned to my bed, wondering how I could miss something the easterners said was so obvious. Now as the entourage of the Magi headed south toward Bethlehem, I hoped to be able to overhear their conversation and perhaps discern why my search of the heavens had been unsuccessful.

As dusk descended, an expectant hush fell over the group and our progress slowed almost to a crawl. One by one the stars became visible. Sopdet anchored her gourd. Other stars twinkled and sparkled, blanketing the night sky.

Suddenly Balthazar shouted, "Halleluiah!" He gestured wildly at the night sky in front of us. "Look! The royal star has returned. Just as Herod said, it is moving toward Bethlehem."

I stood rooted on the spot, overawed by the spectacle. The Magi had not exaggerated. A dazzling sphere with four points radiating out from the center had moved into view. Its brilliance dwarfed the surrounding orbs, making even Sopdet appear insignificant in comparison. This star definitely had not been in the sky the previous night. Why it had disappeared only to return as the Magi set out for Bethlehem, I did not know, but such an extraordinary display must herald something important. My mother's prophecy, combined with the heavenly exhibit, solidified the interpretation of the Magi. Surely we were en route to the birthplace of a king.

The enthusiasm of the Magi was contagious. While other travelers stopped for the night, we forged on, following the brilliant star towards Bethlehem. As the first streaks of dawn brushed the horizon, the town of Bethlehem came into sight in the distance. To my surprise, Balthazar called a halt.

"We will make camp here," he said. "We will refresh ourselves, don our best clothes and await the reappearance of the star. It will lead us to the house where the young king resides."

In the faint light of dawn, the brilliant star was still slightly visible. As the three men and their servants set up camp, I slipped into Bethlehem and followed the star to the house where it seemed to point. I settled under a nearby tree so I could observe the residence.

A young woman emerged and stirred the coals under a clay oven. Raising her hands toward the sunrise, she exclaimed, "Thank you, Adonai, for painting the sky with such beauty. Your goodness is boundless." She began to hum a song as she took out a pedestal to grind grain.

A few minutes later, a tousle-headed toddler came through the door, rubbing his eyes. "Moning, Mama," he said as he waddled his way across the dirt to where his mother sat.

"Morning, precious," she replied without breaking rhythm.

"I not pweshush," he protested, "I Jesus."

"Yes, you are Jesus," she said with a smile, "but you are precious to me. Precious means very important and worth more than anything else."

"Pweshush," the infant responded. Then pointing to the blossoming sunrise, "Pweshush?"

Putting down the grinding implements, the young woman picked up the toddler and hugged him tight. Turning toward the horizon, she murmured, "Yes, the beauty of the sunrise is precious. Adonai chooses to share this precious sight with any who care to observe the morning spectacle. Adonai makes all things that are precious."

"I pweshush," the boy replied. "A-do-nai make me," he stated, pronouncing the name of the god slowly, one syllable at a time.

"Yes," the young woman said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Adonai made you. He made you in a very special way. And one day you will understand just how important you are to Adonai." As she finished, a tear escaped her bright eyes.

The baby reached out a pudgy hand and touched the tear on his mother's cheek. "Pweshush make smile, no make cry," he said.

At that, the young woman burst out laughing. Giving the toddler a quick hug, she set him on his feet. "Those tears were because I was so happy, not because I was sad," she said. "Now, go find your father. Breakfast will be ready soon."

As the young child ran toward the house on chunky baby legs, shouting, "Daddy, daddy," I felt a tear drip onto my hand. Something about the interchange touched me deeply. My very soul seemed to echo with the words, "Adonai makes all things that are precious." Who is this Adonai, I wondered? Why did I feel such a yearning when I heard the baby say, "I pweshush; Adonai make me."

The gods had singled me out for a mission; yet I did not feel precious. I was precious to my mother, but I had always felt my specialness was linked to my mission. If the gods had not chosen me, I would be just another plain girl child. I would be the expendable child, my sex making me less important than my brother. Girls were sold to satisfy a family debt. The parents would go to prison rather than indenture a son. I did not even have beauty on my side. My homeliness was an asset for this mission, but without a calling it would be a detriment. Even as I reminded myself that the gods had chosen me over all the other possible candidates in Egypt and the other nations near Bethlehem, I still longed to be able to say with Jesus, "I pweshush; Adonai make me."

Shaking off the strange malaise that had overtaken me, I pondered what course to follow. I should return to the vicinity of the Magi and follow them to make sure this was the house they sought. Somehow, though, I was loathe to leave. I was certain that this was the young king. Just as I knew that I had to go with the Magi when they spoke to Herod, I sensed that this was the child they sought. Deciding to follow an instinct that had yet to fail me, I arose from the bench and approached the young woman.

"Excuse me," I said softly as I stood outside the yard where the young woman was preparing breakfast. While there was no fence around the dwelling, it was clear where the street left off.

Looking up, the young woman smiled a welcome. "Shalom, stranger," she said. "How can I help you?"

"Shalom," I returned the welcome that indicated good faith. "I arrived from Egypt, expecting to meet someone in Jerusalem." I spoke a very scanty version of my truth. "He was not there. I was allowed to follow a caravan this far, but I have no money to pay for further protection. I was wondering if you could use some domestic help. I see you have a young son. I am very good with children. I know how to grind grain, and I can weave," I added.

"You are welcome to share our table," the young woman said with a smile. "Adonai provides enough grain for us to share. I do not really need domestic help, though." Then seeing my drooping countenance, she added, "Perhaps I can help you to locate a family in need of someone to clean or watch the children. By the way, I am Mary," she concluded bowing slightly.

I returned the curtsy and told her my name. Sitting down on the bench near the grinding tool, I said, "At least let me earn my meal," as I reached for the pedestal.

Just then the young child came running from the house, laughing and shouting, "Daddy no catch, daddy no catch!"

He ran around his smiling mother and ducked under my mantle, holding tightly to my waist and burying his face in my back.

A laughing man emerged from the house, jogging slowly toward where Mary stood. "I'm going to get you," he said, pulling up Mary's sleeveless mantle, and peering underneath. Seeing no cowering youngster, he looked puzzled. "Didn't Jesus run out here?" he asked.

When a childish giggle echoed from under my mantle, the man turned in surprise, noticing my presence for the first time.

"I think maybe Jesus has a new friend," Mary said with a smile. "Joseph, meet Subira."

The puzzled man looked at me and said, "Shalom, Subira."

When my mantle began to jiggle as the excited child holding to my waist started to squirm in anticipation of being found, I said with a laugh, "Something is about to squeeze the air out of me."

Reaching around, I pulled the young boy out and plopped him onto my lap. "You will be safe here from the mean man," I said, wrapping my arms protectively around him.

The boy giggled, "He not mean. He Daddy!" the child stated emphatically. Then looking at his parents, he stood up in my lap, put his arm around my neck and said, "She stay!"

"For a while," Mary responded with a smile.