Even the wise among us limp. . .

Gaspar sat atop the beast, his body swaying with its rolling gait. Memories played on his mind, most of them good. Indeed, he savored such times when he could, without interruption, review his past, his station in life and good fortune.

Gaspar realized that certain higher qualities had eluded him. Like humility. This, he would not deny. He found himself growing less comfortable with his frequent self-congratulatory musings. But only slightly.

"Of course it was I who first took serious note of the light in the western sky. And didn’t I, Gaspar, in my research, uncover the mystery-promises?"

The promises were oral references of ancient Hebrew parchments – oracles predicting a king’s birth. A child-king promised to the Hebrew peoples. . . perhaps even to the world.

"Of course, it was I."

His shoulders lowered and he sighed, still hesitant to credit others who were equally vital to the venture on which they now embarked. . .

The lone star’s brightness now shone from directly above. Gaspar squirmed in his saddle, a curious discomfort had been rising within him already. A mood, with no prompting of any kind that he knew.

The star’s beam – brighter than he had seen it – seemed to converge with another kind of light.

Gaspar felt the stab of conscience. He yielded up a muffled cry – surprised by his own sorrowing.

"Impure!” he choked out the word. “Impure am I. . . arrogant and impure – I have counted my brothers with contempt."

His surprise remorse deepened, “I am unworthy. . . but, before whose face I am unworthy, I know not. And I dare not enter to the place of the king-child, not with this stain."

Gaspar, lost within his musings, questioned himself, "Who is this one, this young child we are led to? Could it be that it is he who moves upon me so – here, even before I view his face?"

He drew his camel back, brought his cape about his face. At his command the camel knelt. Gaspar dismounted and went to his knees. "I must gain mercy. Mercy."

“Exalted Being”, he whispered, his eyes lifted to the night’s canopy, “Governor of constellations . . . Mercy!”

In the moment he sensed a thing wholly new to him. He sat motionless, in awe, feeling a bathing presence, a sweet interior washing - wave on purifying wave. Loving, cleansing, joyous, wave on wave.

He did not measure how long he lingered. After a time he moved to rise.

His right foot, pressed beneath him so long, had lost feeling. Reaching a hand upward, he grasped a tree’s low-hanging branch. A picture came to Gaspar’s mind as he rose and balanced there now on the better foot, clutching the limb.

"Yes, yes this is who I am! I am a man not able – not of my own might – to properly stand. I am off balance, alone. Needing support – such as this tree provides my frame now." He drew a strange comfort in the thought, pondering it further.

Soon there stirred in him a resolve, a whispering pledge. He felt his jaw fix in place even as tears gathered.

"From this hour I shall walk in the company of others. My brothers – Melchior and Balthazar, indeed – and my servants as well. Friends they are, unto whom I shall render service. Yes, we shall be – each to the other – a supporting limb. As a branch." He paused, then whispered. . . "May we find strength."

Excited voices disrupted his thoughts – spirited calls from a place ahead. They were exuberant calls – calls of adoration, voiced in varied tongues – Aramaic, Hebrew, Persian, Arabian. All announced, as in a mixed yet jubilant chorus, one object – a person. The child-king.

A Hebrew’s voice bearing a trace of Persian accent sounded above the others. Distinct, crisp, jubilant. The call struck Gaspar’s soul. Cupping a weathered palm to his ear to catch the sound, he took the shoutings in – one by one.

"All worship to him, the Christ-child!

"Worship him – Messiah!

"King!

"Morning star!

"Worship him – the Branch!" The word seized Gaspar. 'Branch?'

Gaspar swallowed. A breeze touched his face and stirred his beard. He glanced to the tree and its limb, now back of him. Peering again to the path ahead he took in the lighted glow of a simple dwelling. A rich feel of warmth enveloped him and, in the moment, a whisper sounded from his lips, “I shall deliver the myrrh to my Lord, now.”

Gaspar mounted his animal. "Take us on, camel. There, to the light of that dwelling. . . take us. We shall meet there a child. The King-child.

The Branch."

©2018 JL jerrylout.com

Writer-Speaker Jerry Lout schooled at Okmulgee’s Wilson Elementary, Preston High and O.S.U. Okmulgee. Jerry is author of “Living With A Limp”. Additional narratives are posted on his blog at www.jerrylout.com. He may be reached at jerrylout@gmail.com