The ford at the river Jordan
Chapter One: The Road to the Ford The dust in the Jordan valley was thick enough to chew. Yeshua wiped the sweat from his eyes with a calloused hand, leading the donkey by the rope. The beast was grunting under the weight of the packs—new tools, good cloth, and the heavy purse of silver rattling against its flank. Jerash had been a long, tough job, but the pay was right. For the first time in a long while, Yeshua felt like he was getting ahead of the game. But as he approached the crossing, the path was choked. It wasn't the usual traders or Roman patrols. It was a sea of people—poor people, laborers, the ones who usually didn't have two coins to rub together. They were all staring down at the muddy bank of the river. You know that feeling when you’ve finished a long shift? Your back aches, your hands are cracked, but your pocket is heavy. That was Yeshua. He’d just wrapped up a major build over in Jerash—a city of big stones and even bigger egos—and he’d been paid well for i...