So I love how I manage to write a page on Thanksgiving, when there's supposed to be so much going on, but I don't write one the day after. I didn't even do the whole Black Friday thing either -- I did however see Enchanted, which was muy divertido! But, eh, threw off my groove. (Bwaha.)

You know what else throws off my groove? Being as tired as I am and having spent much time and brainpower reading and writing and working on my research paper. Therefore, I am going to be gentle on myself and say no, I didn't write yesterday, and no, I won't write a whole page tonight. I edge toward a story idea and my brain just sort of dissolves. Meh.

Caleb leaned carelessly against a convenient column, watching the man and his followers. As a successful lawyer, he had no need for this man and his ideas, not with the law engraved in everything about him, but there was such a stir about the man that Caleb’s curiosity had been seized, and so he watched.

People often asked the man questions, often just to see how he would manage to answer it without being blasphemous. Caleb had to admit that the man was very good at what he did; he had never seen him speak without an impressive display of completely unpretentious yet absolutely immeasurable wisdom. The man simply knew.

Caleb had never worried very much about his soul: he went about his business, offered his sacrifices, had never killed anyone and didn’t lie. But this man, this Jesus of Nazareth, seemed to have much more exalted ideas. Caleb found himself unaccountably intrigued.

There was a lull in the preaching as Jesus spoke privately with his disciples, and Caleb, with a smug air, decided to try the man.

“Excuse me, master?”

The man turned his eyes to him with a look of faint surprise. "Yes?"

Holding out his hands in a plaintive gesture, Caleb asked, "Master, what should I do to gain eternal life?"

Jesus appraised him soberly before he answered, “What does the law say -- in your own words?"

Caleb paused, strangely wishing to impress the man. He thought of turning to his vast academic knowledge – he was, after all, a lawyer – and yet he found the words coming out of his mouth going a different direction. “The law is to love God with everything you are: whole-heartedly, with all of your soul, might, and mind, even, and to love your neighbor the same way.”

The man, Jesus, smiled. “Exactly. Do this, and you will have eternal life.”

Jesus began to turn back to turn back to his followers, but Caleb was not ready to end, not without some sort of match of wits. “But master, who is my neighbor?”

Jesus looked up again; this time Caleb’s very soul stood still under that gaze. The deep brown eyes seemed to carry infinitely more burden than the man’s thirty-something years could possibly account for, and infinitely more wisdom than even his answers to all of the philosophical questions had demonstrated. There was something else there as well, something that Caleb could not name.

Taking a patient breath, Jesus began, “There was once a man, traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way home, he was robbed – the men who attacked him took everything, even his clothes, and beat him mercilessly before they left him there to die.

“Some time later, passing along on that same road, there came a priest. This priest saw the man, bloodied, naked, suffering…and he passed him by.

“Later, coming down the road where the man lay dying, there was a Levite. He paused for a moment and looked at the man, who could not look back at him, so blinded by the swelling and pain. And the Levite rode on.

“The sun would set soon, and the man knew there was little hope of not only returning home, but of even living out the night. As he ached there on the side of the road, with the sun slowly going down, he tried not to think of the animals that could find him there, defenseless. It was then that he heard something, and he braced himself for the worst.

“‘Oh, my friend, what have they done to you?’ They were the most blessed words he had ever heard. His wounds were cleansed with oil and wine – he could smell it, though he was too swollen to see – and so great was his joy that it was not until the man spoke again that he realized his rescuer spoke with a Samarian accent.

“‘If I help you up, can you ride?’ The man nodded mutely, hoping his battered face was still able to show the endless gratitude he felt. The Samarian eased him onto his donkey, and walked alongside it, having a steadying hand ever ready in case the man began to lose balance.

“It was late at night by the time they reached the inn, but once they got there, the man’s bandages were changed and he was given a good bed. In short, the Samarian took care of him. In the morning, the Samarian told the man that he could not stay longer, but that he had paid the innkeeper and assured him that if he needed anything more, it would be provided. And then, the Samaritan left, never to be seen by the man again.”

Caleb noticed, a long moment after Jesus finished, that he had been breathing differently throughout the duration of the tale. His eyes refocused on the face of Jesus, who was looking at him with immense gravity. “Tell me, which of the three, who saw the robbed and beaten man, was his neighbor?”

Caleb couldn’t think of anything to say. Or rather, he knew exactly what to say – “Master, it is the man who showed him mercy.” – but did not know what to think. Caleb, gazing into the eyes of this man, felt understanding wash over him. He knew what the other feeling in Jesus' eyes was, alongside the burden and the wisdom, the one he could not before explain. It was the look of unexplainable love, and the conferring of great responsibility.

Jesus nodded.

"Go, and do thou likewise."

Writing is so unpredictable -- which you notice especially when you look at the clock and honestly think it's lying to you when it says it's two in the morning.

The nice thing is that this is about 1 3/4 pages, and the one I wrote day before yesterday was 1 1/4. I guess that means that yesterdays page was made up for! :-)