We were in Israel a few days ago. The taxi pulled up to the curb near Bethphage overlooking Jerusalem. My husband and the rest of our traveling companions headed up hill on foot. I hopped in the back seat of the taxi as I waved to the only people I knew in the land. I told the driver to take me to Jericho. Our hotel was there. He assured me in broken English that he would get me there. And he did.
By now you may be wondering why I was going to Jericho ALONE. Days earlier while visiting a sheep fold, I slipped on loose rocks, fell and twisted my leg. At the time of the fall, I was not sure of the damage but knew it hurt. I could stand, therefore I figured nothing was broken. I continued to hobble around for days, in pain, holding on to my sweet husband. But on this particular day, with a mile-and-a-half hike down the Mount of Olives facing me, our leaders knew I could not handle it. Now you know why the taxi.
Since childhood I had read the Scripture about going “down from Jerusalem to Jericho.” You probably know the parable Jesus shared in Luke 10 often referred to as the “Good Samaritan.” That day I went down to Jericho, in a taxi, while the driver provided commentary on every site from the Bedouins to the sheep. It was an eighteen-mile journey through the barren Judean mountains.
Though I would have preferred going with my husband and other traveling companions, I can say I will always savor the day I rode from Jerusalem down to Jericho, in a taxi.
In case you are wondering, when I returned to Franklin, I saw an orthopedic specialist. My leg (tibia) was broken. But I wouldn’t give anything for my time in Zion walking (hobbling) where Jesus walked. HE IS EVEN BETTER THAN I KNEW.