Road to Via Dolorosa

Road to Via Dolorosa

Marie Conover

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© 2011 Marie Conover. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 02/03/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8697-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8698-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8699-6 (e-b)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010917792

Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

To Mom and Dad

who always encouraged writing.

To my brother, Allan who fostered my big imagination.

To Brian who continues to show me Christ.

’If you could travel back in time, which historical figure would you want to talk to?’ This question, frequently asked on media outlets and college websites, often has one name appear in its most popular" list. Namely, Jesus Christ. People want to know Him. They are fascinated with His life. Intrigued by His unique demonstrations of power and love. Awed as he masterfully dialogues with religious intellects. Yet warmly touched as he playfully interacts with children.

Who was this man?

Why did throngs of people follow Him?

What motivated Him to risk His own life and reputation, countless times?

How could He face His own execution with a seemingly unflinching resolve?

Marie Conover’s wonderful story, Road to Via Dolorosa, aptly answers these and other questions. In this engaging novel, you will follow the time-travel adventures of Joshua, a young man transported from his home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, into a breath-taking face-to-face encounter with Jesus. He meets "Yeshua" (the Hebrew name for Jesus)—not in the corridors of his own imagination—but in the land of Israel during Yeshua’s amazing days on earth.

Though this is a fictional work, the historic facts surrounding Yeshua’s travels, teachings, and ministry remain true to the Biblical accounts. Marie’s unique writing style will engage you from the first page to the last. Your heart will connect with Joshua’s childlike wonder as he discovers the amazing heart of this man—Jesus. Together you will experience fresh encounters with this one who commands waves, calms storms, heals the broken, and restores the hopeless.

Prepare your heart to step into Yeshua’s world—as he steps into yours.

Dave Hess Hope Beyond Reason

The outline for Road to Via Dolorosa was written in 2001 shortly after Marie Conover accepted Christ as her Savior. Writing has been a passion of hers since her early childhood in rural West Virginia. In 1986 she moved to Pennsylvania and spent quite a few years writing poetry. Joshua’s story was inspired by Marie’s new love of Jesus and her perspective on what it may have been like to be His personal friend. By faith we believe in that which is unseen. However, a blessed few walked closely by Jesus’ side, believing because they could see, hear and touch God’s only Son.

In the spring of 2010, after encouragement from a close friend, Marie again began working on her book. Using lessons learned from trusted teachers, inspiring Christian music and the wonderful gift of writing she hopes to encourage those who are searching for answers to some of life’s questions.

Thanks to all my friends and family who encouraged me to keep writing and helped critique Road to Via Dolorosa.

Instrumental in reading as I wrote were dear friends Elaine Seibel and Ellen Beachtel. My father, Alan Begg, my mother Patricia Lilly and my beloved husband Brian all cheered me on to the book’s conclusion in the fall of 2010.

There are important references to Jewish culture within this book that would not have been possible without my friend, Les Szabo who loves Yeshua deeply. He taught me about Jewish life when Yeshua came to our world as a man. I hope you will tuck away these lessons inside your heart.

Many thanks for later readings’ that helped with editing by my friends, Amy Goldsmith and Jennifer Russell. My mother, Patricia Lilly has tirelessly poured over my manuscript providing valuable feedback and much needed editing.

Thank you all. You are loved.

I deeply appreciate my husband, Brian whom God handpicked for me and our three wonderful sons, Michael, Andrew and Thomas. They have all been extremely patient as I have spent most of my free time this year wandering around the Jordan Valley with Joshua. It is God’s Love that has held our family together these past 23 years. Long may it continue as we each grow in our personal relationship with our Heavenly Father.

Most importantly, I am grateful to my Creator, who whispered to me an idea long ago and gave me the ability, determination and passion to write for Him. May this book, Road to Via Dolorosa, bring Glory to His precious name.

Happiness is found right under the surface of surrender where Christ’s hand is stretched out to meet ours. We simply need to let go and grab hold of what has been waiting for us since before the world was created. ~Marie Conover, 2010

Chapter 1

In the early morning of Joshua’s 30th birthday, he pauses in the foyer, glancing at Rosemary’s framed poem Thankful hanging on the wall. It is titled "Thankful", speaking of wishful thinking. His wife, Rosemary, insisted he hang it below a special silver light fixture. It is illuminated in its brushed pewter frame with golden inscriptions. Joshua’s eyes habitually wander to it on his way out, but he never tries to make sense of the words. He certainly knows nothing of its importance in his near future. This plaque is one of a variety of religious trinkets throughout their two bedroom townhouse in south Philadelphia. He remembers stories from his childhood of Jesus and disciples, but he has long since forgotten many of them as he has grown. Joshua’s memories are vague at best. He does remember his grandmother singing hymns to him as a young boy but their words are lost to him now. He can hardly remember what he had for dinner last night, let alone tales and songs from the Bible.

Joshua sighs heavily. Rose has taken a heightened interest in religion over the past few months. Joshua’s opinion is that she uses it like a crutch, similar to a few support groups to which she clings. He’s not sold on the idea of religion, but does not deny Rose the encouragement she seems to get from it. Any sort of help she gets now is great, but it’s not for him. He believes his wife leans entirely too much on others. He, on the other hand, takes care of himself. He has had to grow up.

Rose works at a therapy office, getting authorizations and doing other insurance work for the facility. She seems to like it and has lots of friends there, so he doesn’t mind if she meets with groups of people every now and then. Now that he thinks about it, she hasn’t been seeing much of the infertility support group she used to meet with every month. He wonders why…maybe the church is taking its place by giving advice. Personally, he does not take too much stock in advice from others. Every man for himself, his father used to tell him.

Joshua is, by nature, a loner. He grew up an only child and learned to solve his problems with determination and hard work. That is how his father always took care of things, and it seemed to work for him. He smiles to himself as he hears the old man now; Grin and bear it!

His father taught Joshua to depend upon himself; drilling accountability into his young son along with a deep sense of duty and honor. He’d missed lessons about care, nurturing and emotional health. Those were areas in which Dad sorely lacked. Recently, his father’s words seem harsh and callous as Joshua flops around breathless, like a fish out of water. Tears well up in his eyes as he vehemently wishes his father were still alive. Joshua would ask him about things that are important to him now. He could ask him about relationships and love. He roughly wipes away his tears and turns at a sound in the hallway behind him.

Soft footsteps approaching from behind remind him of his place in the present as he tries to live a responsible life. As quiet as the footsteps are, they jerk him back from his memories.

Smiling broadly, Rose appears in the doorway from the kitchen. Abby and I have a special surprise for you when you come home. Don’t be late, she teases him good-naturedly. She leans in the doorframe and twists her long hair around and around in her fingers. Their tri-colored tabby cat curls herself around Rose’s long legs, purring like a well-oiled sports car. Rosemary giggles like a young girl, See, even Abby knows it’s your birthday.

How can he possibly resist her? Rosemary chuckles in anticipation of what she is planning for his birthday. He wonders what she has up her sleeve. Her perfect teeth sparkle brightly. His heart leaps in his chest as his love for her is almost overwhelming. She looks just like she did the day they met, six years ago. He looks at her with tenderness in his eyes. Her beauty still dazzles him. All her features appear perfect to him. She has hardly aged at all. In stark contrast, his own 30 years are gaining on him quickly. Every time he looks in the mirror he sees more and more of his father. A rapid recession of his dark hair, with the remaining always disheveled. Patches of gray cover his crown. There is an alarming thickness creeping around his waist. He sighs heavily; he meant to get into a workout routine. If he really stopped to think about how things are turning out for him, he would become bitter but who has time for that? He has to get to work.

He still cannot fathom why this lovely woman agreed to be his wife and move to a city she did not like. So far away from her family, she hardly complains. He suddenly realizes how tough she has become. He reaches out, encircling her waist with his strong arms.

I love you Rosemary, he whispers as he bends to kiss her goodbye. So much, he murmurs as he smooths her long hair against the back of her neck. He reaches for his briefcase and turns unseeing eyes at the Thankful poem as he turns the doorknob.

He is unaware of what waits for him outside his brick home as he closes the front door with a heavy sense of obligation. Head down, he walks swiftly through the alley and turns a corner onto a broken sidewalk. Chunks of loose gravel threaten to trip him so he kicks them out of the way as he hurries along. Handfuls of shriveled, brown weeds poke through the cracks, desperate for a drop of water to stay alive in the sweltering Philadelphia summer. For the past three years he has covered the same thousand steps, progressing one block south to the crowded Ellsworth-Federal subway station.

Out of the unforgiving sunlight, he sits on a jam-packed train cradling his briefcase in his lap. Commuters cram tightly against each other, their stiff shoulders butting against their neighbor. Joshua is careful to avoid eye contact with the same grim faces as every other morning. He recognizes shoes though…wing-tipped, sneakers and loafers. Smells of freshly washed bodies mingle with the stale odor of the gray subway.

Through a darkness of smothering reality, he races underground to his architectural job on West Vine Street. The ride takes only minutes of his life, but as anyone living in the city knows, minutes are like hours and hours like lifetimes. He is anxious to begin another day, but dreads it just as much as a visit to the dentist.

He drifts away with roaming thoughts, drumming nail-bitten fingers unconsciously on his leather briefcase. As always, Rosemary takes center stage in his daydreams. His patient wife of three years is the reason he squeezes himself onto a train full of strangers day after day. As his father drilled into him, he dutifully accepts his responsibility. It is this city life he has dreamt of since he was a boy. Rose did not want to come here, but she agreed because she loved him.

Maybe he should have listened to her. Philadelphia sure has given him a lot of trouble. He somehow managed to convince Rose to travel from her family and friends in California. She had lived there all the sun-filled days of her life until they packed her up and came east. He closes his eyes thinking how a crowded, dirty city can be a bit depressing at times. Poor Rose, what has he dragged her into?

He smiles inside as he fondly remembers the day he first saw her in an Italian restaurant near the U.C.L.A campus. She radiated beauty and strength. He was sure there was something different about her. After that first glance, he spent many evenings watching the lovely waitress move quietly among a blur of college students. He studied her movements, habits and conversations carefully. It was only after weeks of mental preparation and a friend’s pep talk, that he worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date. Tongue-tied and anxious, he was amazed that she had agreed to see him. Apparently she had noticed him sitting quietly in observation.

Electricity sparked at the first touch of their skin. They spent all their free time together, quickly becoming inseparable. He marvels at how easy it is to be with his wife. They simply get along like good friends, at least until recently, he frowns. He has always been grateful she’d accepted his backward advances, but there is a lot of pressure on him now. He wonders how much she is going to put up with. Inevitably, her quiet voice finds its way into his cluttered head.

Don’t worry so much, she urges. It’s a sin.

He replies through gritted teeth, I know, you tell me all the time. A new sin to add to my growing list. He spits out the words, opening his eyes as the train begins to slow.

The familiar voice of the crackling intercom announces his destination, Race-Vine Station. Rose fades away in an instant as he waits for grimy doors to open, releasing Philadelphia’s workforce. An overpowering smell of hot metal hits Joshua square in the face as he steps down into the busy station. The underground passageways are lit with flickering fluorescent bulbs behind metal cages. He looks into the tunnel and watches the train pull away to the next stop. Paper litter gets sucked down the track by the stale wind created in the departure. He hardly looks ahead as he climbs the stairs to exit onto the street. The sunlight hurts his eyes just like it did yesterday morning. He shields them with his free hand and walks into a bustle of activity in full progress. Elegant horse-drawn carriages line a nearby street in preparation for tourist rides. A faint smell of morning sausage passes by on a sudden breeze.

Joshua walks westward with little enthusiasm. His feet feel like bricks, so heavy that he has to consciously force them one in front of the other. Sometimes he feels like running away. He is not sure where he would go, but back to his childhood would be a good place. If he could get back to his boyhood, he could douse water on the fire of his big dreams.

His shoulders are hunched and his gait reluctant as he approaches another nine hours of work. Someone roughly pushes him and then has the nerve to accuse him of a misstep. Raising his hands in defense, he appeases the rushed man who is already further along in the mass of walkers.

What a way to start my birthday, he mutters to himself in disgust.

In just a matter of minutes, he is standing below an awesome structure of contemporary design. Craning his neck, he looks directly up at the towering forty floors above. Inside lurks the Marks and Associates Architectural Firm. Marks is Joshua’s rude unforgiving boss, who seems bent on making Joshua’s life miserable.

Or maybe that’s me, he thinks with a heavy sigh.

With no time to dwell on these matters; he forces himself inside the building and into the elevator then his small office hidden deep inside the sparkling glass. Coming down the long narrow hallway toward his door at the end, he passes Carol the receptionist.

He nods in mid-stride, Carol, do you have my cup of coffee in there?

Carol turns away but not before Joshua notices a haughty smirk on her face. Certainly, Mr. Banks!

He catches her sarcastic expression and is suddenly reminded of his place in this office. Carol is required to answer phones for all the architects on this floor, but Joshua is the low man on the totem pole and she doesn’t let him forget it.

Entering his cramped corner office and sitting at his cluttered desk, he removes his tie and settles in. Many monotonous hours of gathering and documenting historical statistics lay ahead. Partying through his years at U.C.L.A did not prove beneficial to building an impressive portfolio. So, here he finds himself, closed in. He enters data day after day for Marks and Associates. His work is the ultimate slap in the face. The kind of job he studied for and dreamt of does exist within the firm, but it’s currently being held by someone who paid attention more and earned better grades; someone much closer to the street below, than Josh’s birds nest up here.

His eyes strain to make sense of the figures before him for much of the morning. His head aches already and it’s not even lunch time. He firmly grips the edge of the heavy metal desk until his knuckles turn white.

Joshua mutters, If only I was more aggressive.

If only I were the boss he thinks, rubbing his throbbing temples.

Realistically, he knows someone has to do the grunt work, but he wishes it was someone else!

When lunch finally comes, Joshua grabs a soggy sandwich from the young man peddling his lunch cart through the building hallways. He returns to his desk and stares down at the crowds of tourists below. He can barely make out what they are doing, but their bright clothing and continual pointing give them away as visitors. He envies their freedom from everyday tasks and threatening bills.

His desk is piled high with forms and musty smelling books. Bowing his head in his hands, he ponders his bleak future. Just last week he had missed another opportunity at a promotion. What he struggles with at work, he struggles with at home. He knows he cannot control either world. He is frustrated and forever desperate for advancement. People with