One more time, just once more and this entire sordid ordeal would be over and he could go home and make plans to end his life while a shred of dignity remained to him.
Continued…
This time he lingered a moment to look back over his shoulder to the shore. His faithful servant was still looking at him, a mixture of anticipated hope and fear twisting his features. A simple, almost imperceptible nod came from the other man and Naaman returned the head twitch before looking away once more.
This was it, the time had come. The prophet… healer, what was the man's name? Elizi? No, Elisha, the Prophet Elisha that was the man's name, he'd given instructions through a servant without even bothering himself to meet the man he was supposedly going to heal, face to face. This farce would be over and along with it any hope Naaman possessed however brief since the beginning of his disease.
Taking quick stock of himself, Naaman knew he was trembling slightly, something that should have appalled him- a captain of the Syrian army- but it didn't. Fate was a strange thing. He could face the enemy's blood-stained swords in battle without a single qualm but this, this disease terrified him.
Inhaling deeply, Naaman held his breath and closed his eyes tighter than before. His trembling body felt suddenly weak and rubbery almost out of his control. Forcing himself to make the last plunge underneath the water, Naaman felt his feet slipping out from beneath him and instead of trying to find purchase, he allowed them to slide. This last immersion would tell-all, it may as well be deeper than any of the others. Arms waving in slow motion under that water's pressure, Naaman was almost able to keep himself submerged in a sitting position. The force of a previously unfelt underwater current, a wave from a passing large fish perhaps, pushed at his chest hard and knocked him completely backward. His head hit the thick sandy riverbed and he felt a few of the water-worn pebbles poke the back of his skull, but there was no pain from the impact. His arms started to flail weakly with the water pressure keeping his movements awkward, Naaman also used his feet digging his heels at the river bottom seeking enough purchase to propel himself upwards.
From the shore, his servant had seen Naaman's plunge take a turn out of the ordinary when his master didn't immediately jerk upwards from his descent. The ripple of water current was wild around where he'd gone under and the servant's sudden anxiety had him rush, fully clothed, into the water. Was the captain in trouble! Drowning? What sorcery had the prophet unleashed upon them? Was there a creature beneath this mucky, stench filled river that lay in wait for unsuspecting people to offer themselves to it with this ritual seven times dipping? Something was wrong, and if anything bad happened to his master because of his urging him to listen to the prophet, he'd never forgive himself, never!
Before the servant could traverse the water to him, Naaman regained his footing and pushed hard against the ground propelling his body up out of the water. As before he shook his head hard only this time he sputtered out a mouthful of the awful water that he'd managed to inhale. Coughing hard while using his hands to brush the water from his face and hair, Naaman took all of a few seconds to gather his wits before thrusting his arms outwards studying them for the familiar leper spots.
Shock filled him and he stumbled almost off his feet again, but this time his servant was there to keep him standing.
"They're gone! They're gone!" Naaman gasped in shocked disbelief. He twisted his arms, he looked frantically for the diseased spotted flesh and found none on his arms. He grabbed at his waist as he looked down upon his torso, not a single mark! His flesh was smooth, soft, new! "It's gone!" He shouted and gave a loud whoop of pure joy. "I'm healed! It worked! He healed me! It worked!"
The rest of the servants still on the shore turned to look in amazement at the sight of their master, they joined in the chorus of happy shouting and grabbed at each other happily thumping one another on the back before rushing into the water's edge to meet their master as he and his favored servant came rushing out of the river to the shore.
There were unceremonious hugs and congratulations all around as they studied the pure flesh of Naaman's. It was as if his flesh was that of a young child, not a grown man. They'd never seen such unblemished, soft flesh-like this before on one with this many years of life behind him.
Over the course of just a few minutes, things settle a bit and the favored servant started barking out commands for the captain to be dried and redressed in a fresh set of clothing, the old set would be burned and along with it any remainder of the disease that had marked Naaman.
Disbelief and joy clouded the captain's mind. The happiness had him laughing and continuously touching his arms, his chest all the places the leprosy had marked him, places he'd stopped touching since the disease was first noticed.
"We have to go back to the prophet! We have to! He healed me, His God healed me! Surely there is no God such as His!" Naaman shouted the words that were shockingly true, words he'd never thought he'd utter. Only moments before he'd briefly entertained the thought of going back and harming the false prophet, and now, well…now he wanted to praise him and worship the obviously true God the man served! None of the gods he'd served all his life had been able to heal him, none, they were useless, powerless, truly false prophets of the world but not the Prophet Elisha's God, he healed him! It was a miracle unlike any other he'd ever known, healed of leprosy and left with not a single scar from the blemishes! None would have known he'd ever been disease-ridden if they hadn't seen it for themselves.
Redressed, all the servants in dry apparel as well, Naaman and his entourage made their way back to the prophet's home.
"Prophet Elisha! Prophet Elisha!" Naaman called out for the man as his chariot approached his dwelling.
This time the prophet pushed open the door himself and stepped outside to stand before the captain. There was a slight knowing smile curving the lips of the prophet, a certain light of his own joy gleaming in his eyes. God had a purpose here in this healing he'd wrought through Elisha and God's work was joyful in its revealed miraculous ways.
Jumping down out of the chariot, Naaman rushed to stand in front of the prophet. Clearing his throat with a deep cough, trying to contain some of his unseemly, inappropriate behavior for a man of his station, the captain bowed his head with his arm across his chest showing the man high regard, the respect of a Syrian captain.
Head raised, arm at his side a moment later, Naaman spoke loud and clear. "Behold, now I know that there is no God in all the earth, but in Israel: now, therefore, I pray thee, take a blessing of thy servant."
With a wave of his arm, several servants revealed the treasure of fine raiment, the chests filled with silver and gold, surely a small price to pay for the return of his health, and in truth, his life.
The sheer wealth before the prophet was unlike anything he had ever been offered before, but without a single thought of taking possession of it, the prophet shook his head and held his arms up, his palms outward as if to ward off the offered blessing. "As the LORD liveth, before whom I stand, I will receive none." He told the captain. He hadn't healed Naaman, God had healed him. To take a reward of any kind would be taking the glory for the healing he had not done. He was a vessel to be used by the LORD, without any power of his own. Elisha wanted all the glory to go to God, every bit of it, not a single bit of glory would be his.
Naaman was wide-eyed with shock. The man was refusing enough wealth to set him up for the rest of his life in luxury and status. Surely he had to change his mind!
"You have to take it if it weren't for you my life would be over. You must let me reward you! I have to do something for you!" Naaman insisted and waved his servants forwards as if to force the treasures upon the man.
"No," Elisha spoke the single word adamantly and took a step backward, his face losing all of its previous peacefulness, replaced with a brow furrowed deeply, his expression stern.
Quickly, Naaman gestured the servants to back off. The last thing he wanted was to upset the prophet who had been instrumental in his healing.
To be Continued...
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