adapted from Acts 9:1-25 by Jim Ware

"Baskets and mats!" 10-year-old Hannah called, shifting the weight of the woven goods on her back. "Mats and baskets!"

Damascus’ cobbled marketplace was a jumble of sights, sounds and smells: merchants selling bolts of bright cloth; flocks of bleating sheep and goats; stern-faced Roman soldiers; the aroma of roasting meat mingled with the scents of Oriental spices and perfumes.

Usually the scene would have filled Hannah’s mind with thoughts of adventure and endless possibilities. But today it made her feel small and useless.

Who cares about baskets and mats anyway? she thought. They have to be the least important things in this city.

"How much for the big ones?" asked a sharp voice at her ear.

"Three lepta," Hannah answered. She handed the dark-robed woman a large, floppy basket and collected three copper coins. Three tiny coins for a basket large enough to hold four or five cors of wheat. It was hardly worth the trouble.

Steadying her load, Hannah sidled her way through the crowd and turned toward home.

How, she wondered, can I go on selling stupid baskets with all the exciting things happening? What good is a basket girl in this world where everyone else is more important?

Everything started several years before when Hannah’s parents had heard some alarming stories about Saul, the Pharisee from Jerusalem. They were told he was on his way to Damascus to arrest and imprison followers of the Way. But then an amazing miracle put a stop to Saul’s plans. He had met the risen Jesus on the road and become a believer himself.

As she moved through the throngs of people, she pictured Saul as she had seen him in her uncle’s house, with the light of God’s love shining in his eyes. Hannah remembered the thrill of listening to his preaching in the synagogue—preaching so powerful it had turned the whole city upside down.

And me? she thought. Could God ever use me? She shook her head. Of course not. I’m out here selling baskets!

Suddenly she felt someone touch her shoulder.

"Uncle Ananias!" she gasped, spinning around and scattering her load on the ground. "You scared me!"

"I’m sorry, Hannah," her uncle said, a crease furrowing his brow. "Your mother and father had to rush to an emergency meeting of believers. I told them I’d come and look for you."

"What’s the matter?"

"No time to explain. Just come quickly."

Uncle Ananias led Hannah through the winding streets and narrow lanes in the fading light of dusk. At the end of a darkened alley, they climbed a steep stairway to a small dwelling atop the city’s southern wall.

Her uncle lifted the leather door latch. Hannah dropped her baskets on the landing and ducked inside the home of another believer.

The flame of a small clay lamp flickered from a niche in the wall, lighting the faces of about a dozen people. Among them were Hannah’s parents, her Aunt Esther, Lycidas the grain merchant and Cleopas and Menander, the tanner’s sons. And in the corner, another face Hannah recognized at once—Saul.

"Our brother Saul is in grave danger," Hannah’s father was saying. "Certain men have vowed to kill him."

Kill Saul?

"No problem," the thickset Lycidas said, chewing the fringe of his reddish beard. "We just get some men and escort him out of the city." Cleopas and Menander nodded vigorously.

"You don’t understand," Ananias said. "We’re talking about sicarii. Knife-men. Sworn assassins. And they’re watching the gates day and night."

"Then we must pray for a miracle," Aunt Esther said, twisting a glossy black braid between her fingers.

Several voices agreed.

Knife-men? Hannah thought. Assassins? Miracles?

She stared at Saul. He wore a cloak and hood, and sat hunched over a table in front of the window. She thought he looked terribly fragile and tired.

I didn’t realize he was such a small man, Hannah thought. In the window behind his head, the evening star was just beginning to glimmer.

That’s when it hit her.

"Wait!" Hannah said, jumping up excitedly. "Maybe we don’t need a miracle!"

"What are you talking about?" her mother asked. But Hannah had already sprung to the door and was reaching for something on the landing.

"This!" she said, dragging a large, flexible reed-and-willow basket into the room. "Don’t you see? There’s the window! Here’s the basket! We just lower Saul down the wall. It’s his way out of the city."

A murmur of assent ran through the room.

Saul smiled and nodded. "It won’t be the first time the Lord has used a basket to save the day," he said, getting to his feet. "A basket can be a surprisingly useful thing."

Hannah blushed and smiled in return. I guess God can use a basket girl after all.

	Q: How do bees telephone one another? A: They just give each other a buzz. Zephan S., 9, Kentucky Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe