Free Wings of Refuge by Lynn Austin Page B

Abby . . . there’s your first one.”
    Abby tilted her head, looking at the sky for the first time since crawling out of bed. Billions of stars studded the black velvet expanse, with the shimmering blaze of the Milky Way cutting a swath across the middle. The sight took her breath away.
    “Wow! I’ve never seen so many stars! There are too many city lights where I live.”
    “God told Abraham to look up at the heavens and count the stars—that’s how numerous his offspring would be.”
    The sky was already growing light when they arrived at the excavation site—a jumbled pile of stones and weeds on top of a mound forty feet high. While Dr. Voss issued orders for the equipment to be unloaded—picks, shovels, wheelbarrows, spades, and dozens of black plastic buckets—Hannah drew Abby aside.
    “Ready for your second reward?” They walked to the eastern edge of the mound, overlooking a grove of fruit trees. “Have you ever heard the song of praise the birds sing as they greet the dawn? Listen . . .”
    The sky above the distant hills resembled an Impressionist watercolor in muted shades of pink and blue. Then, as the hazy sun slowly rose above the horizon, it was greeted by a chorus of birdsong in the trees below. The sound slowly grew in a mighty crescendo of joy.
    “You’re right,” Abby said softly. “It was worth getting up early for this.”
    “Jesus told us to look at the birds; they don’t worry about the future because our heavenly Father feeds them. I think that’s why they praise Him, don’t you, Abby?”
    They enjoyed the ever-changing sky in silence for a few minutes before Hannah sighed and said, “Well, now we must get to work.”
    “She gathered all the volunteers around her to begin the day with a walking tour of the site, deftly maneuvering with her crutches over the rough terrain. “This tel , or archaeological mound we’re standing on, is like a layer cake of ancient history. Each time the village was destroyed, the survivors would rebuild on the remaining rubble, layer after layer, until the result was this flat-topped tel. The oldest civilizations are on the very bottom, the newest ones close to the surface. This is only our third year at this site, and as you can see”—she gestured toward the eleven-acre plateau that remained largely unexcavated—“we have a long way to go. If you look around among the weeds as we walk, you’ll probably find some stray pieces of pottery.”
    “Can we keep what we find?” one of the college students asked.
    Hannah smiled. “That depends. We already have plenty of ordinary potsherds, so you can keep those. But promise me you will show your area supervisor any pieces that have writing or designs on them, okay? All of the artifacts belong to the State of Israel . . . and we still live by the Ten Commandments here—‘Thou shalt not steal.’” Everyone laughed.
    Hannah stopped at a work site near the village spring. “During our first season, we dug this shaft all the way down to the bedrock and learned that the village was occupied almost continually throughout the Old Testament period, probably because of this freshwater supply. Last year we did more probing, searching for promising sites, and stumbled on a few, including the synagogue that you’ll see in a minute. This season we want to concentrate on the top layer of occupation, which dates from the Roman period.”
    Abby found herself walking beside Ari as they followed Hannah to the next work area. “This should be right up your alley,” she said.
    “My what ?”
    Seeing his puzzled expression she added, “The Roman period, I mean. Didn’t you say it was your area of expertise?”
    “Yes,” he said after a moment. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” But there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
    “We are still unsure of the name of this tel,” Hannah continued. “No one thought to put up a welcome sign on the outskirts of town, announcing the name. But we have tentatively