Three Days: A Mother's Story by Melody Carlson Page A

his words and thirsted for his miracles. He did not waste his time on our unbelieving and insignificant little town. And I do not blame him.
    In fact, I felt a similar sense of rejection myself, as if I too was being dishonored—of course, my shunning was nothing like the way they treated Jesus, but it existed nonetheless. I would walk down to the well, and suddenly I would hear the voices get quieter, followed by hushed whispers and quick sideways glances. I knew what they were saying. And it hurt. Deeply.
    It seemed the only real joy I found in my hometown was being in the privacy of my little garden. I loved taking my grandchildren there with me, teaching them to love and respect the plants. But one cannot hide in one’s garden forever.
    As a result, it became increasingly easier to leave my hometown and to travel with the crowds that followed Jesus’s ministry. When Jesus said that foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head, I could almost understand. For sometimes it seemed I had no home either. Surely, I knew I still had my home back in Nazareth, the one so lovingly built for me by Joseph and now shared with two of my sons and their families, but more and more I did not feel at home there. Perhaps it was because I was thinking more about my heavenly home and my heavenly Father. Or perhaps it was simply because of my belief in the deity of my firstborn son, combined with the fact that I no longer felt welcome among my own neighbors.
    But all these worries were instantly forgotten whenever I heard Jesus preach. Like so many others in the crowd, I devoured his words of life. I wanted to store them all inside of me so I could pull them out one by one later and at will. For the first time ever, I wished I was able to write, but having grown up poor—and a mere girl, at that—my education was quite limited. Still, I tried to inscribe his words upon my heart. I tried to memorize his stories so I might one day be able to tell my grandchildren, hoping that perhaps they, unlike their parents, would have ears to hear.

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    THE DARKNESS SURROUNDS ME as I pull my blanket more tightly around my shoulders. I long for this night to end. I remember his words— “I am the light of the world. Whoever believes in me will no longer live in darkness but will have the light of life!”
    Now I understand that Jesus was speaking of spiritual enlightenment and not physical darkness, but as I sit here in the black of night, I cannot help but feel that our light has been extinguished. Where are you, my Lord? Will you ever return with your light?
    I remember another time when I thought Jesus was removing himself and his light from us. It was during this past year, the last year of his life, that Jesus began to pull away from the crowds and the public speaking. It worried me at first. I could not understand why he would do such a thing—especially after he had gained such widespread popularity and influence. But John told me that Jesus’s intent was to focus more of his time and energy to teach his disciples with more intensity than he had been able to teach the large groups. And, as much as I missed sitting among the crowds and listening to his words of life, I had to respect his decision. He was, after all, God’s Son. I trusted that he knew what he was doing.
    So it was time for me to return to Nazareth again. Now, certainly, my children were pleased to have me home during this period—well, at least initially. And, to my surprise, I felt a new sense of fulfillment being back with them. It actually seemed that I was putting something important into practice—something I had heard from one of Jesus’s followers.
    My friend Mary of Magdala told me, as we were parting ways, “The Lord said that if we seek to gain our own lives, we will lose them . . . but if we give up our lives for his sake, we will gain them.”
    Somehow I knew after hearing those words that it was time for me to go home.