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

wilderness,” she said, probably to reassure me, “and that he survives on locusts and honey.” She made a face. “Do you think your son is going to do the same?”
    “Jehovah will watch over him,” I told her, concealing my concerns from her curious eyes. “He will be fine.”
    For how could the mighty Jehovah allow any harm to come to his beloved Son? I remembered the times when I had fretted about something and Joseph had jokingly reminded me that God in his glory was perfectly able to send down legions of angels if necessary to protect young Jesus. And so I told myself that I need not worry as Jesus set out on his Messiah’s mission. Jehovah would watch over him then as well.
    But where was Jehovah yesterday? What was he doing when the sky turned dark and my son cried out for deliverance? Where was God then?

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    THE NEXT TIME I saw my son, after he had been baptized by his cousin, he was not the same man who had walked away from Nazareth only a week before. He had a different look in his eyes. Maybe it was some sort of spiritual confidence or just pure determination, but he had definitely changed. Now, he was as kind and loving and gracious as ever when he greeted his family, but it was obvious to me that his mission here on earth had begun.
    It was not long before Jesus began to teach. But his teaching was unlike anything any of us had ever heard before. And the way he could speak with such conviction and hold the attention of his listeners was truly incredible. It was as if we could not get enough of his words. Even I, his own mother, was often caught as if spellbound by his ability to speak what I knew must be truth in a completely new and profound way. Truly amazing!
    And yet he was my son. I had given birth to this young man, had nourished him from my own breast, had washed, fed, and cared for him when he was too little to care for himself. And yet he was God. It was almost too much for me to contain in my small, earthly head. But my heart knew it was true.
    Not long after Jesus began his ministry, my favorite sister, Sarah, who lived in the neighboring town of Cana, invited us to visit her family and celebrate the wedding of her firstborn son. Her handsome Benjamin had been betrothed to a young woman from a fairly well-to-do family, and I am sure Sarah wanted to impress us with this match. Since I have always loved Benjamin, I was happy to go, as were my children. Even Jesus promised to meet up with us there. By now he had several faithful friends who traveled everywhere with him, soaking in all the words of his teaching as well as helping see to his needs. It was plain that my son was in good hands. Not only Jehovah’s but also those of these loyal men who clearly loved their leader.
    We all know that weddings do not come cheap, but it was obvious that Sarah and her husband had spent a lot on this one. However, they had no idea how many guests the wife’s family would invite, and early in the evening poor Sarah realized they had completely run out of wine.
    “Mary,” she whispered to me. “Whatever are we going to do? We will appear to be the most thoughtless of all hosts, and poor Benjamin will be shamed in front of his new in-laws.”
    Feeling my sister’s pain almost as my own, I sought out Jesus. I am not even sure why—for what did I really think he could do about it? But if Joseph had been alive, I am sure I would have run to him for help in just the same way.
    “Jesus!” I used my most urgent tone to address my son. “They are out of wine, and Sarah is humiliated. Is there anything you can do?”
    I will never forget the way he looked at me. Almost as if I was not really his mother. “This is not our problem,” he told me with an authority that was slightly intimidating. “My time has not come yet. Do not push me, woman.”
    Well, for my firstborn son to address me in such a manner was rather shocking. Not that it was rude, for I have heard other grown men use the same terms with their