Marian Helper • Fall 2023 • Marian.org 17 Iwas so young when Jesus and I first met, and the two of us lived in the same house for so long, that it felt like He was always a part of my family. Jesus, His father Joseph, and mother Mary were originally from Nazareth but lived several years in Egypt before returning to their home village. Which they did when I was 5. Jesus and I were the same age. He was my closest friend. I glanced at Aunt Mary working quietly behind us, drying out roasted chickpeas about three hands from the bedrock wall. Close to her was the awning of the carpenter shop. Between the shop and the traklin was Aunt Miriam’s prized aloe plant. Aunt Mary hardly spoke to anyone and few spoke to her, especially not Ima. Catching me watching her, Aunt Mary smiled. I just stared back at her, blowing up my cheeks with air. Her eyelashes swept the tips of her cheekbones as she arranged the roasted chickpeas on a tray. She sat on her heels, and her brown face was framed by a cream-colored veil that was tied tightly down her back. “Ima!” Little Jesus hurried over to Aunt Mary from under the awning of the carpenter shop, which took up nearly a fourth of the small courtyard on the west wall. Jesus squeezed behind one of our wandering chickens to get to Aunt Mary. Mother and son’s faces were eye level. Jesus presented a small block of wood to His mother. “It is finished,” He said. “It is finished,” Aunt Mary said, accepting the block of wood from Jesus so she might admire it. She placed a light hand on Jesus’ shoulder, covered by His shapeless, stonetoned tunic. “You will show Abba your work when he comes home. He will be well pleased with you, my son.” She returned the wood to Jesus. “Esther, did you see?” Jesus turned toward me. I left my post by my mother to go to Him, meeting in the center of the courtyard. “Feel how smooth it is!” Uncle Joseph had begun to assign small tasks to Jesus to train Him whenever He returned home from studying at the synagogue, in the early afternoon. I held the piece of wood to my cheek, making a sound of awe. Jesus laughed, delighted by my appreciation. His hair, which was a dark, burnished color — almost the shade of a walnut — shot up from all directions. When there was more sunlight, his hair would even have hints of auburn in it. There was something forthright about His face. Plain, but not to the point of being artless. “That is lamb I smell, is it not?” Uncle Joseph’s voice carried into the courtyard. I turned around. “Abba!” Jesus cried. “Show Uncle Joseph, Jesus!” I returned the wood to Him. Jesus happily gave the wood to His father. Uncle Joseph had large, rough hands, just like my abba and Uncle Clopas. I thought that Uncle Joseph looked much more like Abba than Uncle Clopas did. Joseph had the same inky black hair and small beard as Abba, but hints of gray dotted Uncle Joseph’s hairs. His arms could stretch to the length of an ox’s yoke. Turning the wood in his hands, Uncle Joseph looked at his son. “Well done, Jesus. You are a natural at sanding.” “It once was coarse, but now it is smooth!” Jesus exclaimed, gazing eagerly at His father. “And it is the same piece of wood,” Uncle Joseph said, “But with the hand of a carpenter, the same wood can shift from hard to soft.” “My Father in Heaven does that,” Jesus said, gazing upward at Uncle Joseph. “He wants to take hearts of stone and make them hearts of flesh!” “The prophet Ezekiel,” Uncle Joseph said slowly with a grin. He gazed proudly at Jesus. “Has Rabbi already been reading the prophet’s writings to you?” He rustled his son’s hair. Jesus and me By Jacqueline St. Clare New from Marian Press Editor’s note: Marian Press is proud to publish an extraordinary first novel about Esther, who grows up alongside her “cousin” Jesus and His extended family, observing His “hidden” years and His public ministry, leading to the Passion. Here is an excerpt. To order Through Esther's Eyes (Product Code: B59-TEBK) visit ShopMercy.org/b59 or call 1-800-462-7426.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MjI2Mw==