Three Days: A Mother's Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

is the same as yesterday. The centurion guards are still at their post, although we suspect we have startled them, for they suddenly jump to attention. But when they realize it is only us, they make a couple of jeers, and then, because we offer them no encouragement, they turn to each other and make jokes at our expense.
    It is clear that the stone is unmoved. It remains securely positioned over the opening just as it was yesterday. Even the seal is untouched, unbroken. Nothing has changed. We turn away feeling even more lost than before. No one speaks as we return to where we are staying—what seems to be turning into our own sort of tomb.
    How long must we wait, Jehovah? How long? And why have you done this to us? To your own beloved Son? Why? These are my private thoughts. I do not reveal my personal fears or doubts to the others. For the sake of my son, I shall remain strong—if only on the outside.
    Later on, John, a beloved disciple, reminds the others of what my son recently said— “I shall be gone from you for a while, but let not your heart be troubled, do not be afraid.” I take great comfort in these words. I know that my son always told the truth. Indeed, he proclaimed himself to be the Truth. And, really, I have no reason to doubt him. In all honesty, it is Jehovah who has me worried right now. I still cannot imagine how he allowed all this to happen.

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    WAS IT ONLY A week ago that I told my dear friend the other Mary that I still feel like a fifteen-year-old girl on the inside? And how true it was then. But now I feel as if I am one hundred years old—no, much, much older. I feel like I have been trudging on this ancient earth since the beginning of time. My soul is weary as a stone, and my feet are aching and tired. I fear that I am too old to continue like this much longer.
    I do remember another time when I felt almost this fatigued—although it was purely a physical kind of weariness. At the time I was young and healthy and my spirit was strong with high expectations. I knew it was close to my birthing time when Caesar Augustus made his proclamation that all citizens must be registered at the birthplace of the patriarch of each family. Joseph had been born in Bethlehem, the City of David, and so it was decided that we would travel there together. I did not mind the prospect of this journey. I had always wanted to see Bethlehem, just south of Jerusalem, and besides, almost everyone was on the road going somewhere. It was nearly as festive as Passover.
    Joseph, extremely concerned for my welfare, purchased a donkey, which we could barely afford, so I could ride during portions of our journey. He thought he had given us plenty of time to travel, and we stopped frequently so I could rest, but when we finally reached Bethlehem late in the evening, we discovered there were no vacant rooms to be had. I knew I was experiencing birthing pains—indeed, I had been feeling them off and on since midafternoon, although I had kept this to myself since Joseph was already quite worried. But as we entered Bethlehem, I knew that my baby, God’s Son, would wait no longer. The child was demanding to be born.
    “It is time,” I told Joseph in an urgent voice as he returned from inquiring about a room. “The baby is coming.”
    He nodded. “I know. And I have found us a place to stay.” He made a half smile. “I wish it was something better, Mary, but it is the best I can do.”
    “Anything will be better than having God’s Son born out here on the road,” I told him. And so it was we found ourselves sharing space with donkeys and oxen and even a few nesting chickens. But, looking back, I think the humble stable was preferable to being in a crowded inn where we surely would have been forced to share space with strangers. And, although the acrid scent of animals was strong in the air, it was not as objectionable to me as the stench of sweaty travelers packed into a stuffy room. In fact, the smell of manure and