Read Online Three Days: A Mother's Story by Melody Carlson - Free Book Online

right,” Joses agreed. “There is talk that he lives like an animal, that he does not take care of himself and thinks nothing of breaking the Sabbath.”
    “And some even say he teaches cannibalism,” James said, “that he tells his followers they must eat his flesh and drink his blood.”
    I shuddered but said nothing.
    “He is in great danger,” Judas said, as if he was actually concerned for his half brother’s welfare. “He is very close to going over the edge, Mother.”
    “We should go to him,” James urged. “We should warn him to be more careful.”
    “And to take care of himself,” Joses added. “Perhaps he needs a rest.”
    Their words were like thorns caught in my clothing that day; they poked and stabbed at me until I was nearly sick with worry for Jesus. That was how I let my sons talk me into going to Galilee to see him.
    “You are his mother,” James said as we set out on our mission to rescue my firstborn son. “Jesus must listen to you.”
    “We can talk him into coming home for a while,” Joses said. “He needs to take a break from all his traveling and speaking.”
    I could tell they were concerned for Jesus, and I knew they really loved him. But something about our trip did not feel right. Even so, I could not quite put my finger on it. And their words combined with their strength of unity were persuasive.
    It was not difficult to locate Jesus once we reached the small town in Galilee. We simply followed the crowd. They were clustered around a house where we were informed that Jesus was inside, reportedly teaching his disciples and others. But I remained outside as I asked one of Jesus’s followers to go in and get him.
    “Please tell Jesus that his mother and brothers are here to see him,” I said in a voice filled with maternal authority. And my three other sons stood behind me, nodding. As I waited I tried to decide what I would say to Jesus. I thought he should be aware of our concern and listen to our warning. Perhaps he would even agree to come home.
    But we waited and waited, and Jesus did not come out. Finally the man I had spoken to earlier emerged, but his face bore a frown.
    “Where is my son?” I demanded, feeling slightly aggravated by our long wait in the noonday sun.
    “Jesus has sent you a message,” the man said.
    “What is it?”
    This poor man looked clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. First he shuffled his feet, then he cleared his throat, and finally he spoke. “Jesus said, ‘Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?’”
    “What?” James demanded. “He knows who we are—”
    The man held up his hand to stop him. “Jesus also said that whoever does the will of his Father in heaven—those people are his mothers and brothers and sisters.”
    In other words, my eldest son had absolutely no interest in seeing his own family. It was as if we were strangers to him. Or worse, since he was continually surrounded by virtual strangers, we were even lower than that in his eyes. Or so it seemed.
    So, there you see, Jehovah did put me in my place. Thoroughly humbled by my son’s lack of reception, I turned away and began to walk toward home. But my sons were incensed that their own flesh and blood should treat them, and particularly me, in such a fashion. I was not paying close attention to their angry words. I was too caught up in a grief all my own, but I could tell by their tone of righteous indignation that they talked of little else for quite some time.
    As I walked toward Nazareth, I felt that Jehovah was speaking to my heart, gently correcting me in regard to my eldest son—or rather the reaction I felt toward my son. Feeling the burning conviction of God’s Spirit, I walked along in quiet repentance, my head bowed as I silently confessed my sin to Jehovah.
    My sin, I knew, was my motherly pride. I actually felt that I was somehow responsible, if only in a small way, for Jesus’s successful ministry—as if I should receive some kind of