Read Online Unafraid by Francine Rivers - Free Book Online Page A

power and purpose, people would listen to how he came to be. But she would not speak of the miracles now. She would not give what was holy to unholy people and give opportunity to those who would mock God’s Son.
    Sometimes the ordinariness of their lives bemused her. In many ways, Jesus was like any other child she observed. He had crawled before he walked. He had stumbled when he took his first steps. He had chattered baby talk before he was able to pronounce words and put together sentences. He was curious, wanting to touch and hold everything within reach.
    All the other mothers boasted about their sons, but Mary knew none could compare to hers. There was no child so perfect, so loving, so observant of the world and people around him. He watched and listened and was easily delighted. He never complained or whined, but simply stated his needs. He never tried to manipulate her with tears or tantrums.
    Some said he looked like her. “Jesus has your chin, Mary. . . . He has your nose. . . .”
    But no one ever said Jesus had her eyes.
    It was Joseph who sheared Jesus’ curls when he was no longer a baby. They made the day a festival with all Mary’s relatives and old friends, giving nuts and raisin cakes to the children who came to join in the special day.
    Whenever Joseph went to Sepphoris to find work, Mary would walk with Jesus out to the edge of town as the sun was nearing the horizon. “There he is, Mother!” Jesus would point when Joseph appeared, coming up the road toward Nazareth. “Father!” He would run down to greet him and walk beside him as Joseph came up the hill.
    Every evening, Joseph would set Jesus in his lap and read from the scrolls. He knew many of the psalms written by his ancestor King David by heart. Mary loved to listen to him. They ate the simple dinner Mary prepared and talked of the day’s events.
    She loved it when there was work enough to keep Joseph home in Nazareth, and he would take Jesus into his shop with him. She would bring them bread and water and stand watching for a few minutes. Joseph used every opportunity to teach Jesus how to use the tools of his trade: hammer, chisel, mallet, and awl. He taught him how to use a smoothing block and cubit measure. When he was older, Jesus would learn how to use the adze and ax. They worked well together—Joseph a patient teacher, Jesus a willing and eager pupil. Jesus’ brow would furrow in concentration as he chiseled out a pattern Joseph had drawn on a board: a curving vine with a cluster of grapes, a Star of David, or a pomegranate.
    “When we go to the Temple again at Passover,” Joseph said, “I will show you the great golden columns. Those columns are the work of skilled carpenters who carved them and then hammered thin sheets of gold over them so that they appear to be made of solid gold.”
    Working at her loom in the evenings, Mary would listen to Joseph as he read from the Torah, the prophets, the psalms of his ancestor, King David. It was Joseph who taught Jesus to read and write. And it was Joseph who took Jesus by the hand at the age of six and presented him to the preceptor of the synagogue so their son’s education would be properly supervised.
    Soon after, Mary’s prayers were answered.
    She stood in the doorway of Joseph’s shop and watched him carving a drinking cup. “You have never once said you wished for a son of your own, Joseph.”
    He glanced up and shook his head. “Should I want for more than God has given me? Every day I look at Jesus and see the hope of Israel growing up.”
    “It would be good for him to have brothers and sisters who would love him as we do.” There were still those in the village who whispered about Jesus’ precipitant birth and looked down upon him, and taught their children to do likewise. “And what about you?” she said, not wanting to give up her secret too quickly. “Children are a blessing from the Lord.”
    He raised his head and smiled. “I would not ask for more