I noticed the story had downloaded strangely... and was very jumbled and hard to read. Here's a redo. Same thing, easier to read.

This is a story I wrote a long while ago, when I heard a song on the Passion of the Christ Soundtrack... which I think was called, "Making things new again" or something like that. Totally amazing song though. Anyway, the story is from Mary's perspective. Not perfect, but I remembered it after a Sunday school lesson, and dug it up. And here... it is.

Mary's pain was indescribable.

And if that was just from watching. She couldn't imagine the pain her son was now feeling.

They had laid him, no threw him onto the cross after harsh beatings, paying no attention to his gasps of pain, not showing a bit of mercy in their hearts. They had tied him as though he was a dog- as though he would run away. As if he even could run at this point...
Her mind wasn't focusing anymore. Her thoughts were a jumble of emotions and words;
"no, stop, fear, Jesus, son, God-"

Finally, it settled on the word, forming a sentence that her heart felt like screaming.
'God, why? How can this be your will? To have your son and my son killed...?"

The words of the prophet came back to haunt her. It had been so long ago... thirty three years that Joseph had led her into the city, and an older man named Simeon had greeted them and honored them. She remembered well the look of shock on Joseph's face and knew it must have matched her own. Even then, after all they had been through, it was so hard to believe that the little defenseless infant in her arms was God in flesh.
"A sword will pierce your soul as well"

Mary squeezed her eyes shut. That was exactly how it felt. A sword. Piercing her soul.
A shriek pierced the air. John grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with horror and filled with tears. Mary Magnelene groaned, falling to her knees, sobbing as though her heart would break.

The nails. They were putting nails through her child's skin.

"Wat does 'dis do?"

Mary leaned in the doorway, smiling at the picture. Joseph was at one end of the workshop, trying to fix something or other. Jesus was at the other end, standing on a bench so he could see all the tools spread across the shelf (as it were, Joseph had made the shelf that tall on purpose so Jesus could not reach it.)

It appeared as though her husband wasn't really getting any work done at all and instead was keeping on his toes, trying to keep an eye on their four year old and answering his hundreds of questions.

"That's a tool we use to shave things smooth. Don't touch it."

Jesus, who had been reaching out to do that very thing, obediently pulled his hand back, and observed it solemnly, with large brown eyes. Joseph had apparently decided to take advantage of this lapse in silence by turning back to his project. However he had barely had time to check the angle of this table before the toddler had wondered over to another tool bench and begun playing with the things Joseph had not yet commanded him to keep away from.

"Wat dis?" He lisped, taking another tool in his grubby little hands.

No doubt about it, Joseph looked exasperated enough to pull his hair out. Mary covered her mouth to stifle her giggles.

"Jesus, you-no!" Immediately he jumped, his eyes catching what Mary's had not- Jesus holding a heavy stone hammer unsteadily, apparently all set to hammer a few nails just like Daddy. Joseph snatched it from his hand, preventing the crushing of fingers.

"Jesus..." Joseph looked horribly relieved yet determined at the same time. "You must be very careful with these tools. They are very heavy... too much for a little boy, you understand?"

Jesus looked totally morose by this piece of news. Then, a very quick flash of understanding flickered in his eyes. He looked up to his father in all innocence.

"You help me?"

Joseph's lips twitched. He laughed, the serious expression melting away. Picking up the child, he swung him onto his lap, causing a fresh supply of giggles. Then, taking the two hands in his own, he carefully picked up the heavy tools and tapped a tiny nail into a piece of scrap wood.

"Hold the nail... good... give it a tap... a little harder..."

Jesus flushed with pleasure, his curls falling into his eyes. He looked up at the gentle face of his adopted father.

"again?"

This time Mary couldn't help but laugh, and Joseph looked up. Salvation had come. He grinned.

"Nooo... I don't think so. I think Mama will take care of you now so I can work." He stood up, and Mary came into the room, carrying the water jug. Jesus ran up to meet her, and tugged on her garment.

"Did'ja see Ma? Did'ja see me?"

Mary tousled his hair. "Yes I did. You will be a fine worker when you grow up." She looked up at Joseph again. "Jesus, why don't you run into the house and get our spade and seeds? You can help me in the garden today."

And their boy, who of course, loved nothing more than to get soiled and dirty and to pick tiny heads of grain from the plants and eat them unroasted, disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

Joseph and Mary shared a very knowing look. The days of their engagement, those awkward hours first spent when they had hardly known one another were gone now, smoothing themselves into a comfortable relationship, like the Mary had observed between her own parents. She held out the jug.

"I realize you didn't get much work done, but would you like some water anyway?"
Joseph took it. "Thank you." He held it to his lips, taking a few swallowed, then used the back on his hand to wipe some droplets from his beard.

"I don't mind if he comes in sometimes," said Joseph looking at the door where Jesus had left. "But I'll have to be more watchful when he is with me. You saw how he loved that hammer. If I'm not carefully his hands will have holes in them."

Had Joseph known his own wisdom when he said that? Mary doubted it. Was he in heaven watching this?

'God..."

From his place on the cross, Jesus looked down on the three there, who stood shaking and horrified before him. Shaking... horrified... but still there.

The two men beside him had gone mad by now, the pain causing them to cry out in loud and frightened voices. Still Jesus was quieter in mind. He told John to look out for her.
Even on the cross he was thinking about others. Taking care of his mother. And it made her cry all the more.

An innocent man, betrayed and to die. Could any good come of this?

"Whatever happens... whatever you see... whatever your eyes tell you has become of me. This is not- not the end. I am making all things new again."

End