Two years later…

"No one wants to play with me and I don't know why," I complained to Jesus one afternoon. "They tried to, at first, but then suddenly gave me strange looks and wouldn't let me near them. Why does no one want to play with me?"

"I want to play with you," he pointed out.

"So? It doesn't explain why everyone else doesn't want to."

Jesus raised an eyebrow. "Am I not enough?"

I crossed my arms. "Why don't they like me? That's my question. You seem to know a lot of things."

Jesus grinned. "But I don't know everything.

I pouted. "They still don't like me. What did I do?"

Jesus shrugged. "Sometimes you might do nothing wrong, but people still won't like you. They judge too quickly before they actually get to know you." He smiled. "But I don't, and that's why I like you."

I blinked. "Are you sure you're my age? Four?"

"Almost five," he corrected. "But yes."

"How come everyone likes you?"

Jesus shook his head. "Not everyone. Lots of boys hate me."

"Why?"

Jesus shrugged. "I don't know."

I widened my eyes. I had found out in the short time that I lived with him that there were very few things that he didn't know.

"You don't?"

He grinned. "But I have a good guess. Guessing, you realize, is not knowing."

"I don't like those boys or girls who hate us."

Jesus shook his head, but smiled kindly. "Now we can't do that, can we? Then we'll be just like them. Hating."

I frowned. "Then what are we supposed to do? Like them? I can't like mean people!"

Jesus laughed. "No, no, of course not. But we must forgive them."

"Forgive? Why? Then they'll just get away with it!"

Jesus shook his head. "No, they won't. God will take care of them. But forgiving others will just help us. We won't have anger and bitterness trapped inside of us. We will just let it go."

I leaned back, thinking about this. "I think you're right," I finally decided. "And if we do not forgive, we would spread hate, and we would just as mean as they are."

Jesus smiled. "You know a lot of things too, Judith."

Eight years later…

The time for the Feast of the Passover drew near, and we travelled to Jerusalem like we did every year. But when the feast had ended and preparations were being made to return to Nazareth, I suddenly found myself alone amidst the crowds in the great, bustling city. Had not Mary and Joseph been just ahead of me a minute ago? Had not Jesus held my hand the whole way? But I realized with a thudding horror that I knew no one that I could see.

A rush of blood clouded by head, and I stumbled through the heat of the crowds, pushed along by the swarming hoards. There was shouting of sellers, baying of goats, chatter of people. I started to panic among the chaos. How was I, a small girl, supposed to get out of it?

Finally, I saw a break, and jumped with all my might towards a small alley that led off from the main road. I was then able to slow my breathing, watching with senseless eyes the sweltering markets and shops in front of me.

When I was calm enough to think, my first thought was to find Jesus. He would know how to find Mary and Joseph. But where would he be in such a massive city as Jerusalem? I thought hard, and just as I lit upon the answer, I heard a man shout at me.

I jumped, startled, and whirled around, staring at the angry vendor with wide, fearful eyes.

He kept on shouting as I took a step back, and when he stepped forward, bristling with fury, I quickly turned around and slipped into the crowds.

It was much easier to navigate now that I had a destination in mind, and I cut through the masses as swiftly and unnoticed as anyone could possibly go. I was breathless and sweating by the time I reached the temple, but all of it was forgotten when I saw Jesus, sitting on the steps amidst the teachers. For a minute I feared he had gotten himself into trouble, but Jesus never got in trouble, and he hadn't this time. No, he was listening to them and asking questions, and it was clear they, and all who could hear him, were amazed at his understanding.

I watched for hours, intrigued and in awe of my closest friend. How wise he was! Yet he had received no high education like those teachers of the law. I was convinced that he was the Son of God.

I watched and listened for three days. When I grew hungry, I would go out and beg for food, of which I, a poor young girl, received as much as I needed. Jesus, it seemed, never grew hungry, and only joined me as night fell, to sleep in front of the temple walls. During the day we walked back inside where he conversed with the teachers, and I listened.

On some occasions I had known him to communicate with me just in thoughts, but while Jesus was with the teachers, he never spoke to me.

That changed on the afternoon of the third day. I heard his voice as clear as day in my head. Find my parents. They are searching for us. You will find them on the main street outside the temple.

I blinked, startled for a moment, but when I saw him turn slightly towards me, and when he held my gaze for a moment with his wise brown eyes, I knew what I had to do.

I got up and left the temple, walking with a purpose. I trusted Jesus entirely. If he said Mary and Joseph were on that street, then they were. There was no doubt.

So I wasn't surprised when I found them a few minutes later gesturing frantically at a few fruit sellers. The minute they saw me they rushed to me, nearly in tears.

I smiled. "There's nothing to be worried about! Come, Jesus is nearby."

They looked puzzled, and exchanged glances, but I didn't see why they hesitated.

I pulled Mary's hand. "Come on! He's in the temple!"

They followed after me quickly, and when we reached the gates, Jesus stood, excused himself, and walked over to us.

He smiled at me. "You found them."

I shrugged. "It was easy."

Jesus turned back toward Mary and Joseph, and asked, "Why did you search for me? Did you not know I must be in my Father's house?"

They blinked, and looked bewildered, especially Joseph. Jesus glanced at me. "You understand, don't you Judith?"

I nodded slowly. "The temple is…God's house. So that must mean God is your father."

Jesus smiled. "When we got separated in the crowds, it was the first place I went to. I knew you would look for me here, and I thought my parents would too, but…" He shook his head. "I suppose not."

Two years later…

"Jesus? Jesus! Jesus!" I hurried through the town, calling his name frantically. Where was he? Not in the carpenter shed. Not in the house. And apparently, not anywhere in the town.

I reached the outskirts in despair, twirling around desperately for a clue, when I suddenly narrowed in on a crowd of children out in the distant fields. Maybe…

I ran as fast as I could to the group, and I widened my eyes at the sight. Jesus was in the middle of a circle of older boys, all taller and bigger than him. They were participating in a one-sided argument, and I realized with horror that it might turn into a fight.

I gasped as they suddenly punched Jesus in the stomach, but my friend only stared at them, somewhat boldly. It quickly turned into a one-sided fight.

I cupped a hand to my mouth as they knocked him to the ground, over and over, but every time, he rose to his feet with the dignity of a king and looked them straight in the eye.

It got to a point where I rushed forward, ready to tackle the boys to the ground with no fear of whether I would get hurt, but I heard in my head that clear voice of Jesus.

Don't, Judith, he urged me. If you fight, or if I fight back, the fighting will just continue, and everyone will get hurt. At least this way I am the only one who will get hurt.

But-

Don't. His voice was stern, and I took a fearful step back. What if they hurt him so badly he never got up again?

But they didn't. Eventually, the oldest boy huffed, and marched away with his friends. The crowd of onlookers died away, and I ran to help Jesus stand.

"How dare they do this to you! Why did they do it?"

He managed a smile. "They said I was perfect, and for some reason that made them angry."

"But why did they have to hurt you?"

Jesus wiped some blood from his forehead. "The Scriptures say, 'If your enemy is hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he is thirsty, give him water to drink. For so you will heap coals of fire on his head, and the Lord will reward you.' I gave one of those boys a staff I made because he lost his, and he hated me for it. I heaped coals of fire on his head."

I wiped his face with some cloth. "But are we to just sit there like a, a brick and have people hurt us?"

Jesus shook his head. "Sometimes it is necessary to fight back. But in this case, it would have not helped anything, and would have caused more people to be hurt, and for anger and hatred to spread. We want to spread love."

I pursed my lips. "It's a hard thing to do, for your enemies."

Jesus shrugged. "But it proves you are stronger than they are."

Two years later…

I stumbled home from the well one day crying, and as soon as I placed the jug of water on the table, I ran as quickly as I could to the carpenter's shed. Jesus was finishing up a yoke, but he stopped when he saw me.

"Judith, what's wrong?"

I sobbed, and held up a piece of wood. He took it, and frowned as he read the etchings.

Stay away from us, Greek girl.

Jesus raised an eyebrow. "Greek girl?"

I nodded, tears streaming. "T-the Greeks are mean. They went everywhere conquering. Just like the Romans! They're saying I'm a Roman!"

I burst into fresh sobs, but Jesus held my hands. "Look at me, Judith. Look at me."

I sniffled, and gradually did so. His kind, tender brown eyes met mine.

"They said you were Greek, they never said you were Roman. The Greeks did many good things, like inventing important things to make life easier."

I swallowed, wiping my face as I slowly stopped crying. "But why did they call me Greek Girl in the first place?"

Jesus frowned, and called to Joseph, "Can I please take a few minutes break to have a serious talk with Judith? I'll come back right away and finish up all my work."

Joseph was busy under some structure, but apparently he allowed a break, for Jesus wiped his hands on a cloth and took me to our favourite spot to talk, under a sycamore tree outside the town.

I loved the peacefulness of the plains, soft grass with baaing sheep and gentle shepherds. It soothed me, especially with Jesus nearby.

All of my tears had been wiped away by the time we sat down, and Jesus assumed his most serious face.

"You know the story of your birth, do you not?"

I nodded. "I was born in Alexandria, and I was an orphan, and Mary and Joseph took me to Nazareth and raised me. But I don't know much else."

Jesus pursed his lips. "You were not exactly an orphan, at least when we first met. You were two years old, and your father was still alive. He met us on our flight from Bethlehem, where I was born, and he gave us shelter. Do you remember?"

I frowned, shaking my head. "That was fourteen years ago. Of course I don't."

Jesus leaned forward, holding my hands. "Think hard, Judith. Hard."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Vaguely, I heard screams and anxious cries. I opened my eyes. "Only screams. Nothing else."

Jesus pursed his lips. "Those screams were the last thing your father ever said."

I frowned. "How did he die?"

"He stayed for too long in the hot sun, waiting for me and my family. God told him to do so in a dream."

I widened my eyes. "God killed him? God killed my father?"

Jesus shook his head. "Not directly."

Tears started to form again. "Why? Why would he do that?"

Jesus took a deep breath. "I can't claim to know-"

"But you're his son, aren't you? You're the Son of God! You said as much in the temple, remember, when we were twelve? You said you had to be in your Father's house! So you have to know why God killed my father!"

Jesus touched my shoulder soothingly. "I don't know why, Judith. Just because he is my father does not mean he tells me everything. But I can think of a few reasons."

I frowned, sniffing up my tears. "W-why?"

"If your father hadn't died, Mary and Joseph wouldn't have taken you with me. You would have never known me, and maybe you wouldn't have a friend in Alexandria for the same reason that I am your only friend here. Your father might have died anyways. You might have had a miserable life, alone. Maybe God saw that, and gave you me to be your friend."

"But he killed my father!" I protested.

Jesus shook his head. "Death is not necessarily a bad thing, Judith. Maybe God took him to a special place, where he wouldn't suffer anymore."

"Suffer?"

Jesus paused. "Yes. He suffered terribly ever since your mother died."

I frowned. "How did she die?"

"Childbirth."

I leaned back, letting it sink in. Something Jesus said made sense. My father's death might have been much, much better than if he had lived.

I looked up at Jesus, who was watching me quietly. "How do you know all this about my parents? You were only two as well."

Jesus shrugged. "My Father doesn't tell me everything, but he tells me some things."

I bit my lip. "Back to why they called me Greek Girl."

Jesus nodded. "Your mother was a Greek Jew. There were many in Alexandria. You may have noticed your skin is fairer and your hair is lighter and your eyes are dark green."

"Like a demon," I agreed miserably.

Jesus smiled. "No, like the leaves of a tree. You are beautiful, Judith, and if the others don't agree it's because they are jealous. Your skin is like olives, your hair like their branches, and your eyes like the leaves. You're special. Everyone else has brown hair and eyes."

I crossed my arms, suddenly landing on a thought I had been pondering on for a long time. "Well if I'm so beautiful and special, why haven't I been betrothed to anyone yet? I'm sixteen already and I'm losing hope. What is my future to be if I never get married? I won't have anyone to take care of me!"

Jesus smiled knowingly. "I'll take care of you, Judith. Don't worry. If you never get married, you'll always have me. Now."

He stood, and offered me a hand up. "I need to finish that yoke, but you go home and help Mary with dinner. If anyone calls you Greek Girl again, take it as a compliment. And be thankful they don't hurt you in any other more painful way. Alright?"

I nodded, but suddenly frowned. "Wait, since Mary and Joseph are not my parents, that means you are not my brother!"

Jesus laughed. "Well, I may not be your brother, but you are my sister, and I'll leave it at that."

I smiled. "You must be very special if God went through all that effort to make sure you were my only friend."

Jesus smiled back, but urged me, "Hurry, Judith, dinner needs to be prepared. I'm starving."

I laughed, and skipped back home to help make the meal, thanking God over and over for my one and only friend.