Mary's place.

The rain fell in soft sheets. She shivered against the damp chill. She hadn't been here in a while. The flowers were folding under the raindrops. The grass seemed to reach for the moisture. Dark clouds scudded overhead creating a foreboding, but natural sanctuary.

After thirty years together, Joseph was dead. Her heart ached with grieving. The children were at home. Milcah had come, as she always did when her mother needed her, as had her husband and the grandchildren. Thankfully, all of the children had come--except for James and Jesus. They were together, somewhere. So many rumors about Jesus had found their way back to her. It was hard to discern the difference between what she knew to be truth and what was probably fiction. She was glad James was with Jesus and those chosen to be his apostles, but she wished desperately both were here with her now. Jesus would know what to do. How could she get word to him? They were probably not too far away in some town or village, but which? There seemed to be so many. Meanwhile, the body of Joseph lay in her home. With the children and the children's children, it had been too much. She sought escape, solitude. She sought comfort from God.

She sat on the stone where she had first encountered the angel. The angel! Gabriel! She hadn't thought of him in years. She recalled with warmth the exquisite moment of conception. She thought of subsequent events. Egypt. So many years. So much has happened. So little time it seemed. The rain had begun to soak her garments. The chill was growing deeper. Tears surged again. "Oh, Joseph, my husband! Oh, Jesus, my son, where are you? Oh, my God, please; do not forsake me now!"

"Mother?" The voice startled her. She thought at first it might be Gabriel, yet again.

"Mother, are you all right?" It was Rhoda, her youngest. She had known that her mother often resorted here. She had not wanted to intrude on her mother's grief yet she herself grieved. She entered the clearing and came to her mother. They held each other and wept. The rain continued to fall quietly. Mary was grateful for the warmth of her daughter's body. She was real. So much reality. So little understanding. So far from anything good. She felt a pang of guilt, "except for this child," she said aloud. The rain began to chill them both.

"Mother, I'm cold. Let us leave this place and go home."

"This place is more of a home to me than you realize, my child."

"Come Mother, we will both become ill. The house is warm. Joseph and Simon have come and Sarah. Please now, come home. You must come home and out of the rain."

"The rain brings life to my broken heart," said Mary.

"I know Mother, but you must come now. Let us hurry. Walk fast so our blood will pound. We need to warm up. Come!" Rhoda's voice insisting, demanding. Her mother reluctantly obeyed.

In the absence of Jesus and James, Simon and Milcah had taken charge of funeral arrangements. As many as possible of the extended family were contacted. They began to arrive and soon the house was crowded with family and close friends. The rain had ceased but the ground was wet and mud tracked into the house. Among all the other things she did, Milcah took charge of cleaning the mud as well. Rhoda was left to be with their mother. That was her responsibility. "Just make her comfortable," Milcah had instructed her. "You are her favorite," this without bitterness, but with acceptance or perhaps resignation.

"That isn't true, sister," Rhoda replied, "but I will do as you say. She needs someone close to her now." And then in some frustration, "Where is Jesus? Where is James?"

"He is off preaching and healing somewhere, I suppose," with restrained irritation.

"He is following the Father's purposes sister," replied Rhoda.

"Yes, I do know about that," a retort. "You have heard the reports. People are saying he is insane--a madman!"

"Please, Milcah, this is not the time for hard feelings."

"I can't help it! They should both be here helping with our mother. And helping with our . . ." her voice caught as tears welled into her eyes once again, "helping our father!"

Rhoda put her arms around her sister and held her as she wept but said nothing.