Free Three Days: A Mother's Story by Melody Carlson Page A

mercy to him.
    I remember the first time I met Simon Peter. Jesus had already gathered a dozen good men who had left jobs and homes and families to remain by his side. And I knew that these men were my son’s closest and dearest friends. Almost always with him, they heard much more of Jesus’s teachings than the rest of us. I was later told that the purpose of their intense training was to enable them to go out and spread the good news to others.
    I am not sure what will happen now. How can they go out and tell people how God’s Son said and did so many miraculous things and then tell them he was killed? It does not seem a good ending for this story. And I know his disciples are frustrated.
    When I first met Jesus’s new friends, I was somewhat surprised that they seemed such ordinary men. I do not know, I suppose I expected to see some priests or more highly educated or influential men in the bunch. But then I was reminded of how Jehovah works and the way he reveals himself to the lowly. Why, is not that exactly how he chose me, and even my dear Joseph? And so, as I got to know these men, I could see why my son picked them for his most intimate friends. They are honest men with good hearts, and I think that any one of them would have laid down his life for my son. Of course, he would not allow that. Even when Peter attempted to defend Jesus at the time of his arrest, Jesus put a stop to it.
    “There was a lot going on at once,” John told me. “But in the scuffle, Peter grabbed a sword and sliced off the ear of the high priest’s servant.”
    “Oh!” I glanced over to where Peter was sitting with his face to the wall. I knew how committed to my son he was, and I could believe he would do something that violent if he thought it would help matters. Poor Peter.
    “Jesus told us that everyone who takes up the sword will perish by the sword,” John continued. “And then he healed the servant’s ear just as good as new.”
    I nodded. Yes, I could imagine my son doing that. He had such a compassionate heart when it came to suffering. I vaguely wonder how many people he has healed during these past three years. It was almost a daily thing—and it was not unusual for many to be healed at one time. I still feel a sense of wonder to consider all the miracles Jesus has done, but in some ways I think we all simply came to accept such actions as perfectly normal. I am sure that we actually began to expect the miracles—perhaps we even took them for granted.
    I bow my head now and remind myself that I must never take any of this for granted. I must never allow myself to think that what happened here, Jesus’s ministry and his teaching and miracles, was not a big deal. Indeed, it was a very big deal. And, I suspect, it is not finished yet.

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    THE WOMEN, LED BY Mary of Magdala, are serving dinner now. I offered to help, but once again they told me not to bother myself. I try not to look too uncomfortable as they wait on me. But I do remember Jesus’s teachings on servants. He said that we all need to serve each other, and I have always been most happy to serve. Indeed, it is much more pleasing to me to serve than to be served. But this is not a day of comfort.
    I watch Mary’s face as she serves. Such sadness! I know she loved my son wholeheartedly. And everyone knows she is a woman with deep passion and strong feelings. Some say she wears her heart on her sleeve, but I think they simply do not understand the complexity of this woman.
    I still remember the first time I met her. It was not long after my son delivered her from some very disturbing spirits that had plagued her for years. Some call them demons; some call them unclean spirits. I am no expert on such things, but I do wonder if Mary’s tender heart didn’t place her in a position to be victimized by such things. For once you know her, you can see that she is a woman of intense emotions. Like an artist or a poet, she sees and experiences life on a level some of