A glimpse into what Mary possibly went through before her baby was born
8 Sivan
May 26
Dear Diary,
Imma has shared my precious secret with Abba. It is very rare for her to keep something from him for so long, but I guess she was afraid it would trouble the waters.
Joseph's stern, preoccupied air, and his father's condemnation has driven me to tears more than once. Joseph's mother, Hilde, is a tubby woman with iron gray hair. I used to think she had such an affable personality but when we met on market day in front of the fig and date stall she was as cross as two sticks. She glared at me, then snatched at Imma's sleeve to propel her away so they could talk. What was I to do? Where was I to go? I kept my eyes averted until the stain of embarressment receded from my cheeks. The multitude indifferently jostled me about. I shyly touched my slightly rounded abdomen with one hand. Oh, baby, baby, I wish I could protect you from the cruel stares, and snide remarks of an unkind world.
Eventually I found myself near the bakery shop, but even that delightful aroma did nothing to soothe my distressed spirits.
"A honeycake for you, Mary'am? You look like you need a little sweet to cheer you up. One with date sauce drizzled on top, perhaps?" I had walked on before I realized it was I the baker was calling out to. I looked back then and saw the look of compassionate concern on his face. I hardly know him, but he cared about me, a young talitha from the same synagogue.
Thank you, Yahweh.
The Second Edition of Mary's Diary; the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes is being published by Tate Publishing
May 26
Dear Diary,
Imma has shared my precious secret with Abba. It is very rare for her to keep something from him for so long, but I guess she was afraid it would trouble the waters.
Joseph's stern, preoccupied air, and his father's condemnation has driven me to tears more than once. Joseph's mother, Hilde, is a tubby woman with iron gray hair. I used to think she had such an affable personality but when we met on market day in front of the fig and date stall she was as cross as two sticks. She glared at me, then snatched at Imma's sleeve to propel her away so they could talk. What was I to do? Where was I to go? I kept my eyes averted until the stain of embarressment receded from my cheeks. The multitude indifferently jostled me about. I shyly touched my slightly rounded abdomen with one hand. Oh, baby, baby, I wish I could protect you from the cruel stares, and snide remarks of an unkind world.
"A honeycake for you, Mary'am? You look like you need a little sweet to cheer you up. One with date sauce drizzled on top, perhaps?" I had walked on before I realized it was I the baker was calling out to. I looked back then and saw the look of compassionate concern on his face. I hardly know him, but he cared about me, a young talitha from the same synagogue.
The Second Edition of Mary's Diary; the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes is being published by Tate Publishing
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