Chapter Text
A woman who gives birth has pain because her time has come,
but when her child is born, she forgets the pain
because of her joy that a child is born into the world.
John 16:21
"It was so painful the day I gave birth to you.
Jesus was told this by his mother, Mary, many times since he was a little boy, and his little heart tightened each time. It was usually in the winter when Mary would talk about it, usually when they were sitting by the window reading a book to him. She would stare silently out and then suddenly mutter, as if to herself.
"The day you were born, it was the heaviest snow we'd had in years, and I had no home to go back to. I asked the innkeeper to let me sleep in a shed, and I went into labour that day. It was so cold and painful that I thought I would die. But then your father came to fetch me. As soon as I gave birth to you, he took me home with him.
Jesus stared at her face every time Mary told the story. Her profile, framed by dark blonde hair, was as beautiful as ever, but her eyes seemed distant and dark. He wondered why his mother and father had not lived together before he came for them. After hearing the story so many times, Jesus always wanted to ask, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt he had no right to say anything; after all, it was he who had caused her so much pain. Instead, Jesus would always gently touch and stroke her stomach. Each time he did this, he would worry if it was still hurting or if he was touching her too roughly.
Finally, Mary would look at Jesus. She looked at him and said, "You are so gentle." Mary stroked Jesus' head as she said this, but she did not smile at him. Whenever she stared at him with a strange, blank expression on her face, Jesus became more anxious.
Was her stomach still hurting?
Or had he done something wrong and made her suffer again?
How could he make amends?
Jesus then let go of the hand that was caressing her.
Eventually her stomach began to show.
When Jesus was told that he was going to have a little brother or sister, he was more worried than happy. Would his mother have to go through all that pain and suffering again? But despite Jesus' anxiety, she seemed genuinely happy. His father, Joseph, normally a reserved man, had an unusually relaxed expression on his face and frequently kissed Mary on the forehead as he held her shoulders and gently stroked her belly. Seeing this calmed Jesus a little. Yet Jesus' anxiety grew as his mother's belly grew larger, and he was convinced that she would suffer terribly on the day of his birth. The image of Mary giving birth to him all alone, suffering in a dark, cold room, was one that Jesus had never actually seen, but could not get out of his mind.
Then, one night during the month of his birth, Jesus woke in the middle of the night to the sound of Mary's agony and went pale in bed. The lights came on in the corridor and he could hear his father walking about and talking on the telephone. At last he came into the room where Jesus lay stiffly in bed. Then, after hurriedly getting dressed and getting into the car, the next thing he knew Jesus was waiting in the hallway with his nervous father. Jesus sat with him for a while, but he had woken at an unaccustomed hour, and his nerves were so tired that he began to feel faint. Then, suddenly reaching his limit, Jesus was asleep before he knew it.
When he awoke, it was morning. As he sat up, his eyes blinking in the morning sun, his father's jacket slipped off his body and fell to the floor. It was as if he had been transported in his sleep and was lying on the couch in the hospital room. Jesus rubbed his eyes and blinked at the sound of his parents' voices.
They were bathed in the blinding golden morning light.
Joseph looked frightened yet happy, holding the baby in his arms by the bed. There was a happiness in his eyes that Jesus had never seen before, and Mary, sitting up in bed, leaning against the pillows, had a look of deep satisfaction on her face. The baby's hair was light in colour, probably inherited from his mother's blonde hair, but perhaps as she grew up it would change colour to match Joseph's light brown hair. Using his fingertips, Jesus brushed the pitch-black bangs that fell over his eyes out of the way and looked at the three of them.
They look so perfect, he thought.
Mary noticed that Jesus was awake. She smiled and waved him over. As Jesus slowly got to his feet and walked over, Mary reached for the baby and his father carefully handed him to her.
"Jesus. Your sister."
Jesus timidly approached the baby cradled in his mother's arms. The wrinkled baby, sleeping with her eyes closed, was incredibly small, but he could see that she was breathing. Mary asked him to kiss her and Jesus gently brought his face close to hers, closed his eyes and kissed his sister's forehead.
Good girl. You didn't make her suffer.
Jesus heard a soft whimper and pulled his face away. The kiss seemed to have woken her and the baby had begun to cry. Jesus backed away gently as his mother and father hurriedly began to soothe the baby. Returning to his chair, he picked up his father's jacket and covered himself as if to hide. From a distance, Jesus silently watched over them.