Continued from Mrs. Jesus #2/7: Two’s Day Out

I wake up early to make pancakes for the kids.
Jesus shows up to breakfast a little later than usual.
He kisses me on the cheek.
I don’t look him in the eye.

He gives me a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything.

After dropping the kids off, he comes back home instead of heading to work.
He finds me in the backyard, staring at the mountains surrounding our village.
He stands beside me, gently taking my hand but not speaking.

Finally I turn to him.
He takes my other hand as I gaze up through my lashes into his warm brown eyes.
I speak.

“I want to come work with you.”

He smiles.
Though a tear begins to course down his cheek.
And I can feel the tension in his muscles.

Orientation

We are staring at the tree of all creation again.
I’m not sure how I got here.
It is all a blur, though I’m sure we must have climbed the mountains and walked the tunnels as before.

Didn’t we?

I had hoped we were going to start with something easier, like making hydrogen atoms for stars.
But when I asked about that, Jesus just shook his head with that same grim smile.

“All of creation starts with my blood, and my Father’s broken body. If you want to do my work, that is where you must start.”

“All of creation starts with my blood, and my Father’s broken body. If you want to do my work, that is where you must start.”

Jesus

Fortunately, we aren’t starting today.
Today is mostly about getting to know the tree, and the garden that holds it.

“Is this Eden?” I ask breathlessly, overwhelmed by its beauty.

“Not quite,” he winks.
Then I realize this is actually the divine template from which Eden sprung.

“Then… are we recreating Eden?”

He nods approvingly.

“Almost. We are infusing the power of God
back into the world, so it conforms to the Imago Dei it had back at the beginning.”

He grimaces slightly.

“But redemption is costlier than creation. And the One Rule is that we cannot go backwards.
Nothing is ever wasted, but — however ugly or painful — must all be re-integrated into the City of God.”

My heart swells with pride as I look at him.

“Is that what you… what we… are doing here? Using your blood to build our little village into the Kingdom of God?”

“Is that what you… what we… are doing here? Using your blood to build our little village into the Kingdom of God?”

Mrs. Jesus

He smiles and gathers me in his arms.

“I’m glad you understand.
It means a lot to me, being able to share my work with you.”

The he pulls away, and looks me in the eye.
My face burns, but I do not look away.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.
I have already paid the price for you, and our children.”

I square my shoulders, and try to match his smile with my own.

“I know. This is not a ‘have to’ but a ‘get to.’
I didn’t marry you for a house and income, or even to be the mother of your children. I wed you for you.”

“I didn’t marry you for a house and income, or even to be the mother of your children. I wed you for you.”

Mrs. Jesus

I poke him in the chest, and he stifles a laugh.

He pulls me close, and I nestle my head against his breast.

“I just want to know you.
Everything about you.
What it feels like to be you.
The good, the bad, and the ugly.
How much it costs to love the world like you do.
What it looks like to become you.”

He gently takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
He grins.

“And now you know the real reason I married you,” said he.

To be continued