by Jackie D. Ricks based on Luke 23:33-43

I never thought I’d end up here—carrying a huge beam on my back and walking to my death.

I wasn’t a terrible kid growing up in Nazareth. Because I was big for my age, I became a leader among my friends. We loved making fun of the new kids who moved to town.

His family had been gone from Nazareth for a few years when they moved back to town. He was pretty small. We all made fun of him because no one knew who his real father was. He never got angry when we teased him. He laughed and told us we didn’t know what we were talking about.

He helped his dad, Joe, just as we all worked with our fathers. Joe treated him the same as his other sons, but everyone knew he wasn’t. Joe even made him a special set of woodworking tools. He used them all the time.

I was jealous. One night, I crept into Joe’s shop and stole the special tools. I don’t know why. I never used them. If I had, everyone would’ve known I was the thief.

But he knew. Don’t ask me how. I never told a soul. He just knew. At least, that’s how I felt every time he looked at me.

My family moved to Jerusalem when I turned 13. I figured I’d never see him again. I did, though, one year at Passover. I heard the commotion as Joe and Mary rushed back to town looking for him.

Apparently he’d stayed behind when they left to go home.

They found him in the Temple. As usual, he was making up stuff and the adults listened as if he knew what he was talking about. He always could tell a good story.

Although Joe and Mary were upset, they didn’t punish him. He said he was taking care of his father’s business. I knew he couldn’t mean Joe’s carpentry business. I wondered if maybe he knew who his real father was. He used to say he talked to him every day—I just always thought he meant Joe.

Years later I heard tales about him. Sounded like he turned out like his cousin John. Now John, he was a real fanatic. Always preaching. I didn’t want to have anything to do with that.

Nope. All I wanted to do was steal stuff. After I stole his tools as a kid, I kept up the habit. It was such a thrill trying not to get caught. I started out on my own, but pretty soon I became part of a gang of thieves. I had been the leader until Barabbas came along.

Barabbas let nothing get in his way. I didn’t mind stealing, but I never killed anybody. Barabbas killed a man on our last job and stirred up a lot of trouble. That’s how we got caught. The Romans threw us into prison.

I never knew exactly what happened, but they let Barabbas go. It wasn’t fair. My buddy and I hadn’t killed the man, but they said someone else was going to take Barabbas’ place. We figured this guy must be really bad, if he was worse than Barabbas.

I’m looking at him now as they lead us to the hill to be executed. His face is smeared with blood. A funny-looking crown of thorns sits on his head. His back looks like the mangled flesh of a young lamb after a lion attack. I can’t really see his face. The guards shove him along the road. The crowd jeers at him; they don’t even notice my friend and me.

They nail him to the cross first. I can’t watch. Did he pass out? I wonder. No sound left his lips.

My buddy’s next. His scream pierces the sky and blocks out the noise from the masses of people. When it’s my turn, I black out from the unbearable pain.

I’m not sure how long I’m out, but when I to come to I hear the crowd mocking him. They call him “King of the Jews.” I join them until I look into his eyes.

In spite of everything, his eyes are full of compassion.

“Father, forgive them,” he says, “for they do not know what they are doing.”

Suddenly, I recognize Him . . . and I understand.

Although my buddy continues mocking Him, I can’t.

“Don’t you fear God?” I scream at the other thief. “This man has done nothing wrong.”

Then I turn to Him and say, “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.”

He answers me with the kindest voice I had ever heard.

From his eyes, I know He recognizes me, too. Yet, He loves me anyway.

“I tell you the truth,” He says, “today you will be with me in paradise.”

	Q: What kind of phone does a turtle use? A: A shell-ular phone. Andy B., 10, Wisconsin Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe