Liars

This is a Christian short story. I hope you like it.

Hi, my name is Taylor. I live in an all Jewish community. Jesus is around, but the Pharisees are saying He's a fraud. I believe them. The Messiah would be a king, not a pheasant. Though I'm not God.

My dad is sick. My mom died giving birth to me. My brothers have leprosy, so I can't see them and probably won't ever see them again. It's sad. I'm about to be an orphan. No one wants an orphan in these parts.

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"Please let me see my Abba (1)," I begged the Roman guard. So maybe not an all Jewish community.

"Sorry, little miss, but I have my orders," the guard said, He was kind of nice, but really stern. I hate that kind of attitude.

"Please, I want to see my Abba," I begged. The guard shook his head and I turned around. I started walking away, when a man put a hand on my shoulder. I jumped and the guard growl. He was growling a protective growl; this was an angry growl.

The man's face looked extremely concerned. Who is this, I asked myself. He didn't look familiar. He had long wavy brown hair and kind eyes. He was generally concerned. His eyes intrigued me the most. They seemed to know every wrong you've done, but loved you anyway. It was kind of creepy. The eyes this man had seemed to be what I would imagine God's eyes to be.

As if He read my thoughts, He said," My name is Jesus, Taylor." I looked at him shocked. One, this is the Jesus everyone talked about. Two, He knew my name.

"You know my name?" I asked.

"I know everyone's name. The guard's name is Joseph. You're father's name is Jacob. You're mother's name is Ruth. Your mother's tale is sad, because she died while she was giving birth to you. Your brothers, John and Philip, have leprosy. Now, your father is sick with a fever," said Jesus. I was shocked. No one knew that much of me. How did he?

He seemed really sweet. How could the Pharisees hate Him, I asked myself. He smiled sadly at me.

"Will you stop doing that? It's creeping me out," I said.

"What?" He asked.

"Reading my mind," I said. He chuckled and ruffled my hair. I sent him a glare and tried to fix it.

"You should let her see her father," said Jesus.

"He's sick," the guard said bluntly.

"Go in. He's healed," said Jesus, but the guard didn't have to turn around. My father walked out perfectly healed. I looked at Jesus and then my father and back to Jesus. He smiled kindly at me. I hugged my father. He started to walk away. I grabbed his hand. He looked at me expectantly.

"Please stay with us for dinner and overnight," I said.

"It is getting dark and we haven't had visitors in a long time," said my father.

"If you wish," He said and I practically dragged Him home. I was wrong. Jesus is the Messiah. He is God's Son. Most importantly, Jesus is my hero.

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The next day, the Pharisees were saying that my father was never really sick. They were saying we were believers; we are, but just recently. The kids started throwing rocks at Him.

"Leave Him alone!" I shouted. They started throwing rocks at me. They hurt. Jesus dragged me away from them.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I nodded and He wiped away my tears. "They hurt you," He said.

"I don't care. They're all liars anyway," I said. He hugged me.

Abba means Daddy in Hebrew and is pronounced Ah-ba.