Picture it: Galilee, sometime in probably May, somewhere between 29-34 AD. Jesus is talking to his mother, who sits and knits rapidly.
"Ma, I know you're still trying to figure this resurrection thing out, aren't you?"
"Of course, son. Good Jewish boys don't walk out of graves after they've been put in. It just isn't done."
"Well, I told you years ago I had to be about my father's business, and it was his idea, after all."
"Nonsense. Joseph never told you any such thing."
"No, Ma, not THAT father. You know, the OTHER one", (pointing index finger at the sky and looking up).
"Oh, all right. I get that part, the father thing, but Joseph was a good father to you, you know."
"Yes, Ma, I know that. It's just that now it is time for me to go up to God and be with him again. I have to ascend to my father in heaven. It's my job."
"You are not going anywhere, young man, until I finish these socks. You know how cold your feet get when you walk around on mountains."
"Ma, in heaven it isn't cold. It's..... it's...... comfortable. And I won't be walking around mountains, I'm going to be rising up, you know, ascending, like you do in an elevator."
"Rise, schmise. And what, pray tell, is an elevator?"
"It's a box that has pulleys and ..... oh, never mind, Ma. I'm going to ascend on an invisible rope going up to heaven to be with God."
"You're still not going anywhere until I get these socks finished; I'm only at the turning of the heel on the second one. And furthermore, you haven't got your hat with you, you know, to keep your head warm so you don't catch cold."
"Ma! Haven't you been listening? I'm going to heaven. There's no cold there, no heat, just perfectly comfortable temperatures and weather, no rain, no snow, no drought, no... nothing weather-wise. It's just a perfect place."
"Right. Now you just sit down and wait while I finish this. I wonder -- do these white and gold stripes look all right? If you'd given me more notice I could have knit a nice scene of feet with clouds under them. Or made them a nice cheerful bright red. Red doesn't show the dirt as easily. Couldn't you, you know, just switch it like you did the water for wine that time? That was a nice thing."
As angels hovered and disciples milled about, Mary knitted, purled, yarn overed, decreased and increased as fast as her stiffening fingers would allow. No son of hers was going out half-shod, not if she could help it. After all, mothers are like that, ascensions, mothers of the son of God or not.
(Inspired by KF, an inveterate knitter, who briefly considered such a project as rising feet and clouds depicted on a pair of socks. Who knows, she might try it yet!).