Surely He Was the Son of God

06 Mar Inspirational , , , , , , , , , , ,

I have always wanted to prepare for Easter by taking the month leading up to that holiday and reflect on the events that make up what we call, Easter. I began that the other day with “When Jesus Says Your Name“. It was the story of Mary as she stands at the tomb, distraught over her Jesus being gone.

The second in the series, Bound For My Freedom, is the story of Asher, the youngHD GRASS shepherd boy who sat next to Jesus in the stable, only to meet up with him again at the foot of the cross, as he assists his cousin Joseph in preparing Christ’s body with burial.

Today’s story, third in the series, is seen through the eyes of the centurion who saw the darkness of Good Friday turn to the light and hope of Easter. Enjoy!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“For God so love the world that He gave His one and only Son…”

For many, that verse has been heard a thousand times and it can mean next to nothing. For others, they have heard Jesus died on the cross, yet leave that fact hanging in mid-air where it stopped, so as not to allow it to pierce their heart. They, like I once did, have heard the story of the cross like this: “Jesus died on the cross for your sins.” That’s pretty plain. Pretty simple. But was that all there was to it, really? Just a plain and simple fact?

The last six hours in the life of Christ can show you, once again, (or for what may be the first time), that for Jesus to die on the cross, was not so plain nor was it so simple.

Jesus has been up all night under a great amount of stress. After all, He is the Son of God and knows the Father’s thoughts. He knows what lies ahead. He had spent these precious hours on His knees, praying in the garden of Gethsemane. His prayers are powerful, intentional and pleading. So emotive that crimson drops of sweat drip from His pores. In the middle of His prayers, He is apprehended as if a criminal.

He is taken away, only to endure three legal, yet not so just, trials. He is flogged – a lashing done with the use of a whip made of rawhide.

In a flogging, the whip that is used contains steel like balls in the middle of the rawhide and at the end, pieces of bone that cut glass. The criminals in Jesus’ day were put on a pole and the authorities would then swing the whip. As it would swing around the criminals body, the balls would hit and cause major contusions to the organs as the pieces of bone cut into the flesh. When pulled out, it ripped away the flesh. Thirty-nine lashes was the legal limit, for few individuals ever lived beyond those 39 lashes.

That’s what Jesus gets.

When Christ lay, most likely almost dead, they strip him of his clothes. They spit on Him. They shove a twisted crown of thorns on his head. They strike Him on the head. They mock him as king.

Emotionally he is exhausted. Physically he is almost dead. Mentally he is drained. And yet, it doesn’t end there. In such a weakened condition, He isn’t able to carry the load of the cross – my cross. But he was the One chosen to bear it and He is led off to Golgotha – the hill on which he must die.

The nails are like spikes and he winces with each strike of the mallet that pounds each one into His hands and feet. Hanging there, they hurl insults at him and He does not retaliate; when he suffers, he makes no threats. Instead, he entrusts Himself to His heavenly Father, who judges justly.

A continual life of obedience, even in the face of humiliation. Obedience in the face of mockery. Obedience in the face of a death He had every power at hand to stop. Still, he endures. They aren’t finished with him yet.

They lift up sour wine for him to drink. They insult him, take his clothes and cast lots for them. It’s all a game to them. It’s all about taunting what appears to be the underdog. It’s all about obeying the rules of the mighty and twisting them to fit your pleasure.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son…”

He doesn’t use His words to bite back. He doesn’t say, “I’ll get you!” or, “Come on up here and say that to my face!” or, “Just wait until after the resurrection, buddy!” No, these statements were not found on the lips of Christ. Instead, He left the ways of judgment up to God and demanded no apology. Instead, he spoke in their defense.

“Father forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing!”

How Jesus, with a body wracked with pain, eyes blinded by his own blood, and lungs yearning for air could speak on behalf of some heartless thugs is beyond my comprehension.

Jesus didn’t die from loss of blood. He didn’t die of pain. He suffocated, for to die by means of a crucifixion is to die of suffocation. As His arms are nailed cross-ways above, soldiers bend his legs and put a nail between both ankles so that he is able to push up with his legs and pull himself up but as he hangs there, his arms quickly dislocate. As he tries to pull himself up, his organs begin to slide down and the pain of pulling himself up, is compensated by trying to get a breath and he suffocates.

“The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life …

No one takes my life from me…

I lay it down on my own accord.

I have the authority to lay it down or to take it up again…”

A centurion sits nearby. He watches the three men who are lined up on crosses – no respect, no cause for care or concern, no dignity – just pieces of meat. A conversation develops between the center man and the one to his left. The centurion can’t hear much but he definitely hears a proclamation by the man on the left that this man called Jesus is innocent. The rumble of voices quiet and the world grows freakishly silent.

As the centurion stands, he notices that the man in the middle is lifeless but out of somewhere, the lifeless body musters strength to lift its head upward and like a bolt of lightening and the roar of thunder he proclaims, “It is finished.”

The centurion takes three quick steps toward and falls at the foot of the cross of Christ. Not because he suddenly realizes just who this is that he has hung up to die, but because he loses his balance. The earth is shaking as the skies grow dark with anger.

He looks up into the face of this man, so near to death. Jesus looks down. His arms outstretched, hammered with nails the rugged post, He is unable to embrace this one who now understands. They lock eyes and in that instant, he falls under the grace of God and states a truth that will ring throughout history:

“Surely this was the Son of God.”

The faith of the centurion was born that day at the foot of the cross and forgiveness was poured down over him by the crimson blood of Christ. And, he weeps.

“Surely this man was innocent.”

Surely, He was.


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Does God Make Deals?

05 Mar Inspirational , , , , , , ,

yellow finchA few weeks ago I was able to visit my daughter in Southern California. In the course of my stay, she showed me a contract one her boys, seven years old, had written between the two of them. It read:

Nathaniel’s Deal

Tamara,

Nathaniel will like to make deal with you- if he go to school he gets large chips and soda.

It was signed,

Nathaniel and Tamara

Some of the things my daughter has to deal with at this home for abused kids is beyond belief. But every once in a while, she comes across a cute situation that makes it worthwhile, like a contract made by a seven year old.

We do the same things with God, but I wonder if they’re ‘cute’ to Him. We get in a bind, go through a tough time, and in hopes of getting out of our ‘tight’ spot, we cut a deal with God. We say things like, “I’ll do this if you will do that” or “I promise I’ll do this, if you don’t do that.”

If God doesn’t come through the way we’ve outlined in our deal, we feel we’re not doing things right, God doesn’t like us, or maybe we even missed the miraculous moment.

God isn’t like that. God is a God of mercy and grace. He does things out of love, for our good and not to frustrate us.

Sometimes, God just wants us to use our brains. That is, after all, why He gave us common sense. Sometimes, decisions are easy enough, if we use that common sense, but we don’t like the options so we seek a better way – or what we think is a better way, according to our desires anyhow.

For the last year, I’ve wanted to attend a writer’s conference that is coming up. For my birthday, I ended up with almost enough, but because my husband has been unemployed for over a year and I am on disability, I believed that the best use for good stewardship was to pay off some of my medical bills. So I did. But first, I cut a deal with God.

I told Him that I’d do the right thing – I wanted to – but if at all possible, could He provide a way to go and if not – that would be okay.

What makes it be okay when you want something so bad but if you don’t get it – it really is okay? Because we have a sovereign God that can do anything. If it’s His will for us to be somewhere at a certain time, He’ll get us there. However, if it’s His will for us to stay put, then we will do as He leads and not try to manipulate the situation to suit our needs wants. And we know that whatever we allow Him to do, it is for our good and it is His best for us, just as He promised in His word.

So, come what may, I am content and at peace for whatever He chooses. Until then, I think I’ll join Nathaniel and have a large chips and a soda.

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Bound For My Freedom

04 Mar Inspirational , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I have always wanted to prepare for Easter by taking the month leading up to that holiday and reflect on the events that make up what we call, Easter. I began that the other day with “When Jesus Says Your Name“.  It was the story of Mary as she stands at the tomb, distraught over her Jesus being gone. basket-roses-straight-sharp

Today, I hope you enjoy the next story – that of the shepherd boy who sits by Jesus when he’s born, only to meet up with him again as he assists his cousin Joseph with Christ’s burial.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On an assumed cold, wintry night, approximately 2,000 some years ago, a little baby was born. His mother wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a feeding trough (more commonly known to all as a manger), somewhere in a little town called Bethlehem, located in what is known as the West Bank of the Middle East. A tiny, little baby in a big part of the world.

As his mother slept and his father tried to figure out what they were going to do next, the little baby cooed. All wrapped up in his swaddling cloths, he was quite content and happy enough for just being born. And besides, Asher, the shepherd boy who had listened to what the angels had told him, sat right at his side in awe of this little miracle.

Asher straightened the baby’s cloths. He had an inkling to loosen them, seeing that they bound him from moving about. How he wished he could hold him. Why did mothers wrap their babies so tight, anyhow? It was a practice he never understood. All those strips of cloth, binding his limbs still, all to ensure that this little man would grow strong and his arms and legs straight? Oh well. For now, Asher just traced the little baby’s face with his index finger, softly following the baby’s brow line and then down his baby nose, over his baby lips and then up to the other brow, repeating the process over and again until the newborn fell asleep.

Asher wondered if his mother had wrapped him in linen such as that. In that way. Was he bound tightly so that he couldn’t move? Wouldn’t move? Was he constrained from stretching his fingers up into the air? Were his feet confined from layers of cloth wrapped around his legs so that he was unable to kick freely as he had done while in his mother’s womb? How was a little baby supposed to strengthen his muscles if constricted from movement?

Swaddling clothes seemed to be a form of bondage to Asher. Bondage that kept this little baby from being welcomed freely into the world. Perhaps it was a sign. After all, his route in getting here to this stable was a bit miraculous, if he dared to use such an explanation.

The baby’s father looked tired and his eyes bloodshot as his head rested against the wall of the stable. Asher felt pity toward him.

“Sir – I can guard the little baby if you fall asleep.”

The father moved his head from the wall and turned it slightly to face Asher. A weary smile crept over the man’s face as he contemplated Asher’s offer.

“Thank you,” the deep voice sounded. “I’m not sure if I can sleep. But what about you? Is your mother worried about you? Shouldn’t you get home?”

“Oh, no. The other two boys that were with me earlier – they were my brothers and it was our turn to tend the flock tonight. She’s not expecting me home tonight and they told me it was okay to stay a while when they went back to the field. But, I – I can leave if you want me to.”

The father smiled. “No – you can stay. I think he likes you here,” he said, looking at the baby. “Maybe I will take you up on that offer. You wake me up if he wakes up.”

“Yes, sir,” Asher promptly responded and with that, the baby’s father rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes and the mother continued to sleep soundly, her head resting on the father’s lap, as the rest of her body lay on a mound of hay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jesus knew he wouldn’t see his next birthday. Things were moving rapidly now and heating up amongst the people and officials and he knew His time to do what He was sent here to do was now at hand.

As he knelt in the garden, he continued praying as he had been doing all night, only now he was hearing voices coming from the front entrance. Within moments, on every side Roman soldiers surrounded him, death dancing in their eyes. Did they really think they needed hundreds of men to take him captive? Did they secretly believe He was who he said he was and think they couldn’t stop him unless they brought a battalion of men?

He went peacefully and some might say, He suffered peacefully. When it was over – the beatings, the mockery, the crucifixion – he died.

Joseph, a good and upright man and having been granted permission to take Jesus’ body down from the cross, began preparing Jesus’ body for burial as Asher helped. For Asher, there was something familiar about this man who had been hung on a cross to die for no apparent reason. Something Asher couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Asher knelt beside his cousin, whom he had come to visit and helped him remove the spikes that held Jesus’ hands to the timber, splintered and now coated with the stickiness of dried blood. With great gentleness and care, after each spike had been removed, they gently laid the body beside the cross on which he had breathed his last breath.

Joseph untied a cloth bag and removed strips of linen. Asher helped his cousin to wrap the dead body. Around and around the feet, methodically they wrapped the body, moving up the legs. Then, positioning the stiffened arms straight against the sides of his torso, Joseph and Asher continued wrapping, overlapping layer after layer, until they were to the neck.

“Who was this man?” Asher finally sliced through the silence, a feeling of familiarity once again surrounding him. “What was his name?”

“They called him Jesus.”

Asher stopped. “They called him what?”

“His name was Jesus. I really believe, no matter how stupid it sounds, He was the Son of God.”

Asher’s face turned white.

“Are you okay, Ash? You don’t look good.”

From swaddling cloths to grave cloths, this was no coincidence.

“Do you remember that story I told you about when you helped me tend the flocks that summer when I was twenty? The story about the angels and the baby we found at the stable when I was a little runt?”

Joseph’s face was expressionless as he stared at Asher, except for the wideness of his eyes, which were staring back at Asher. “Yes.”

“I think this is him.”

“You told me he was born in Bethlehem.”

“He was, but his parents had gone there for the census and eventually, I heard they left to go back where they came from. His father told me what I told you that night we were talking – he was no ordinary baby and the angels that told us to go into town and we’d find a baby in a manger – this was him. I know it.”

Joseph looked at the baby, wrapped in linen except for the blood stained face and matted hair. A tear dropped from his eye and landed silently on a piece of cloth that he held in his hand.

“I remember watching him that night in the stable and for some reason, wishing I could have removed the swaddling clothes and let him be free to move around. And now, here I am wrapping him up, making him bound once again.”

“You’re not going to bind him. He said after three days he would rise again. Even the Pharisees are afraid. You can bet they’re going to station guards at the tomb. Nothing’s going to hold him back, Asher. Nothing. And that – I know.”

Asher sat and listened to his cousin, who was so confident that this man they tended to was the Messiah. Did he realize what he was saying? And yet, didn’t Asher himself believe that the little baby some thirty years ago, who he watched try to wiggle his way from being bound with the linens of long ago – didn’t he believe that little baby would change the world – just as the angels had said?

With sorrow, now mixed with anticipation, they finished what they had come here for. They wrapped Jesus’ face and then carried him to the tomb. There was nothing more they could do. They laid him down on the stone and with the help of the soldiers already waiting at the tomb, rolled a large stone in front of the entrance as two women watched from afar.

As they walked toward Joseph’s home, Asher asked, “Tell me again what he said about coming back to life after three days.”

And so it was – the third day. Asher was heading back to Bethlehem and decided to take the path that passed Joseph’s tomb. A nagging curiosity had been his companion the last two days. He stopped, seeing commotion ahead.

Sliding off his donkey, he tied it to a nearby olive tree. He walked closer, seeing the two women who had been watching from afar as he and Joseph rolled the stone across the front of the tomb just days before.

Three men were talking to them and suddenly they gasped, ran into the open tomb; back out again, and down the road – right past Asher. As they passed, one of them turned to him, exclaiming, “He’s alive!”

His eyes followed her as she ran by, yet she never stopped and kept running.

He turned back toward the tomb. The men were gone. They hadn’t passed him. They weren’t walking away from him down the road in the other direction. They were just – gone. He looked all around – no one. Slowly, he walked toward the place where the men had stood while they were speaking to the three women. He could see the tomb.

It had taken six men to roll that stone in front of the tomb. The women couldn’t have moved it, even if the three men had helped. He and Joseph could barely do it with the assistance of the four hefty built Roman guards.

Asher stood at the entrance, took a deep breath and then stepped inside. It was dark, but bright enough with the light from outside streaming in behind him, was able to see what he needed to see. They body was gone. And, at that moment he was certain.

The body hadn’t ‘disappeared’. No one had taken it. He knew how he and Joseph had wrapped that body. Carefully – oh so carefully. And there, on the stone where they had laid the body, lay the grave cloths. Neatly folded, in a pile, on the stone.

Asher was shivering, every inch of his body tingling with excitement. He picked up the top cloth and a strange peace coated every inch of his being as he held the cloth to his face, lightly passing it across his cheek.

The little baby he had fallen in love with. The baby he wanted to set free. And though for burial Joseph and he had bound him as a man, Asher knew in his heart that this man they called Jesus and had hung on a cross – truly he was the Messiah. He saw him wrapped in swaddling clothes as a baby and bound him in grave cloths in death. But he knew – the next time he saw him – it would be with outstretched arms, as Asher’s Savior and Lord.

Just as the angels had said.

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Book Review: 66 Love Letters

04 Mar Book Reviews: Books With A Purpose , , , , ,

66You’ve heard the Bible referred to as a love letter from God, but did you hear it described as 66 love letters from God?  In his latest book, 66 Love Letters from God, Larry Crabb takes all 66 books contained in the Word of God and by condensing each one into a paragraph, shows his readers the love God has for His children as evidenced through His word.

 In each of the seven parts of his book, psychologist and Christian counselor Dr. Larry Crabb steers the reader to ask, What does God want me to hear from this love letter?

 Not intended as a comprehensive look at the Bible itself, it is intended as a means to relay a deep message to each reader that they are loved immeasurably and God went to extravagant lengths to prove it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The story of God written in intimate love letters just for you. Dr. Larry Crabb knows that if we could see the larger story of God and humanity, our world would never be the same.

That story is found in large part in the sixty-six letters of the Bible. Written in a conversational first person, as if God is speaking directly to us, Dr. Crabb looks at each individual book in scripture and boils it down to a one- or two-sentence message to us from that particular book. He then unpacks each sentence in a short chapter answering the question, What does God want me to hear from this love letter?

The book’s epilogue then fits all sixty-six pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together into one coherent paragraph and reveals the beautiful picture of what God has been about since the creation of the world. Far from being comprehensive, this is a personal approach to helping readers know God and his great love for them, his message for all mankind, and how their lives fit into His larger story.   [Jacket]

Disclosure: This book was received free from Thomas Nelson for review.

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Welcome To Medford

03 Mar Inspirational , , , , , ,

comp-dsc03440Several years ago I attended a conference where the speaker read an article someone had written entitled, “Welcome to Holland”. It was about planning to go somewhere and ending up somewhere else – somewhere you never intended to go. It was a parody on life itself.

I’ve taken the idea and changed it just a tad bit…

Life is a journey, filled with a bunch of little side roads and forks in the road that we have the options of taking or not. One fork says ‘Marriage this way’ while the other says, ‘Stay single’. Another might say, ‘Large family’ versus ‘No kids’. Still another, ‘Take the promotion’ or ‘Stay put’. Life is like planning a vacation to somewhere like… France. You buy the tourist books, language books, and more. You begin to plan. Lists of all the famous attractions – the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, a Moulin Rouge Show and more. You even check out the local library’s issue of “How to Learn French in Ten Days”.

You are beside yourself with excitement. You’ve spent nearly every waking moment thinking about this trip. Hours, days, weeks, months and the day has come. Your bags are packed with everything that will make this trip a trip to remember. A once in a lifetime experience.

Early the next morning, you shower and dress, pick up your bags with all the airline-approved size toiletries, and head to the airport. You meander through security checkpoints, not setting off any alarms and finally, it’s time to board. You get as comfortable as possible for the long ride. Finally, an announcement comes over the speaker and the flight attendant tells you that the seatbelt restrictions have been removed and you may now deplane and “Oh, and welcome to Medford!”

Wait.

What did she just say?

Everyone’s almost off and you tag behind to verify, though you,re sure she’s made a mistake.

The attendant is standing at the door and you ask, “Medford?”

“Yes, enjoy your stay.”

“What do you mean, Medford? I was going to France. I paid to see France. I’ve spent my whole life, preparing for France.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, “but we’re in Medford.”

What you need to remember at this point is, you haven’t landed in a war-torn country, a famine stricken nation, or a city in the aftermath of an earthquake or flood . There is no famine. There is no disease. There are no hurricanes or tornadoes. You’re just in a different place.

Now, you’ll need new guide books, which are conveniently located at the information center next to a quaint little country store. And fortunately, the people speak your native tongue, English, so that’s one advantage. You’re also going to meet a whole bunch of new people that you wouldn’t have met if you had gone to France.

Medford isn’t France, it’s just a different place you’ve found yourself in. Just like life. It’s certainly a different marriage than you envisioned, a different college, definitely a different kind of retirement. Your kids are even different than you imagined – they aren’t perfect and they may have gone a different path than you had hoped. Moving out on your own isn’t as glamorous as you once dreamed. The first boyfriend wasn’t exactly Prince Charming.

This life you’re living here in Medford is slower paced than that trip you had planned to France and it is certainly less flashy. But, after you’ve been there a while, you catch your breath, you look around and you begin to notice that Medford has lakes and mountains. It has a big, beautiful rose garden in the south of town. Medford has friendly people and lots of parks. Medford is suitable for growing many varieties of plants not conducive to colder climates you’ve been to. Medford even has a really good pizza place.

But, it seems as if everyone you know is busy coming to and from their ‘France’ – that place that you had always dreamed of being and maybe even spending the rest of your life. They’re bragging about the wonderful life they’re living there or at least the wonderful time they’re having as they visit. And for the rest of your life you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”

The thing is – life just doesn’t go the way we plan. Dreams often get lost in the living of our lives and the pain of losing those dreams we dreamed is extremely significant. However, if the rest of your life is spent bemoaning the fact that you landed in Medford instead of Paris and you spend the rest of your life bemoaning the fact that you didn’t sign up for all of the pain and sorrow along the way – than you may never be free to enjoy the wonderful things about Medford. Or shall we say – your life.

Welcome to your Medford. You’re right where God wants you to be.

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Terrific Tuesday or Terrible? You Choose

02 Mar Published , , , , , ,
God always keeps His promises

God always keeps His promises

What is Terrific Tuesday?  An opportunity to look at life optimistically.  To decide to see the positive and not the negative.  To be a ‘my cup is half full’ kind of person.  To see Tuesday as terrific and not terrible.  Why?  Because no matter what happens, God is sovereign and full of mercy and grace and will not allow anything that isn’t in our best interest.  I’d say that’s pretty terrific, wouldn’t you?

So, here are some pretty terrific things about this Tuesday:

~ the skies are cloudy, threatening rain – I won’t need to water

~ the cat is not laying on my feet

~ the dog is sleeping

~ the dishwasher is washing dishes for me

~ my new toothbrush is awesome

~ the two geese flying overhead this morning were talking to each other

~ it is now raining – puddles!!!

~ I got a new picture of my granddaughter

~ I got to watch my granddaughter

~ my granddaughter didn’t say ‘no’ today

~ my granddaughter didn’t cry when I wouldn’t sing the ‘Hush Baby’ song ‘just  one more time’, when I put her down for her nap

Now, just imagine if it were terrible Tuesday… a cup half empty kind of attitude:

~ another dreary, wet, cold, day to get wet socks.  I’ll probably get sick.

~ I wish the cat would just leave me alone and go bug someone else

~ the dog should be outside where animals belong

~ the dishwasher is so loud I can’t hear myself complain

~ I can’t believe what they charge for electric toothbrushes nowadays – why, when I was a kid…

~ I wish I had me a rifle – I’d shoot me a goose

~ it’s raining – again.  I hope my granddaughter doesn’t want to get in the puddles.

~ uh, I’m sorry, but as hard as I try, I can’t find a half empty attitude when it comes to my granddaughter…

It really is perspective, attitude, and/or choice how we look and deal with life, isn’t it? And, having a cup half full attitude is so much better. Gotta go – there are some fresh rain puddles Boo and I have to check out.

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When Jesus Says Your Name

01 Mar Inspirational , , , , , , , , ,

dscn9827It’s Saturday – that day that comes between Good Friday and Easter and I can’t help but wonder whether I would have lost hope on that day – that one Saturday, so long ago.

I can be hopeful, however, because I know what happened that next day – the day that followed the dark clouds of doubt just two days prior. The day the tomb was empty. Sunday morning. Easter morning. The morning that Jesus could not be found.

What would it have been like to have been one of the three women walking to the tomb, in order to prepare Jesus’ body for burial? These three women – Mary and Martha and Mary – had been His close friends. The closest kind. After all, it isn’t just anyone, on just any old day, that would lavish their Master’s feet with the finest of oils. But one of these three did. Mary did. And now she most likely took each step, with a million questions in her mind beginning with ‘why’ as she walked her path of sorrow.

Martha walked alongside. Did she have regrets? Did she wish she had put down the dishtowel and joined Mary at Jesus’ feet more often, instead of sighing and complaining that no one ever helped her? Did she yearn and ache to have Him back and have a do-over, showing her Lord that He really was more important than a clean sink?

And what about the other Mary? The first Mary – his mother? What was she going through? She knew what He was about. She knew it from the very beginning but was this the way it was supposed to be? If he was who she believed He was then why this? How was being dead going to save the world? She remembered hearing about the statement He had made about the ‘third day’. She knew God was a God of miracles – she knew that first hand and personally. But – death? How was that going to fix things? Loaned to her through arms of God, she watched a little baby boy become a man – a man who was going to save the world.  But how could that be? He didn’t even save himself when the time warranted it and everyone was waiting for a miracle. Instead, he took the insults, the beatings, the lies and didn’t stop a thing.

Approaching the tomb in silence, the women abruptly stopped short. The storm clouds from the day before were completely gone. The sun beat down upon them as they removed the veils from their heads, not that it enabled them to see clearer. The stone had still been moved – but how? It would take many men to push it away and there wasn’t one man around.

 
Without a sound, without a word, they looked at each other in bewilderment, all three with thoughts racing through their minds of what thes open tomb could mean. Was He still in there? Had someone taken Him? Was it a cruel joke? A few seconds seemed like hours as they stood, speculating in silence what the darkness before them held as they prepared to enter that tomb.

Within seconds of entering, the three women reappear from within the tomb and  bolt to where they know Peter is. Frantic, broken, distraught and out of breath, Mary rattles off what has happened.

“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb and we don’t know where they have put them.” She is beside herself with confusion.

Peter, watching her expressions, realizes that she isn’t joking around and he and John, without response follow Mary’s lead and all three are out the door and on their way to the tomb. John, always the renowned devoted one, beats Peter and reaches the tomb first. He and Peter look in the tomb, much the same way the three women had done not long before.

It was as Mary had told them. He was gone. All that was left was the cloth they had wrapped him in. They are beside themselves and rush back home. Fear? Bewilderment? Confusion? Hope?

Mary stays and is standing outside the tomb, crying. She came to the tomb for one reason and now her one reason is gone. And the ones she ran to for enlightenment have run back home. As she stands there weeping, she hears a noise. It causes her to stop and look. She looks around, but no one is there. She hears it again and realizes that it’s coming from inside. She peeks back into the tomb.

Did she gasp? Did she cover her mouth in surprise, covering a potential scream of fear? What was her reaction as she looked in and found two men sitting on the very place where Jesus should have been? The very place where the cloths he was wrapped in sat neatly folded next to these unknown men, evidence that Jesus had made His bed before he left. Martha would have rejoiced.

Her attention is given in full to the strangers when they ask her to verbalize the cause of her tears. They knew why, but they knew there was a God-sized hole in her heart that was aching right now to be filled by One she feared she had lost. However, they still  ask.  There is something freeing in being able to talk about your pain.

“They’ve taken my Lord away and I don’t know where they’ve put Him.”

My Lord. Her prince, her savior, her  friend. The only One who knew her to the depths of her being and in spite of it, loved her unconditionally and poured measures of grace over the stain of her sins.

A voice from behind startles her and she turns to find another man.

“Woman, why are you crying? Who are you looking for?”

It was just the gardener. Or so she thought. She is desperate. Where is her Lord?

“Sir, if you’ve taken my friend, tell me where he is and I’ll go get him.”

Poor Mary! Can’t you not feel her pain? The helplessness? The confusion? Her last opportunity to shower her Lord with love by preparing his body for burial and he’s missing.  And these men – they keep asking why she’s crying. Did they not know him? Had they not heard what kind of man he was? Did they not understand the difference he had made in so many lives?
And then Jesus, to save her from distraught, says her name.

“Mary.”

Can you imagine Jesus saying your name?

Weary from grief and overwhelmed with what to do in the situation that confronted her seconds earlier, she stops. The two angels that appeared as mere men hadn’t been able to help her. Who she thought was the gardener couldn’t help… until he said her name. All it took was to hear him say her name, as He had so many times before and she knew.

It was at that moment when Mary came undone and turned to Him and cried, “Teacher!”

I can just imagine that, at that very moment she was overflowing with excitement, relief, joy – all in one. She most likely did what anyone would do while standing face to face with the son of God – she fell at his feet.

He, seeing her joy return, probably gave a chuckle at her excitement and took a step back and  said, “Woah, Mary – hang on. Don’t hold on to me – I haven’t gone to my Father yet…”

Jesus knew this woman. He had given her grace when the rest of the world wanted to condemn her. He had given her his friendship when the rest of the world considered her trash. He had offered forgiveness when the rest of the world said she was unforgiveable. He gave her a new life and He loved her and had filled the God-sized hole in her heart.

“Mary.”

He knew what she needed at that moment, the same way He did when she stood next to him as he drew a line in the sand, attempting to separate the sinners from the self-proclaimed saints.

“Mary.”

As she listened to him call her by name, her hope was restored and her joy made full once again. And, once again, she ran off to tell the disciples the good news and instead of weeping, she was praising God.

Close your eyes and listen. Jesus is calling you by name. Do you hear it? Listen carefully. He is saying your name and offering to you all he offered to Mary – grace, joy, mercy, hope, unconditional love, forgiveness and more. Are you listening?

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Understanding What The Bible Is Really About

23 Feb Inspirational , , , , , , , , ,

I attended a seminar once by the name of TERM. TERM is an acronym for The Emmaus Road Message. Many believers and non-believers for that matter, don’t know what the Emmaus Road is – or was.

After Jesus was crucified and resurrected, He appeared to three of His disciples, out for a mid-day stroll. Approaching them, He asked what they were up to, as they were in deep conversation about something that had them in a frenzy. They didn’t recognize Him and asked Him why He hadn’t heard what all the ruckus was about. “Haven’t you been around? Don’t you know what’s going on around here?” they may as well have said and in so many words- and did just that.

He asked them to explain, which they did. They told Him that their teacher, Christ himself, had been crucified and promised to show up afterward and they were trying to figure out what He had meant because as far as they knew, He hadn’t.

So, He took them, literally through storytelling, on a ‘trip’ and beginning with creation, told them the message of the Bible.

A similar story is told by Stephen in the book of Acts, when he is being questioned before the Sanhedrin. He recounts the history of the Bible, beginning with creation.

Why share the message of salvation in this way? Because to understand God’s Word, you have to start at the beginning. When you read a novel or an article, you don’t start in the middle. You start at the first sentence and read to the end. If you jump around, you have a bunch of pieces that you’ve now got to put together in some sort of order so that the story makes sense and if you get them out of order, there is confusion.

John Cross, Bible teacher and author of The Stranger On the Road to Emmaus, once said, “People can’t get excited about sharing something they don’t understand and you aren’t going to want to share God’s word if you don’t understand it.” I would one step further and say, you can’t understand it if you don’t know it. Understanding something involves learning about it, studying it, spending time in that area. When you get to know something really well, you begin to not only know it, but you understand it.

The Bible is a letter of love, a story of redemption. But it’s so much more. It is filled with stories of grace and tales of mercy. It sings of joy and whispers hope and overflows with forgiveness. But it’s all done in an organized way. If we just learn/study the New Testament, we fail to see not only see the significance that the Old Testament had/has with the New Testament, but also how it relates to life today. The flood, the tabernacle and all its adornments, the judges, Adam and Eve’s encounter with Satan – how do these stories relate to the stories of the New Testament and to us now? Most people don’t get the full picture. I know I didn’t for a very long time.

That’s why it’s important to start at the beginning and learn God’s story to us in a chronological way. The pieces will begin to fall into their proper place and when you’re finished, you have a picture that makes sense. A picture of God’s love for mankind.

A good resource for helping you go through God’s word and understanding it more fully is the book mentioned above entitled, The Stranger on the Road to Emmaus, written by John Cross. It is one of the best resources that I have happened across in helping believers, young and old alike, in understanding the message of God’s word. It is a great resource for small group studies, one on one studies, and also for those wanting a down-to-earth, easy-to-understand, not-in-your-face account of what the Bible is about.

Just how well do you understand the Bible? If your answer is ‘not well’, it’s never too late to start.

Check out the resources available by  visiting this website for more information: GoodSeed USA.

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February Hero: Parents of A-T Kids

17 Feb Published , , , , , ,

Hero: a remarkably brave man (or woman); superman; champion; conqueror; defeater (for our purposes we will state this as being Jesus Christ); somebody admired.

In this ongoing series, where I introduce to you someone I know or have met, for the sake of avoiding controversy, a ‘hero’ will fit the definition above and by common sense be nothing more than human,  but an extraordinary one at that.

The first hero I brought you through this blog was my daughter – how she gives 24/7 to homeless and seriously abused children and her joys and sorrows through this place God has called her.

The second hero(es) I introduced you to, were Tim and Suzanne (click to read the story if you missed it).  They offer foster care to babies and through their selfless service (like so many others we probably couldn’t name them all), have adopted one of their little ones that they’ve cared for, almost since birth.

The third hero I brought you was Tom Davis.  Tom leads CHILDREN’S HOPECHEST, a mission organization bringing God’s hope and love to orphans around the world.

Everyone has someone(s) in their life they admire.  One could say we even look up to them, however I strongly feel the only one we should be ‘looking up’ to is Christ, otherwise we may easily, though unconsciously, place them on a pedestal.  That’s a recipe for disaster and disappointment.

And with that said, there is another person I want to introduce you to that I met last week.  His name is Will.

Will and his wife had a little boy four years ago, born with an autoimmune disease called AT, short for ataxia-telangiectasia (pronounced ‘ay-tack-see-us the-lan-jick-tay-sha’ – or TA for short).  I had never heard of this one, but Will explained that simply put, it, like so many other autoimmune diseases, falls under the category of a movement disorder and the children have involuntary movements.  The complete definition is, “…a progressive, degenerative disease that affects a startling variety of body systems. Children with A-T appear normal at birth, and the first signs of the disease usually appear during the second year of life. These first signs are usually a “wobbly” lack of balance and slurred speech caused by “ataxia,” which means a lack of muscle control.”[1]

Looking at this cute, little four-year old boy, you could see he was struggling with muscle control.  To me (one who has a movement disorder), his movements were similar to one who may suffer from advancing Parkinson’s disease (my movement disorder). His limbs were slightly spastic and there was some twitching of head and face movements.

Will and his wife were told their son was one of about approximately 800 kids in the United States that have A-T.  Epidemiologists estimate the frequency of A-T as 1 in 40,000 births, but many go undiagnosed.

The prognosis of A-T?  The A-T Children’s Project says that, “A-T is presently incurable and unrelenting. If they are lucky enough not to develop cancer, most A-T children are dependent on wheelchairs by the age of ten, not because their muscles are too weak, but because they cannot control them. Later, A-T patients usually die from respiratory failure or cancer by their teens or early twenties. A few A-T patients live into their forties, but they are extremely rare.”

featI sat there, listening to Will talk about his son and watched his son having lunch with his dad.  There they sat, father and son, at the counter in a Mexican restaurant, enjoying a burrito together.  In addition, Will made the statement that most kids with A-T don’t live past the age of ten.

I don’t know about you, but that would crush me as a parent.  I’m sure it many ways that the knowledge of knowing your child will die by a specific time crushes Will and his wife, as well.  However, on that beautiful, sunny, Kentucky day, Will didn’t appear crushed, but rather, enjoying the time with his beautiful, four year old son.

I was told that he and his wife had just had another baby – a girl this time, two months old.  With the occurrence of A-T being 3 in one million, the chances of two siblings having this disease.  However, since both parents have to carry the specific genes for this disease to surface, the occurrences rises to one and increase of one in four children birthed by the same set of parents.  So, needless to say, their daughter fell into the one in four statistic and they have two children who both suffer from A-T.

Life can be hard and then you meet someone like Will and feel like your issues and problems are miniscule.

There was an obvious camaraderie between father and son and that’s something I love to watch – dads with their kids.  I can’t imagine being a parent of a child, knowing what could possibly be ahead of me like Will does.  But for now, he is loving being a dad to this little boy and I’m sure he is with his daughter, as well.

There’s not a whole lot I can do but pray for them.  There is an event/fundraiser for A-T coming up – a marathon to raise awareness and money for this disease.  Will has never run a marathon, but is doing it for his kids.  If you’d like more information or would like to sponsor Will in his run for a cure, let me know and when I receive more information, I’ll pass it on.

Meanwhile, please pray for this dad, his wife, and their kids.  Life can be hard and often cruel, but if we choose to take one day at a time (sometimes one second at a time), and trust God that He will come through for us, it makes it a little more bearable.

To read about another dad who’s making a difference, go to A-T  FEAT Documentary and see how you can help or for more information on A-T disease.

[1] A-T Children’s Project, A-T Children’s Website/Home

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Book Review: Love and War by John and Stasi Eldredge

11 Feb Book Reviews: Books With A Purpose , , , , ,

Love and War: Finding the Marriage You've Dreamed Of
Overall Rating:
 
Retail Price: $22.99
Amazon Price: $15.63
In what could be, by far, their most successful book to date, John and Stasi Eldredge have done it again. In their book, Love and War: Finding the Marriage You’ve Dreamed Of, they draw a beautiful picture of what marriage looks like, through the eyes of God.

Offering hope to those who feel hopeless, fresh insight for those who feel they’re stuck in a rut, and wisdom for those who are searching for answers, this book may very well be the lifesaver you’re looking for to jumpstart your marriage once again or to make it stronger.

Offering sexual healing, the Eldredge’s also address past issues that can create obstacles within the marriage relationship, a large problem for many today.

With a transparent look at what makes or breaks marriages, the Eldredge’s are not afraid to speak with honesty and interject their own personal struggles,. Timeless truths from God’s word are sprinkled throughout the book, while also lending strength and wisdom to the Eldredge’s words, as they offer practical advice for a great relationship.

This is the type of book that, once you’ve read it and gleaned what you can from it, you’ll want to pass it on. A great gift for newlyweds or engaged couples as well as those who are seasoned in the art of marriage.

This book was provided for review by Waterbrook Multnomah.

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