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Easter Series, Part 9: Waiting for Christmas

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Remember that feeling you got as a little kid, knowing that Christmas was the next day? You could hardly sleep and every little noise made you think Santa was on his way. I wonder if anyone in Jesus’ circle of influence felt that was on Saturday, knowing that He had told them He would rise on the third day – tomorrow.

Do you suppose they were excited? Confused? Terrified? Skeptical? I think they were all that and more. Sure they saw Him perform endless miracles that they had witnessed first hand. But there was one difference – He was alive. How was He supposed to make himself alive again if he was dead? No one had seen a dead person perform a mircle.

There are no accounts of who was doing what on the day before the resurrection. What would they have been doing?

Waiting.   In anticipation of something greater. Something wonderful. A promise fulfilled. A hope unimaginable. A joy beyond measure. I think they were waiting, even in fear. Just like a child at Christmas and I think God was watching the faith, the hope, the joy of His children as they waited for Him to give the most wonderful gift… He was giving His Son back. For good.

I think that God was a bit excited, too – waiting to see the smile of His children when they saw their gift.

Easter Series, Part 8: A Face In The Crowd

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Today’s point of view is that we’re a nameless face in the crowd. No one of significance or importance – til we come face to face with Jesus.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

roses-in-jars-unedited

Dear Diary,

Today I worked up my courage and followed the man they say heals. I can attest to years of suffering with this illness that no one can define. An illness that has kept me at bay from friends and family. But today, I followed this man to see for myself who it was that everyone is talking about.

I saw nothing, but felt everything. The demeanor of the crowd was electrifying and something to the very core of my being gave me chills and in the depths of my soul I knew – I just knew – this was the we have been waiting for.

He was walking to the grassy knoll near the outer gates. Masses of people gathered around to hear him speak and I did no different, though I stood from afar, knowing what would happen if I came to close and not wanting to be cast away.

He spoke of warnings – things to come. He spoke of how we should love one another. It was like a healing balm to my heart just to listen. There was power in His words. There was strength in His voice.

My body grew faint and I retreated down the hill and back home to rest. I tire quickly, but one thing I have promised myself – I am going back tomorrow. Wherever he goes, I am going to follow as long as the God of Israel gives me strength.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

I sat on the rocks near the waterside today, watching from afar. Jesus was there, watching the fisherman out in their boats, casting their nets into the sea. They were flustered at not catching anything and then the most amazing thing happened. Jesus yelled something – I could not hear what – but they threw their nets back out and pulled in a boatload! If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have walked over to where he sat. I just know He can heal me. And, I just know He would.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

Crowds gathered again near the city gates under the olive trees. Thousands. I sat on a rock, hoping no one would notice and send me away. Jesus seemed so weary, so tired, but there, with his men, he began to feed those who had come. I watched intently and know they had only a basketful of food. Yet, the food kept being passed and handed out. Oh, God of Israel, provide the opportunity I need. I want to serve you with everything inside of me but should it not be your will, then I will continue to serve you just as I am.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

I do not know that I can even pen my thoughts this evening. I had just put the last dish in its place and was ready to lay down when I heard the commotion outside my door. Weary, I opened the door to look outside and here he came, passing right in front of me. This was the time, I knew it. But the crowd was so large and to get to him was nearly impossible. But I knew the power that was within Him would cure the sickness within me. Boldly I inched my way closer to him as the crowds pressed in. I feared I would be trampled but I pressed forward until I could just reach the edge of his garment and then I touched him. Immediately, a chill not unlike that of the other day ran through my body and the bleeding that I have had for twelve years stopped. Right then. I did not need confirmation of who this man was, but He gave it anyway.

However, when I touched his garment, somehow he knew and stopped walking, asking the crowd who it was that had touched him. Had I done something wrong? Was his power to heal only reserved for a select few? No. God does not play favorites.

I could not hide. He would know anyhow. His men said it was so crowded it could have been anyone. However, something drew me in – drew me to step closer and answer. Trembling with fear, I approached Him as the crowd stepped back. The moment the last person stepped away, I was face to face with Him. I could not stand and fell at his feet.

“It was me, my Lord. I touched your cloak. For twelve years, I have been sick and no one has been able to help me, but you – my Lord, I knew you could. I knew you had the power to heal me and so I touched your cloak knowing that if the God of Israel willed me to be well, he would do it through you my Lord. And He did.”

The crowd gasped at my response and at that moment, I looked up and his eyes locked onto mine. Eyes that were warm and filled with kindness, putting my sudden fear to rest. Eyes that didn’t condemn but understood. As I looked into those eyes, I knew he was more than just a man. I knew he was the Messiah.

“Daughter,” he responded, “your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

Kissing his feet, I cried. “Thank you, my Lord.”

I stood and did as He said – I went in peace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

Although I have so much to celebrate – new life, new health – my heart now bleeds. They have arrested Jesus and sentenced him to be crucified. I know he could stop this terror. It must be that he must endure this horrific treatment for reasons I cannot understand. I have gone everywhere he has been since he healed me, hanging on his every word, trying to remember everything he has said to the multitude of crowds these last few days.

I don’t understand the people I stood next to on the road, who yelled ‘Hosanna’ at Jesus just days ago who now yell for him to be crucified. I could not watch the bloodthirsty people who condemn him for his kindness and truth. So I went and sat down by the waterside where I had seen him sit so peacefully. And as I sat there, I felt compelled to pray to the God of Israel.

The commotion grew louder in the direction of where the temple stands. I got up and walked toward the knoll which overlooked the road to Golgatha, where they crucify the criminals. As I watched people laugh and spit in his face, my prayer grew stronger. A man in the crowd put down his sack and took Jesus’ cross upon his own back. The streaks of blood from whatever was on his head flowed down his face and as he continued, I could see stripes of blood covering the welts across his back.

Why were people laughing?!? Could they not see what was happening? Did they not understand who it was they mocked? How can we be such an ignorant people as to not see the truth right before us and just let it pass us by? Oh, God of Israel, help us!

I stood on that knoll and wept. After returning home, I could hear others outside. There was a different aura – some drinking, obvious by their gait, others laughing but not joyous, while others were passing by in an eerie silence. I wasn’t able to eat and after the crowds lessened, I opened the door to look out. It was quiet as the sky darkened above, in an uncommon covering. I grabbed my shawl and walked against flow. There was a chill in the air and I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

As I approached Golgotha, I was reminded why I don’t come here. There he hung and the soldiers were lifting an object to His lips when he yelled, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Onlookers beat themselves and mourned loudly as if they themselves had just been handed a death sentence. A group of women stood from afar – women I had seen in the crowds in days past.

I looked back at Jesus, his arms outstretched, nails holding his hands in place. The very hands that had touched my head as I knelt at his feet were now being held to that cross.

He was dead. I knelt as the sky turned to black and screams could be heard from the temple square. Tears fell from my face. What part did this have to play in anything? How could this serve to make him king?

I don’t know. I don’t understand, but I know that I will not stop believing for something in my heart and soul tells me that something better is coming. Until that day, I will tell everyone just what He did for me.

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Easter Series, Part 1: When Jesus Says Your Name

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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. Oils worth their weight in gold, as some might say.  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 days prior were now 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.  Not even the guards who were sworn to be standing beside the stone that was now moved from where it had been placed to seal the tomb.
Without a sound, without a word, they looked at each other in bewilderment, all three with thoughts racing through their minds of what the 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?

Simply Incredible

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Father, it is hard for me to understand You.
The way You created the world.
Out of nothing.
It is incredible to me.
Simply…
Incredible.

The way You provided a sacrifice for Isaac.
At just the right moment.
Out of nowhere.
Miraculous.
And Abraham knew that you would!
Simply…
Miraculous!

The way You parted the Red Sea.
The way You allowed the Israelites to cross over the dry sea.
The way You brought the waters back down to the earth.
To protect Your people.
How merciful You are.
How mighty.
How just.

You allowed Joseph to undergo persecution from his own brothers!
You allowed him to be bent low in order to raise him up.
There is always something greater.
Always something better.
Always something someone will not understand.

It is hard for me to understand,
how you became a man.
Why you would choose to dwell down here with us on this earth,
among our dirt and our grime.

It is hard for me to understand,
why You would choose to sacrifice Your life for me.
I know who I am.
I know what I am.
You know even better.
And yet you love me –
That is hard for me to understand.

And yet, how grateful I am!
How deeply thankful that You don’t ask me to understand!
Just to believe.
Just to trust.
And that is,
simply…
incredible.

June 2005

Sherri Woodbridge

A New Year, A New Decade

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Tomorrow is the end of another year
Followed by the beginning of a new year
A new sunrise
Old plans with new ideas
Old habits desiring new disciplines
Old dreams with new hopes

Tomorrow marks the end of another decade
Followed by the beginning of a new one
Ten years ahead of me
To change a habit
To change my community
To change the world

I have a vision
To see the orphans loved
Clothed, fed, and sheltered.
To see the homeless loved,
Clothed, fed, and sheltered.
To see the widows loved,
Protected, cared for.
To see the lonely befriended,
The hopeless hopeful,
The weary strengthened.

Can it be done?
I don’t know.
I do know I cannot do it alone.
But if I can encourage just one heart,
Offer food to just one who is hungry,
Give a coat to just one who is cold,
Give my time to be a friend to the friendless,
Offer hope to the hopeless,
and rest for the weary -
It can be done.
I will not have changed the world,
But I will have changed my life and
My heart will have been changed in the process.

Forget It and Keep Running

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The other day I was reading in the book of Philippians where it says, “Forget what is behindfall and strain toward what is ahead….”  As I read that, I stopped and thought about it a while.  Everyone who has spent much time reading God’s word or going to church, has most likely heard that verse a few times either quoted, preached about or had a Bible study on its value in our lives of children of God.

However, when I read it the other day, I thought to myself, every moment right before the one just lived is a moment in the past—even though it may not have even been more than five moments ago.

So, suppose I am trying to do something for a friend, and in the middle of my task I am criticized by someone who thinks they could have done it better, done it right, or whatever.  As soon as they have finished expressing their (perhaps unwanted) opinion, what was said is now in the past.  We shouldn’t go there. We’re to forget about it.  To me, that means forgiveness must happen as soon as possible. However, sometimes the pain that has been inflicted at us isn’t just a prick or thorn, but a massive piece of splintered wood jabbed into our side.  Sometimes the forgiveness must be worked through. (That sure gives new insight to the command of forgiving those who sin against us, seventy times seven.)

The second half of that verse tells us to strain toward what is ahead.  Have you noticed that both parts of this verse are difficult things for us to do in our own strength? Our natural tendency when we get hurt is to shrink back, get revenge, or hold a grudge.  We don’t naturally feel like forgiving.  And in the same sense, after we’ve been hurt, we don’t feel like straining toward anything.  We want to curl up and hide.  Straining is too hard and requires some amount and/or some level of pain.

God never said that this life was going to be easy to live through.  But He did give us a goal to strive for and run to.  A goal that makes the pain and the heartache of this life worth bearing.  It’s the prize that is promised if we will trust that He has—at all times—our best interest in His mind and we should not hesitate in desiring to be faithful in following Him.  It is a prize waiting at the finish line.  It won’t be a four foot trophy of bronze or a stylish, slick and shiny new watch made of silver and gold.  When we cross that finish line, weary and spent, we will be restored and renewed by the intimate presence of our Lord.  And He will be waiting with open arms to welcome us home as He says, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Our part?  Don’t look back.

Forget the past…  Forgive and just keep running, straining ahead to receive your prize as He welcomes you home.

Never Give Up

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resizeDo you ever feel like throwing in the towel? Okay, forget the towel. Sometimes you just feel like throwing something really big and watching it crash, thinking somehow that will solve the stress of the moment.

The other day I was trying to change my granddaughter’s diaper and she wasn’t interested in a clean diaper. What she was interested in was kicking her legs all over the place. I finally leaned over her and in a lighthearted way, backed by some real frustration, I screamed.

She began laughing as if it were the funniest thing she had witnessed. Her laughter was contagious. My screaming was contagious. I began to laugh and she began to scream. The frustration passed and we laughed harder at that moment than the rest of the day.

God teaches amazing lessons through little children. For example, it’s so much better to laugh than to cry, but it doesn’t always seem that way, does it? There are moments when there’s nothing left to do but cry. That’s when we run and hide in the shadow of God’s wings. Like a child. A child in need of a daddy who will comfort, protect, heal, and, if needed, forgive.

Are you feeling beat up? Alone? Hurt? Empty? Run to Jesus. Let Him hide you in His mercy and grace. He’s waiting and willing. Just run.

If you need someone to pray for you, to intercede on your behalf through this tough spot you find yourself in, I’d love to come alongside of you and be a friend. Feel free to leave your request through an anonymous comment (or your name if you wish, but it will be seen by others). You are not alone.

**Boo’s Shadow

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Boo

Boo will be one year old in four days. I was looking at clothes for her today at the store and I had to move out of the infant sizing and into the toddler range. I bucked it. I certainly didn’t want to. That would entail having to admit she’s growing up.
She can’t be that big already, I argued in my head. It’s going by too fast.


But, she is and I must say, it’s been a good year being her Grammie. There have been wonderful moments that I don’t ever want to forget, just like the one a few days ago.

Boo found her shadow.

We were out walking in the sunshine because she loves being outside and going for walks. All of a sudden she stopped and giggled. That’s not unusual. I can honestly say that she is the happiest baby I’ve ever been around. There are not many occasions she is sad (or mad). Her mommy attests to a slightly different opinion, but not too different.

Boo will just start giggling for no apparent reason. She will scrunch her nose up to make you laugh. She would play peek-a-boo all day, behind every corner if you had nothing else to do. She loves her books and will sit and turn pages for hours on end. She is my little piece of sunshine.

So little miss Sunshine and I were out walking in the front of her house and she stopped and giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

She smiled and walked a little further and looking down in front of her, she giggled again and moved her arm so that she could watch it move and then she giggled again.

“You found your shadow, Boo.”

Then, quite adept on her feet but not having perfected the art of running, she tried to run after it. The faster she ran, the faster her shadow ran ahead of her and then she turned and it disappeared. She turned around and was relieved to find it once again in front of her. We turned down the sidewalk and it began to walk beside her.

It seemed she liked that best – having her shadow beside her. She definitely didn’t like having it behind her where she couldn’t see it. She did like it in front of her so she could follow it, but beside her seemed to be her favorite spot.

I thought to myself, that is where I want to be with Jesus. Right beside Him. Not in front where I can’t see Him because I’ve taken control. Following Him is good but I think I’d like Him beside best.

I can hear Him better. He’s right there should I fall and need help up. He knows when it’s time to rest and we stop and rest together.

So as Boo walked next to her little shadow, I smiled.

I don’t want Jesus to be my shadow, I want to be His. Walking right beside Him, all the time, mimicking everything He does so when others watch me walking, they see Him and not me because I don’t want to be the one leading or falling behind. I want to be right beside Him.

I want to be His shadow.

**A Christmas Story

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Third Annual Christmas Story Contest: Good News in Bethlehem

Good News in Bethlehem by Sherri Woodbridge
SECOND PLACE RUNNER UP
12/5/2008 7:49 PM
2nd-place-ribbon

Asher ran quickly through Bethlehem, not even stopping when the sharp stone pierced through the tender flesh on the bottom of his foot. Nothing would distract him, not even the pain that seared up his leg whenever his heel hit the ground.

He turned off the main road into an alley and soon threw open the wooden door to his family’s home.

“Mother!”

“Slow down, my son. You will hurt yourself.”

She was awkwardly pouring water from the wooden bucket, into the pot above the fire. Asher swiftly moved to help her before the water spilled onto the flames below.

“Mother! You’ve got to come back with me. Let’s hurry! It’s incredible!”

He handed the bucket back to her as she thanked him.

“Asher, sit in that chair and calm down.”

Her tone was firm and he obeyed, feeling like a five year old again, instead of the stout, rugged fourteen year old he had become.

“Tell me what you are talking about.”

The king we’ve waited for! I know it’s him!”

“What king?”

“Mother, quit kidding around and come with me!” He started for the door.

“Asher, where is your brother Aaron?”

“He stayed with the flock.”

“Why are you not in the fields with your brothers and here instead, speaking of nonsense?”

“Mother, you’ve got to come and see for yourself!”

Asher stood in the frame of the doorway holding the door open as he waited for his mother to follow.

“Asher, I don’t know what you are talking about, but you need to be tending your father’s flock with your brothers.”

“But mother – it’s him. I know it! You’ve got to come with me!”

“Asher, get back to the fields with Joshua and Aaron and stop this now.”

Asher’s heart beat so quickly, he thought it was going to burst. Just then, he remembered his father’s stories, the very thing that caused him to find the child in the stable.

“Mother”, he said, certain she would not dismiss him now. “There were men – sent from God – they were all in white and beautiful. They told us about the child just born, so we went. Aaron thought they were a hoax, but Joshua and I are sure they were angels. Mother, please – come with me!”

Asher’s mother stood still, processing what her son had said while he waited.

“Go get Joshua and get back to helping Aaron with your father’s sheep. Now.”

Asher wanted to ask why she didn’t believe him. Instead, he turned and stepped back outside and proceeded back to where he came from.

As he approached the small lean-to behind the town’s inn, he heard the soft murmur of voices. A small fire was burning inside and Asher knew, by the way the logs were stacked upon the bare earth, that his brother had built it for the little family. Cold inside, the heat of the fire warmed up the small space where the family quietly looked down upon the new life before them.

“You can come closer.” The mother didn’t appear any older than Asher himself, and he accepted the invitation, hunkering down right beside the trough.

“Asher!” Standing back in the corner, his brother Joshua whispered at him loudly, as if stopping him short of making a mistake.

Asher looked over at the woman, her kind eyes and smile softening the moment. Then her husband spoke.

“It’s okay. We named him Jesus.”

Asher smiled shyly. Looking back at the baby, he seemed drawn even closer. He sat on his knees and he put his arms on the side of the trough.

What was this new fascination about a baby?, he thought, never before mesmerized.

The child’s eyes opened. There was something different about those tiny eyes that kept Asher staring back.

“Hi.” Asher’s voice was soft as he slid the palm of his hand under the baby’s. The tiny hand grasped Asher’s finger.

“He’s so beautiful.”

Asher smiled at the mother and she turned to look up at her husband who stood beside her.

“Yes, he is beautiful. He likes you.”

Asher felt emboldened. “Can I come back later?”

“Of course. We’ll be here a few days, I’m certain.”

Asher smiled and looked back at the baby. Lifting himself up, he bent over, compelled to kiss the child’s head. As he did, Asher softly whispered, “Welcome little king. Welcome.”

I tell you with certainty,
“Unless you become like a little child,
you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Matthew 18:3 NIV

about-the-author

Sherri Woodbridge
Oregon

Sherri is a freelance writer, with a passion to encourage others with the words God has given to her. She has had several devotions and articles published and is currently working on a children’s series and a devotional. Married 28 years to a wonderful man, they have three grown children and one adorable granddaughter. You can find her at:

Planting Gardens

Parkinson’s Journey

and

Sherri Woodbridge.com