It is New Year's Eve. I am alone except for She Who Hides Under The Bed. It is a crisp, frosty night, turning your breath into little puffs of white vapor. I've just been blessed with a guest speaker at our church, talking about prophecy and how very many have been fulfilled in the last 60+ years, starting with the regathering of Israel.
The New Year will begin soon, and only God knows what it will contain. This year will unfold more prophecies, more events foretold by His faithful ones thousands of years ago. It is astonishing to realize that how many prophecies have been fulfilled in my lifetime! Even more astonishing is that He has chosen me to be His child, and has sworn Himself to be my Father. What a gift!
But then, our God is a generous Giver.
He has given us so much - life to begin with, and then Life if we have asked Him to enter in. Everything about God is rich with giving.
In His Word, the word "give" and its derivatives occurs roughly 2100 times. (statistics from Acts & Facts, the magazine of the Institute for Creation Research)
It is interesting that the first occurrence is when He created the great lights in the heavens to give light upon the earth (Gen 1:15) as God Himself is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. How fitting it is that this season is heralded by light - dancing on rooftops and outlining every bush.
The last mention of giving is in Rev22:12 - from Genesis to Revelation, God is a giver.
The greatest mention of giving is, of course, in John 3:16: "for God so loved..."
That pretty much sums up our God doesn't it? For God so loved us all that He is ready and willing to give us Light whenever we need it. He gave us the greatest Light of all time and eternity in His Son, and through that one act of giving bought our freedom from the darkness of the slavery we had been sold into by Adam.
And each day He gives us the grace needed to deal with whatever He has allowed into our lives - and that includes CI.
Thinking of CI as a gift of God to be thankful for ...well... it's a bit difficult sometimes. But nevertheless, it's true - everything that touches me He has ordained. It is not some cosmic mistake that I am ill, it is a chosen path He has presented me with, a path that will last as long as He wills it. And looking back over the last 24 years, I can see some of the blessings, and can honestly say there are many things about it that I am thankful for.
Primarily, it has taught me that He knows, and He is able. Those two things enable me to leave the details in His hands. He knows each day what He has chosen for me, and He is able to keep me safe through it.
Sometimes though, His opinion of "safe" and mine differ a bit. That's when the fear sends me flying to His lap, choosing to worship where I don't understand.
Don't misunderstand me - I do not burble happily through each bout of pain or whistle a happy tune through the fear. There have been days lately where my main prayer has been not to pass out from the pain - a severe bout of sciatic nerve pain has begun and I dearly hope it will soon be concluded! It's hard to understand the whys and wherefores - but God has never promised to explain Himself to me. He is the Creator, I am His creature - and I have no right to demand explanations. He wants me to trust Him, and I have no doubts whatsoever of His worthiness, His faithfulness, or any of the other things that make Him a trustworthy person.
And so I set my face like flint and I trust Him. Sometimes, I confess, through gritted teeth. And when I can, I thank Him - for many things, my illness among them. I trust there is a reason for the pain and the darkness and the fear. And I can see that each time I trust Him through some difficulty, I learn something new about Him, His love, His ways.
A friend introduced me to the concept of having a single word be the focus of a year (or week or a month - whatever you choose)
And so, for the coming year, I have chosen the word "teachable".
I want my spirit to be open to what He has for me - whether it's a bend in the road of my CI, a formal class opportunity, a new path, new lessons wherever they are. Perhaps a new way of journaling, combining my art with my writing - I don't know. Whatever it is, I want my heart to be open to it. I want to concentrate on hearing His voice, doing His will, being what He would choose for me to be - and rejoicing in it, even in the midst of discomfort. I want more of Him and less of me, more being able to say "Ahhhh! THAT'S what He meant!" More worship. More prayer. Less murmuring, less letting pain win.
When this time comes around next year, I want to be able to say, "thank you for using my illness to teach me things I could have learned no other way.
"What an awesome Gift it has been."
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Christmas Play
I wrote this years ago - yet, with the arrival of the Christmas season, I bring it forth every year. It never fails to make me cry, because this is a true story. It happened in the midwest in the late 1950s, before the mention of God was banned and prayer in schools was legal. I pray it blesses you - and if you've read it before, perhaps a second reading will bless you, as well.
The Christmas Play
The first grade class prepared for the Christmas play with great enthusiasm, especially Karl. Karl was what we used to call "slow," He tried so hard to fit in, and wanted so much to help with the yearly school play, that his teacher moved him from task to task, trying to find a place where he would fit.
Painting scenery didn't work out, his donkey looked like a dachsund, and no one knew exactly *what* his palm trees looked like.
From there he went to props, where he accidentally knocked them over, then to the choir of angels where he lost his halo, and on through the list of helpers. His teacher couldn't bear to crush his open, giving heart.
Finally, she decided to make him an innkeeper.
All he had to do was open the painted cardboard door and say gruffly, "There's no room!" and shut the door.
Rehearsals went well. Karl enjoyed being gruff and "slamming" the cardboard door as best as he could. And finally the big night arrived.
Parents dropped off excited children and found seats in the auditorium. The jumble of voices died as the curtains opened.
Backstage, Karl's eyes grew bigger and bigger as the play progressed. With everyone in costume and the bright lights on, the cardboard and bathrobes really looked like wood and eastern cloaks. He could almost hear that donkey clopping down the Bethlehem street, and didn't that man look dusty and tired, and his wife seem exhausted and hungry?
Mary and Joseph passed the first inn.
"There's no room!" the innkeeper shouted, his beard falling off as he flung the door shut.
The few steps to the next inn seemed to take all of Joseph's energy...
"Please, sir, my wife is great with child and we have no place to stay..."
"Go away! We're full up!" the next innkeeper growled.
Karl swallowed twice as the couple came towards him. He'd practiced so hard, but now the words weren't fun anymore. Suddenly he heard the knock on his door.
"Please, sir, my wife is great with child, and we have no place to stay."
Karl swallowed again. Then he forced the words out. He tried to bluster and yell, but the lump in his throat wouldn't let him.
"There's no room," he whispered, and as the tired, disappointed Joseph began to turn back, the tears in Karl's eyes overflowed.
"Wait!" he called as they began to move away, "Wait! You can have my room!" And with that he rushed through the door crying, enveloping Joseph in a big bear hug.
Pandemonium broke loose as parents laughed and cried along with him. Joseph hissed, "That's not what you're supposed to say! Lemme go!" and, finally, the teacher came onstage to comfort the sobbing Karl who would not let the struggling Joseph go free. They never did finish the play.
Some of the children say that Karl ruined the Christmas pageant that year.
Their parents, however, remember the tears in Karl's eyes and the love in his heart, and they are not so sure.
The Christmas Play
The first grade class prepared for the Christmas play with great enthusiasm, especially Karl. Karl was what we used to call "slow," He tried so hard to fit in, and wanted so much to help with the yearly school play, that his teacher moved him from task to task, trying to find a place where he would fit.
Painting scenery didn't work out, his donkey looked like a dachsund, and no one knew exactly *what* his palm trees looked like.
From there he went to props, where he accidentally knocked them over, then to the choir of angels where he lost his halo, and on through the list of helpers. His teacher couldn't bear to crush his open, giving heart.
Finally, she decided to make him an innkeeper.
All he had to do was open the painted cardboard door and say gruffly, "There's no room!" and shut the door.
Rehearsals went well. Karl enjoyed being gruff and "slamming" the cardboard door as best as he could. And finally the big night arrived.
Parents dropped off excited children and found seats in the auditorium. The jumble of voices died as the curtains opened.
Backstage, Karl's eyes grew bigger and bigger as the play progressed. With everyone in costume and the bright lights on, the cardboard and bathrobes really looked like wood and eastern cloaks. He could almost hear that donkey clopping down the Bethlehem street, and didn't that man look dusty and tired, and his wife seem exhausted and hungry?
Mary and Joseph passed the first inn.
"There's no room!" the innkeeper shouted, his beard falling off as he flung the door shut.
The few steps to the next inn seemed to take all of Joseph's energy...
"Please, sir, my wife is great with child and we have no place to stay..."
"Go away! We're full up!" the next innkeeper growled.
Karl swallowed twice as the couple came towards him. He'd practiced so hard, but now the words weren't fun anymore. Suddenly he heard the knock on his door.
"Please, sir, my wife is great with child, and we have no place to stay."
Karl swallowed again. Then he forced the words out. He tried to bluster and yell, but the lump in his throat wouldn't let him.
"There's no room," he whispered, and as the tired, disappointed Joseph began to turn back, the tears in Karl's eyes overflowed.
"Wait!" he called as they began to move away, "Wait! You can have my room!" And with that he rushed through the door crying, enveloping Joseph in a big bear hug.
Pandemonium broke loose as parents laughed and cried along with him. Joseph hissed, "That's not what you're supposed to say! Lemme go!" and, finally, the teacher came onstage to comfort the sobbing Karl who would not let the struggling Joseph go free. They never did finish the play.
Some of the children say that Karl ruined the Christmas pageant that year.
Their parents, however, remember the tears in Karl's eyes and the love in his heart, and they are not so sure.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
And He looked at all He created and called it good.
I took a watercolor workshop a few weeks ago. When I was AB it was one of the things I loved most - I belonged to a calligraphy society and had the blessing of studying with some of the biggest names in the Calligraphic art world. It was pure joy.
I had never drawn this way before - the techniques I learned were worth the price of the workshop. It has been several years since I was well enough to take a workshop - and I had several people praying for me so I could last for two days. I didn't make it all the way through the second day, but did make it 3/4 of the way. I was thrilled. There is something about calligraphy and watercolor that really speaks to me - sort of like visual poetry. And I find that fascinating because God calls us His "poema", His poem, in the Word. Each of us is a masterpiece of design unmatched by anything man or any other being can create. Man thinks he's such a hot shot, but he cannot create life - even though he stridently maintains that life "just happened" on the earth and "evolved" from there. If it was so easy, why can't he figure out how to do it? How laughable is evolution when it talks about a "simple cell" that was formed from lightning (or something - they're not sure) striking the primordial ooze on the earth's surface? They don't tell you that a "simple cell" has DNA, the most complicated structure man has ever seen. If even one chromosome is imperfect there are horrible anomalies in offspring. It's akin to throwing everything that you need to make a watch into a paper bag, thumping it with a mallet, and expecting a watch to fall out! That "simple cell" somehow developed, full blown, an eye. According to evolution, anything that doesn't work gets discarded - and there are so many working components to an eye that if even one was missing the eye wouldn't work - and evolution would have discarded it. The myths of evolution read like some fantastic science fiction, which it is!If you think it is real, please, just for one moment consider: there is a flower in South America whose stamens and pistil resemble a female wasp. The male wasps emerge before the females, and, thinking that the pistils are a female, the male investigates, and in doing so pollinates the flower. Now, imagine the odds of something like that happening. The wasp is the lone pollinator - how did the plant survive while "evolution" did its evolving over "millions of years.?" No one can say.
Why is there no fossil record of one species turning into another. Surely one lizard-becoming-a-bird took long enough to be captured by the primordial ooze! No one can explain that.
And what about the spider that lays its eggs in a stream by blowing saliva bubbles, diving, coming up to get more air and blowing another bubble it adds to the first, and finally, when there is enough air in the bubble, it lays its eggs there and climbs out of the water. While it was learning this essential behavior, a million spiders would have drowned and the others would not have been tempted to keep at such a senseless exercise.
All of these are a ginormous leap from coloring changes in moths (dark moths congregate on dark trees: change the color of the tree to white, and the moths become white, ie., the moths that survive are the light colored ones because predators eat the easily seen ones.) There is a world of difference between a light colored surviving moth and a lizard becoming a bird.
But I digress (sorry). Learning how to capture an image and compose music are two ways the spirit soars. I call it a sense of wonder - I feel the same way in the awesome forests of Big Sur, near Carmel and Monterrey in California. Or standing on a boat watching two blue whales, the largest creature on earth, circle around the boat while feeding for an hour. Why does "wonder" or an appreciation of beauty happen? There is no evolutionary benefit from my heart being filled with wonder and joy - yet it happens to every human at one time or another.
God gives us a little taste of the joy He experienced when He molded man out of dirt and breathed life into him. We were created in His image - and being able to feel joy in creating something is part of that image. I am so very grateful that He gives us moments when we are "surprised by joy" as CS Lewis put it. He could have made us able to live in a white, vast wasteland like the moon. Or a world of molten methane lakes and waterfalls like Venus.
But He didn't. His love for beauty and perfection stirred Him to create an unimaginable wonderland in that first garden. This earth is tainted and torn, worn with age, groaning to be delivered - and yet, how the vast stretches of unimpaired nature move us, and how we thrill to the power of gigantic surf or the colors of coral reefs.
What must Eden have been?
Why?
That seems to be the question on everybody's mind, doesn't it?
Bear with me here, I'm trying to think this through.
This week my pastor brought up the question of murmuring. We all do it. We compain about out aches and pains and how difficult being CI is. And yet, the pastor said, If Jesus never did one more thing for us than He has already done in saving us, we would have nothing to compain about for the rest of eternity.
It's had me thinking. I'm sure it's had a lot of us at my church thinking.
God is generous with us. From behind the filter of CI it doesn't come to mind that often. But it's nonetheless true. He ministers to us more than we know, and I think one of the great surprises and joys of heaven is going to be when we get to see that all the time He was right here with us, as close as breathing, keeping us safe.
But we're not safe, you say. We're sick.
Reading Romans (Paul again!) vss.1-6 in the Modern English Translation (Berkely translation) Paul tells us that we should glory in our afflictions.
Can you imagine that? I have, never once, considered glorying in my illness. Yet, that's what he says:
"Since, then, we have been pronounced righteous through faith,let us have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we also obtain through faith entrance to this grace in which we stand firm, and rejoice in the hope of God's glory. Not this alone, but we glory in afflictions as well; for we know that affliction produces patience, and patience develops a tried character, and character begets hope, such hope as does not disappoint; for God's love is poured out into our hearts by means of the Holy Spirit Who has been given to us. For when we were still helpless, Christ at the proper time died for the ungodly."
So then, our CI is working into us patience and tried character and hope - and God's love is pouring into our hearts. Wow! that's a lot!
Perhaps that is why God entrusted us with these afflictions. He wants to develop in us things that we wouldn't get from a busy AB life. Although I don't feel more patient, I trust that the Word is true, and something is developing in me that God prizes, and the means of that development is my illness.
Now, I realize, as Amy Carmichael said, that I am writing for those who know far more than I do about the awful, trampling power of pain. She talks often about how in acceptance lies peace. And I have found it to be true in my life
Pain draws us close to God. CSLewis said God whispers to us in our joys, but shouts to us in our pain. That's because when we are in pain, we hear better. We are listening. We are not distracted by the busyness of daily living. I know that when I was AB and out and about, working and supporting myself and "taking care of business" I didn't listen well. I still feel like I don't listen well, but He finds ways to speak to me - most often when I least expect it.
I met a man at a church board meeting in Seattle whose spirit has become so very sweet through pain - it's left me deeply humbled . He hasn't swallowed anything in over 20 years - his cancer and radiation and surgery removed his salivary glands, part of his jaw and tongue. He speaks with slurred speach and receives nourishment through a tube, and yet he comes to Christmas dinners and smiles as others chow down and the joy just radiates from him - he still has a michievous look in his eye and is great at teasing. I have a feeling I couldn't do that in a million years.
But God didn't call me to do that. He didn't call me to do what you have to do each day either. He's called each one of us to a walk that He intends to grow us up and give us wings.
Too often I forget the wings part.
The Word says all the ways of the Lord are good. All. Not some. All. Not "all except my illness." Not "all except this part that I hate". It says "all."
So back to the original question at the top. "Why?"
I am not a theologian. I am a sinner saved by grace because if it wasn't for that grace, I wouldn't be saved. But I think the "why" of illness has to do with the fact that God has a plan for our lives, for good and not evil. He has promised to restore all the years the locust has eaten - and if CI isn't a locust, I don't know what is. He has so many promises in His Word to sustain us and give us peace, but they can't come to us unless we accept His right to do as He wishes with us. I firmly believe He is the only cause of anything that happens in our lives. This illness came to me directly from His hand. It came to me for good and not for evil. He hides treasures in the darkness the Word says - but sometimes it takes awhile for our eyes to get used to the dark. And CI is an excellent way to teach us to see in the darkness.
Have you ever noticed that the tiniest pinprick of light shines like a beacon in the darkness? And just think, God's being is light itself - "in Him is no darkness at all". James tell us there is no shadow of His turning - because He Himself is Light. He is using our CI to give us keen eyesight in the darkness, to see the treasures it holds, to appreciate His light - and to form patience, and character and all the rest.
Is that not enough reasons to answer the "why?" that the evil one whispers in our ears?
Bear with me here, I'm trying to think this through.
This week my pastor brought up the question of murmuring. We all do it. We compain about out aches and pains and how difficult being CI is. And yet, the pastor said, If Jesus never did one more thing for us than He has already done in saving us, we would have nothing to compain about for the rest of eternity.
It's had me thinking. I'm sure it's had a lot of us at my church thinking.
God is generous with us. From behind the filter of CI it doesn't come to mind that often. But it's nonetheless true. He ministers to us more than we know, and I think one of the great surprises and joys of heaven is going to be when we get to see that all the time He was right here with us, as close as breathing, keeping us safe.
But we're not safe, you say. We're sick.
Reading Romans (Paul again!) vss.1-6 in the Modern English Translation (Berkely translation) Paul tells us that we should glory in our afflictions.
Can you imagine that? I have, never once, considered glorying in my illness. Yet, that's what he says:
"Since, then, we have been pronounced righteous through faith,let us have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we also obtain through faith entrance to this grace in which we stand firm, and rejoice in the hope of God's glory. Not this alone, but we glory in afflictions as well; for we know that affliction produces patience, and patience develops a tried character, and character begets hope, such hope as does not disappoint; for God's love is poured out into our hearts by means of the Holy Spirit Who has been given to us. For when we were still helpless, Christ at the proper time died for the ungodly."
So then, our CI is working into us patience and tried character and hope - and God's love is pouring into our hearts. Wow! that's a lot!
Perhaps that is why God entrusted us with these afflictions. He wants to develop in us things that we wouldn't get from a busy AB life. Although I don't feel more patient, I trust that the Word is true, and something is developing in me that God prizes, and the means of that development is my illness.
Now, I realize, as Amy Carmichael said, that I am writing for those who know far more than I do about the awful, trampling power of pain. She talks often about how in acceptance lies peace. And I have found it to be true in my life
Pain draws us close to God. CSLewis said God whispers to us in our joys, but shouts to us in our pain. That's because when we are in pain, we hear better. We are listening. We are not distracted by the busyness of daily living. I know that when I was AB and out and about, working and supporting myself and "taking care of business" I didn't listen well. I still feel like I don't listen well, but He finds ways to speak to me - most often when I least expect it.
I met a man at a church board meeting in Seattle whose spirit has become so very sweet through pain - it's left me deeply humbled . He hasn't swallowed anything in over 20 years - his cancer and radiation and surgery removed his salivary glands, part of his jaw and tongue. He speaks with slurred speach and receives nourishment through a tube, and yet he comes to Christmas dinners and smiles as others chow down and the joy just radiates from him - he still has a michievous look in his eye and is great at teasing. I have a feeling I couldn't do that in a million years.
But God didn't call me to do that. He didn't call me to do what you have to do each day either. He's called each one of us to a walk that He intends to grow us up and give us wings.
Too often I forget the wings part.
The Word says all the ways of the Lord are good. All. Not some. All. Not "all except my illness." Not "all except this part that I hate". It says "all."
So back to the original question at the top. "Why?"
I am not a theologian. I am a sinner saved by grace because if it wasn't for that grace, I wouldn't be saved. But I think the "why" of illness has to do with the fact that God has a plan for our lives, for good and not evil. He has promised to restore all the years the locust has eaten - and if CI isn't a locust, I don't know what is. He has so many promises in His Word to sustain us and give us peace, but they can't come to us unless we accept His right to do as He wishes with us. I firmly believe He is the only cause of anything that happens in our lives. This illness came to me directly from His hand. It came to me for good and not for evil. He hides treasures in the darkness the Word says - but sometimes it takes awhile for our eyes to get used to the dark. And CI is an excellent way to teach us to see in the darkness.
Have you ever noticed that the tiniest pinprick of light shines like a beacon in the darkness? And just think, God's being is light itself - "in Him is no darkness at all". James tell us there is no shadow of His turning - because He Himself is Light. He is using our CI to give us keen eyesight in the darkness, to see the treasures it holds, to appreciate His light - and to form patience, and character and all the rest.
Is that not enough reasons to answer the "why?" that the evil one whispers in our ears?
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Struck down, but not destroyed
I've been reading in the New Testament in Paul's writings for the last couple of weeks, and I'm seeing him as I never have before.
When he was blinded at his conversion, the Word tells us that for 3 days he prayed, neither eating or drinking. Wow. 3 days without stopping - what was he saying?
I cannot imagine being struck blind (my 6 weeks with one eye was enough, thank you). Added to the fear of the present and future without sight. Is it permanent? Is it a punishment for persecuting Jesus so harshly and condoning the torture and murder of His followers? How terrifying to discover his whole life was - well, completely wrong and evil - a man who had studied every second practically since birth to know and follow the law according to the Pharisees - of which he was one - the group Jesus had pronounced the "woes" upon.
I think Paul's heart was broken. All this time he'd been trying to please his God - and he'd actually been dishonoring him. I can't imagine the sword through his heart, the nausea, the shame. Did he spend those three days confessing sins and asking for forgiveness? He knew nothing of grace yet, nothing of how "The Way" worked, its laws and customs. Was he going over all the scriptures in his mind to see where the Messiah predictions pointed to Jesus? Sick at heart, sick in body, hurting, isolated, totally alone and distrusted by anyone who knew Jesus, for Saul had a reputation that ranged far and wide, and it was not a good one to those of The Way.
And then, like his Lord, on the third day he arose.
"...something like scales fell from his eyes and he could see."
But according to tradition and clues in the Word, he could not see clearly. It seems his eyesight was bad for the rest of his life.
Making him a CI.
Jesus said He would show Paul how much he must suffer for Jesus's sake.
And suffer he did. In 2 Cor:8-10 (Modern Language Bible) "We are hedged in from every side, but we do not live cramped lives; we are perplexed, but we do not despair; we are persecuted but not deserted; struck down but not destroyed, all the while bearing about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that by our bodies the life of Jesus may also be shown." He was also shipwrecked, spending a night and a day on the sea - I can't imagine clinging to a piece of flotsam for 24 hours, in the dark, sharks circling, circling. It gives me shivers.
Then there were the floggings - plural. The Jews could only give him 39 lashes, but the Romans had no such rule. The whipping with the cat o' nine tails had leather thongs with nails and thorns and sharp pebbles attached to them, ripping and shredding with every lash - and then being raw and rubbing against any clothing you wore, finally healing in long, ropey scars that would shrink with age into hard ridges - and nothing much in the way of pain relief was available (and if it was, prisoners wouldn't get it!). He was stoned by a mob - the people thought they'd killed him; perhaps they did - it may be then that Paul had his vision of heaven.
He often was imprisoned - he would consider an American prison a country club. Those prisons were many times in caves, dark, cold, smelling of mildew and unwashed humanity. In many there was no such thing as "cells", plural - many were kept in a huge enclosure, no lights, food shoved through a hole and the strongest got the most. If you were ill or slow you didn't eat. And Paul mentions being without food, without lodging, without warm clothes, naked, plotted against, lied about - the list goes on and on. All while being CI and disadvantaged by not seeing well. According to Josephus he was a small man. I'm sure when he showed up somewhere people would look at him and say, "You're Paul?'
Amazing how those verses fit being CI! Now, I am in noooooooo way equating my life with Paul's. He got out and converted the known world! But in those verses I found a blueprint for living. There are hours of meditation in those words.
As a Christian CI, my life does not have to be cramped - I can travel the world in prayer, studying a specific country and praying for their needs. Or, as the now defunct Pray! magazine recommended, to pray for the world in the grocery store - all the fruits and veggies are marked with the country they come from, and the specialty foods aisle has a smorgasbord of lands represented, all in need of prayer. I get one of those rider carts and putt-putt my way around the world.
I never have to despair - although I am perplexed, a lot! Despair and faith cannot live together. Because He lives, I can face tomorrow (hmmm - that sounds familiar). The reason is, I may be persecuted because of my illness, by hospitals and health organizations impatient for money, declining coverage to many because of one tiny ailment when I have gazillions! Or it may be friends who slowly delete you from their lives, not calling, not including you anymore, breaking your heart over and over again - but I am not deserted. The Comforter is always with me. I may be struck down on bad days, but I am not destroyed - and these ailments are bearing in me the dying of Jesus somehow, mystically, and by my disabled, CI body the life of Jesus is shown - because one and all of these things - living free, not despairing, not deserted, not destroyed - are impossible in the flesh. At least in my flesh! When I can do something, people know it ain't me. It's Him.
2Cor:16-18 "For this reason, we are not discouraged,even though our outer nature suffers decay, our inner self is renewed day after day. For this slight, momentary trouble is producing for us an everlasting weight of glory that exceeds all measures, because we do not fasten our eyes on the visible but on the unseen; for the visible things are transitory, but the unseen things are everlasting." (emphasis mine)
I can see in Paul's life an everlasting weight of glory that exceeds all measures - Paul was definitely an A type personality, an abundant over achiever with a "face set like flint" to be a slave to his Master. He was the poster boy for abundant, loyal, unending sharing of his faith, spending his last breath in service to his Lord.
But Paul includes us in that "we."
That is an amazing thought. God sees something that is precious to Him when we bear with the pain, the weakness, the isolation. He has allowed the suffering only to a predetermined point - this is not a random situation we are in, it is a planned event. God chose us for some reason - clay vessels so leaky that His glory leaks out when we are not looking.
I often think that God treasures things in an upside-down way. The dearest treasure of earth - gold - will in heaven be merely pavement. Instead of rock stars, God chooses us - tattered and weakened, souls worn down to the nub, not faithful in prayer (I speak for myself here,) often lowered from top priority on my "to do" list. We are His examples of what He can do with nothing - weak, fallen mankind, sinners saved by grace and grace alone.
But it occurred to me today that is I, not God, who has things upside-down. It is not for Him to bend Himself to my way of thinking, it is for me to be "renewed in my mind," transformed, not conforming myself to the world. God thinks straight, my thinking is a wee bit off.
OK, it's a lot off.
I am open-mouthed with wonder at what Paul accomplished, the travels he took, often having to rely on others for health care (the beloved physician, Luke) and having a traveling companion, no doubt to help him when he had a physical need.
I saw some of the places Paul went - to Cesarea, appearing before Felix and Herod Agrippa, to Corinth, to the Parthenon, to Pergamom, to Ephesus (I saw it in my sister-in-laws photos - I was sick that day). It was an awesome thing to see the Bema seat where Paul stood - the climates so varied, in some places the heat intense, walking mile upon dusty mile, then sharing scriptures in the Synagogues, facing rejection by his people yet again, walking more, arguing prophecies and scriptures fulfilled.
If Paul, who was a mere mortal the same as us, could survive the things he did,, it humbles and encourages me. I have my soft bed with downy coverlets, pain medicine at hand, help always available, no one (yet) breaking down my door to drag me off to a flogging or imprisonment.
I am not negating the suffering that CI brings, the strange stretching of a time warp that makes minutes spent in pain seem like hours, or the isolation, or the discouragement. But the same One Who comforted Paul is available to me, the same grace, the same promise that He is made strong in our weakness, that I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. Inch by inch I am learning to stand on those promises.
I pray for any who stumble on this blog, that His tender love and unending strength will fill you with peace, the knowledge that you are dearly loved, and the strength to endure.
Selah.
When he was blinded at his conversion, the Word tells us that for 3 days he prayed, neither eating or drinking. Wow. 3 days without stopping - what was he saying?
I cannot imagine being struck blind (my 6 weeks with one eye was enough, thank you). Added to the fear of the present and future without sight. Is it permanent? Is it a punishment for persecuting Jesus so harshly and condoning the torture and murder of His followers? How terrifying to discover his whole life was - well, completely wrong and evil - a man who had studied every second practically since birth to know and follow the law according to the Pharisees - of which he was one - the group Jesus had pronounced the "woes" upon.
I think Paul's heart was broken. All this time he'd been trying to please his God - and he'd actually been dishonoring him. I can't imagine the sword through his heart, the nausea, the shame. Did he spend those three days confessing sins and asking for forgiveness? He knew nothing of grace yet, nothing of how "The Way" worked, its laws and customs. Was he going over all the scriptures in his mind to see where the Messiah predictions pointed to Jesus? Sick at heart, sick in body, hurting, isolated, totally alone and distrusted by anyone who knew Jesus, for Saul had a reputation that ranged far and wide, and it was not a good one to those of The Way.
And then, like his Lord, on the third day he arose.
"...something like scales fell from his eyes and he could see."
But according to tradition and clues in the Word, he could not see clearly. It seems his eyesight was bad for the rest of his life.
Making him a CI.
Jesus said He would show Paul how much he must suffer for Jesus's sake.
And suffer he did. In 2 Cor:8-10 (Modern Language Bible) "We are hedged in from every side, but we do not live cramped lives; we are perplexed, but we do not despair; we are persecuted but not deserted; struck down but not destroyed, all the while bearing about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that by our bodies the life of Jesus may also be shown." He was also shipwrecked, spending a night and a day on the sea - I can't imagine clinging to a piece of flotsam for 24 hours, in the dark, sharks circling, circling. It gives me shivers.
Then there were the floggings - plural. The Jews could only give him 39 lashes, but the Romans had no such rule. The whipping with the cat o' nine tails had leather thongs with nails and thorns and sharp pebbles attached to them, ripping and shredding with every lash - and then being raw and rubbing against any clothing you wore, finally healing in long, ropey scars that would shrink with age into hard ridges - and nothing much in the way of pain relief was available (and if it was, prisoners wouldn't get it!). He was stoned by a mob - the people thought they'd killed him; perhaps they did - it may be then that Paul had his vision of heaven.
He often was imprisoned - he would consider an American prison a country club. Those prisons were many times in caves, dark, cold, smelling of mildew and unwashed humanity. In many there was no such thing as "cells", plural - many were kept in a huge enclosure, no lights, food shoved through a hole and the strongest got the most. If you were ill or slow you didn't eat. And Paul mentions being without food, without lodging, without warm clothes, naked, plotted against, lied about - the list goes on and on. All while being CI and disadvantaged by not seeing well. According to Josephus he was a small man. I'm sure when he showed up somewhere people would look at him and say, "You're Paul?'
Amazing how those verses fit being CI! Now, I am in noooooooo way equating my life with Paul's. He got out and converted the known world! But in those verses I found a blueprint for living. There are hours of meditation in those words.
As a Christian CI, my life does not have to be cramped - I can travel the world in prayer, studying a specific country and praying for their needs. Or, as the now defunct Pray! magazine recommended, to pray for the world in the grocery store - all the fruits and veggies are marked with the country they come from, and the specialty foods aisle has a smorgasbord of lands represented, all in need of prayer. I get one of those rider carts and putt-putt my way around the world.
I never have to despair - although I am perplexed, a lot! Despair and faith cannot live together. Because He lives, I can face tomorrow (hmmm - that sounds familiar). The reason is, I may be persecuted because of my illness, by hospitals and health organizations impatient for money, declining coverage to many because of one tiny ailment when I have gazillions! Or it may be friends who slowly delete you from their lives, not calling, not including you anymore, breaking your heart over and over again - but I am not deserted. The Comforter is always with me. I may be struck down on bad days, but I am not destroyed - and these ailments are bearing in me the dying of Jesus somehow, mystically, and by my disabled, CI body the life of Jesus is shown - because one and all of these things - living free, not despairing, not deserted, not destroyed - are impossible in the flesh. At least in my flesh! When I can do something, people know it ain't me. It's Him.
2Cor:16-18 "For this reason, we are not discouraged,even though our outer nature suffers decay, our inner self is renewed day after day. For this slight, momentary trouble is producing for us an everlasting weight of glory that exceeds all measures, because we do not fasten our eyes on the visible but on the unseen; for the visible things are transitory, but the unseen things are everlasting." (emphasis mine)
I can see in Paul's life an everlasting weight of glory that exceeds all measures - Paul was definitely an A type personality, an abundant over achiever with a "face set like flint" to be a slave to his Master. He was the poster boy for abundant, loyal, unending sharing of his faith, spending his last breath in service to his Lord.
But Paul includes us in that "we."
That is an amazing thought. God sees something that is precious to Him when we bear with the pain, the weakness, the isolation. He has allowed the suffering only to a predetermined point - this is not a random situation we are in, it is a planned event. God chose us for some reason - clay vessels so leaky that His glory leaks out when we are not looking.
I often think that God treasures things in an upside-down way. The dearest treasure of earth - gold - will in heaven be merely pavement. Instead of rock stars, God chooses us - tattered and weakened, souls worn down to the nub, not faithful in prayer (I speak for myself here,) often lowered from top priority on my "to do" list. We are His examples of what He can do with nothing - weak, fallen mankind, sinners saved by grace and grace alone.
But it occurred to me today that is I, not God, who has things upside-down. It is not for Him to bend Himself to my way of thinking, it is for me to be "renewed in my mind," transformed, not conforming myself to the world. God thinks straight, my thinking is a wee bit off.
OK, it's a lot off.
I am open-mouthed with wonder at what Paul accomplished, the travels he took, often having to rely on others for health care (the beloved physician, Luke) and having a traveling companion, no doubt to help him when he had a physical need.
 |
| Cesarea Maritime, the Bema seat where Paul stood in front of Felix and Herod Agrippa |
If Paul, who was a mere mortal the same as us, could survive the things he did,, it humbles and encourages me. I have my soft bed with downy coverlets, pain medicine at hand, help always available, no one (yet) breaking down my door to drag me off to a flogging or imprisonment.
I am not negating the suffering that CI brings, the strange stretching of a time warp that makes minutes spent in pain seem like hours, or the isolation, or the discouragement. But the same One Who comforted Paul is available to me, the same grace, the same promise that He is made strong in our weakness, that I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. Inch by inch I am learning to stand on those promises.
I pray for any who stumble on this blog, that His tender love and unending strength will fill you with peace, the knowledge that you are dearly loved, and the strength to endure.
Selah.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Give thanks with a grateful heart
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
I've been doing some ruminating lately.
And it has rendered me overwhelmed this morning by all I have to give thanks for:
My right eye is functioning as well as my left - and the time without both eyes functioning taught me to give thanks for those things that still work, for the days with less pain, for the days with small joys, not just big ones.
Because of the bizarre eye paralyzation, more intense MRIs of the brain were performed which have provided the assurance that there is nothing growing or destroying my brain cells - a comfort when the headaches are blinding and the thoughts of glioma, a common cancer with CFIDS, come rushing in.
My brother survived a serious 911 emergency. He had just installed a security front door and neglected to give me the key. I knew he had fainted, had been vomiting for a long while, had split his forehead open with the fall, and did not have the strength to even crawl to a door to let us in. The firemen had to break the picture window in his bedroom to gain entry.
Later that morning I remembered I did have the key to his back door.
The next day, he remembered I had the key to his back door.
oops.
But he is alive and well, the last remaining member of my "growing up" family. And I am very,very grateful.
My sister-in-law, who makes my days possible, who looks out for me, drives me to appts when I don't feel good, cleans the house, does the dishes,and is generally my caretaker, is also doing well.
The house is paid for, we don't have to worry about foreclosure - just the maintenance and the HOA.
My Norwegian Forest Cat, Katrina, now middle aged at 7 years old, has recently begun to mellow, and will, on rare occasions, allow me to pick her up for a brief cuddle. She also will allow me to pet her while standing on occasion. This is the cat who firmly believes, after having been showered with love and attention for 7 years, that I have been planning all this time to kill her - but only while standing, and certainly if I bend down to pet her. Accordingly, she runs under the bed, which is where she lived for her first 3 months here.
She stays at arms length and one inch beyond it. She won't let me near her when she has something stuck in her mouth.
I took my complaints about her to my Eternal Papa and He said,
"She is just like you."
"Whaaaat??"
"For days you keep Me at arm's length - you go about your business and push me to the back burner of your life. When You have something dangerous or something that won't go down stuck in your craw, you won't let me catch you, either, and insist on carrying it alone when my eternal arms are underneath you, ready to hold and comfort. You're just like Katrina."
Oh. (a little throat clearing here while I search for a way to change the subject.)
The only thing that comforts me about this is that Katrina doesn't let me out of her sight. She follows me faithfully and has to be within sight of me. I hope that applies to my walk with Jesus as well.
And it makes me thankful for her.
When I look back at the last 24 years of illness, I can find much to be thankful for there, too. It allowed me to be home for the last years of my mother's life, and a chance to get to know my youngest brother who died at age 45. I have a mild case of CFIDS - I can still read, on good days I can go somewhere, I have dear friends who don't forget me, and my doctor doesn't withhold pain medication, which many doctors have begun to do. Withholding of pain medications is one of the chief causes of suicide in those with CFIDS - the DEA has begun to crack down on "drug pushers" in the medical professionn. Unfortunately, they include chronically ill in the groups that use too much pain medication. So far the Lord has protected me from that - another huge reason to be thankful.
Some very dear friends of mine have both had life-threatening illnesses in the last 2 years. Things seem to be almost healed there and I am so very grateful.
I was able to go to a watercolor journal class - the first artsy fartsy thing I've been able to do in a couple of years, and I was able to attend both days. I got to see my great-nephew for his birthday and go to one of my favorite restaurants in the California town I came from.
I had my first Starbucks confection ever (the Peppermint lured me in).
I have a Pastor who is not only a great exegeter and teacher, but a tender-hearted man who daily seeks ways to be the Father's hands, to comfort, to shepherd his flock with a great tenderness - and a wicked sense of humor that not only keeps his sermons from getting boring, but communicates deep truths with it as well.
But mostly I am thankful for Philippians 4:13, for Romans 8:1 and a million and one other verses that comfort and call to courage under fire. God gave us His Word to guide us, speak to us, warn us, teach us, and lead us to a relationship with Him that, truly, makes life worth Living, and the capital L is intentional. My great-niece described her life as Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, and I think that is a perfect metaphor for this life. The warnings the ride carries are also worth noting when the bottom drops out and you are screaming in seeming free fall - keep your seat belt on, don't try to stand up while the car is moving, and keep your hands inside the car.
I pray your Thanksgiving will bring with it much joy and leave you with many wonderful memories - and an uncountable amount of things to be thankful for.
God is Light, and in Him is no darkness at all. Happy Thanksgiving!
I've been doing some ruminating lately.
And it has rendered me overwhelmed this morning by all I have to give thanks for:
My right eye is functioning as well as my left - and the time without both eyes functioning taught me to give thanks for those things that still work, for the days with less pain, for the days with small joys, not just big ones.
Because of the bizarre eye paralyzation, more intense MRIs of the brain were performed which have provided the assurance that there is nothing growing or destroying my brain cells - a comfort when the headaches are blinding and the thoughts of glioma, a common cancer with CFIDS, come rushing in.
My brother survived a serious 911 emergency. He had just installed a security front door and neglected to give me the key. I knew he had fainted, had been vomiting for a long while, had split his forehead open with the fall, and did not have the strength to even crawl to a door to let us in. The firemen had to break the picture window in his bedroom to gain entry.
Later that morning I remembered I did have the key to his back door.
The next day, he remembered I had the key to his back door.
oops.
But he is alive and well, the last remaining member of my "growing up" family. And I am very,very grateful.
My sister-in-law, who makes my days possible, who looks out for me, drives me to appts when I don't feel good, cleans the house, does the dishes,and is generally my caretaker, is also doing well.
The house is paid for, we don't have to worry about foreclosure - just the maintenance and the HOA.
My Norwegian Forest Cat, Katrina, now middle aged at 7 years old, has recently begun to mellow, and will, on rare occasions, allow me to pick her up for a brief cuddle. She also will allow me to pet her while standing on occasion. This is the cat who firmly believes, after having been showered with love and attention for 7 years, that I have been planning all this time to kill her - but only while standing, and certainly if I bend down to pet her. Accordingly, she runs under the bed, which is where she lived for her first 3 months here.
She stays at arms length and one inch beyond it. She won't let me near her when she has something stuck in her mouth.
I took my complaints about her to my Eternal Papa and He said,
"She is just like you."
"Whaaaat??"
"For days you keep Me at arm's length - you go about your business and push me to the back burner of your life. When You have something dangerous or something that won't go down stuck in your craw, you won't let me catch you, either, and insist on carrying it alone when my eternal arms are underneath you, ready to hold and comfort. You're just like Katrina."
Oh. (a little throat clearing here while I search for a way to change the subject.)
The only thing that comforts me about this is that Katrina doesn't let me out of her sight. She follows me faithfully and has to be within sight of me. I hope that applies to my walk with Jesus as well.
And it makes me thankful for her.
When I look back at the last 24 years of illness, I can find much to be thankful for there, too. It allowed me to be home for the last years of my mother's life, and a chance to get to know my youngest brother who died at age 45. I have a mild case of CFIDS - I can still read, on good days I can go somewhere, I have dear friends who don't forget me, and my doctor doesn't withhold pain medication, which many doctors have begun to do. Withholding of pain medications is one of the chief causes of suicide in those with CFIDS - the DEA has begun to crack down on "drug pushers" in the medical professionn. Unfortunately, they include chronically ill in the groups that use too much pain medication. So far the Lord has protected me from that - another huge reason to be thankful.
Some very dear friends of mine have both had life-threatening illnesses in the last 2 years. Things seem to be almost healed there and I am so very grateful.
I was able to go to a watercolor journal class - the first artsy fartsy thing I've been able to do in a couple of years, and I was able to attend both days. I got to see my great-nephew for his birthday and go to one of my favorite restaurants in the California town I came from.
I had my first Starbucks confection ever (the Peppermint lured me in).
I have a Pastor who is not only a great exegeter and teacher, but a tender-hearted man who daily seeks ways to be the Father's hands, to comfort, to shepherd his flock with a great tenderness - and a wicked sense of humor that not only keeps his sermons from getting boring, but communicates deep truths with it as well.
But mostly I am thankful for Philippians 4:13, for Romans 8:1 and a million and one other verses that comfort and call to courage under fire. God gave us His Word to guide us, speak to us, warn us, teach us, and lead us to a relationship with Him that, truly, makes life worth Living, and the capital L is intentional. My great-niece described her life as Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, and I think that is a perfect metaphor for this life. The warnings the ride carries are also worth noting when the bottom drops out and you are screaming in seeming free fall - keep your seat belt on, don't try to stand up while the car is moving, and keep your hands inside the car.
I pray your Thanksgiving will bring with it much joy and leave you with many wonderful memories - and an uncountable amount of things to be thankful for.
God is Light, and in Him is no darkness at all. Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The tenderness of Jesus
I've been reading in the Gospel of John, from Chapter 13 to the end, and I've been struck continuously by the tenderness of the heart of God.
He was so kind to them, trying to bolster their courage, praying for them, protecting them.
At one point He says to them, "I will not leave you orphans..."
Wow.
It struck me that that is exactly how CI sometimes makes me feel. Like an orphan. But no matter how overwhelming it feels, Jesus said He would not leave me an orphan. He would send the Comforter -He promised.
Some days I cling to that.
Then in His prayer for us, He said He hadn't lost one of the ones His Father had entrusted to Him, except the son of perdition (Judas). How many times did He protect them from unseen dangers and attacks, as they blissfully argued about who would be the greatest? How many times did satan try to discourage them or destroy their faith? How many times has He protected us?
And then lastly - and this one brought tears to my eyes - there was the matter of Mary Magdalen at the tomb. (I seem to be on a Mary kick lately)
I've read it so many times before, but this time I was there - I could feel her agony.
She was so anxious to to get to Him she came, John tells us, while it was still night! Can you see her, hurrying through the darkness in the chill of the early Spring, running to get to the One Who had cast seven demons - seven! - from her body? See her as she wept broken-hearted, stricken to the core with grief, appalled and horrified that some creep would actually steal the body of Jesus?
She knew how much the Pharisees and Sadducees hated Jesus, could only imagine the disrespect with which His body would be treated. Or perhaps the rich folks were upset because Jesus was buried in their graveyard - they didn't want the notoriety, the scandal.
She'd come that morning to undo His hastily prepared body - Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimethea had been in such a hurry to get it done before the Sabbath began at sundown and perhaps had been sloppy (men!) She wanted His body properly prepared - washed well, the spices tenderly twined and wrapped, His body respectfully entombed with honor and reverence.
How absolutely horrifying to find the stone rolled back, the tomb empty!
She ran to the apostles and told them, then ran back, following them to the tomb. Peter and John looked in, one after the other, looked at each other - and left!
Where did they go? Why didn't they tell her what to do?
So she bent down to look into the tomb - and two men, sitting one at the head and one at the feet where Jesus had lain said, "Woman, why are you crying?"
Sobbing, she answered, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I don't know where to find Him."
Disconsolate, sobbing, confused, her stomach churning, her heart breaking, perhaps she was wondering if the demons would come back now that Jesus was dead.
Blinded by tears, she saw what she thought was the gardener.
He spoke to her, so gently, "Woman, why are you weeping?"
"Oh please," she sobbed, "If you've taken Him, just tell me where and I'll go get Him!" (translation liberties mine) "You don't have to do anything! Please, please just tell me..."
And then her frantic sobbing and despair were banished by a single, tender, gentle word:
"Mary."
She knew that voice. She knew it!
It was HIM! And He was alive!
Sobbing now out of joy and wonder, she fell at His feet and did the only thing an unrelated female could do in that day and culture - she grabbed His feet - His precious, broken, nail-scarred feet.
Her grip must have fierce - and I believe there was a hint of a chuckle in His voice when He said, "Don't cling to me, Mary - I haven't been to My Father yet! I'll be back."
And that very line - with my translation liberties and emphasis included - really hit me today.
Mary - not the apostles, not even His own mother, was the first person Jesus appeared to that Resurrection Day. He hadn't even been to His Father yet! Imagine it!
He loved Mary with such a great, overwhelming tenderness that He wouldn't let her hopeless grief continue a moment longer - or her fears that the demons would come back, or her horror that someone would desecrate His tomb, His body.
And He loves us with that same great, overwhelming tenderness.
He doesn't want us, either, overwhelmed by grief, or fear, or despair.
Being CI didn't happen to us by accident, dear one. And sometimes, yes, it is heartbreaking, and grief-provoking, and fearful and devastating.
But into that darkness, He speaks our names, too - tenderly, never leaving us orphans, or unprotected, or Comfortless.
Like the stars, He calls us each by name.
And all we need to do, really, is listen.
He was so kind to them, trying to bolster their courage, praying for them, protecting them.
At one point He says to them, "I will not leave you orphans..."
Wow.
It struck me that that is exactly how CI sometimes makes me feel. Like an orphan. But no matter how overwhelming it feels, Jesus said He would not leave me an orphan. He would send the Comforter -He promised.
Some days I cling to that.
Then in His prayer for us, He said He hadn't lost one of the ones His Father had entrusted to Him, except the son of perdition (Judas). How many times did He protect them from unseen dangers and attacks, as they blissfully argued about who would be the greatest? How many times did satan try to discourage them or destroy their faith? How many times has He protected us?
And then lastly - and this one brought tears to my eyes - there was the matter of Mary Magdalen at the tomb. (I seem to be on a Mary kick lately)
I've read it so many times before, but this time I was there - I could feel her agony.
She was so anxious to to get to Him she came, John tells us, while it was still night! Can you see her, hurrying through the darkness in the chill of the early Spring, running to get to the One Who had cast seven demons - seven! - from her body? See her as she wept broken-hearted, stricken to the core with grief, appalled and horrified that some creep would actually steal the body of Jesus?
She knew how much the Pharisees and Sadducees hated Jesus, could only imagine the disrespect with which His body would be treated. Or perhaps the rich folks were upset because Jesus was buried in their graveyard - they didn't want the notoriety, the scandal.
She'd come that morning to undo His hastily prepared body - Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimethea had been in such a hurry to get it done before the Sabbath began at sundown and perhaps had been sloppy (men!) She wanted His body properly prepared - washed well, the spices tenderly twined and wrapped, His body respectfully entombed with honor and reverence.
How absolutely horrifying to find the stone rolled back, the tomb empty!
She ran to the apostles and told them, then ran back, following them to the tomb. Peter and John looked in, one after the other, looked at each other - and left!
Where did they go? Why didn't they tell her what to do?
So she bent down to look into the tomb - and two men, sitting one at the head and one at the feet where Jesus had lain said, "Woman, why are you crying?"
Sobbing, she answered, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I don't know where to find Him."
Disconsolate, sobbing, confused, her stomach churning, her heart breaking, perhaps she was wondering if the demons would come back now that Jesus was dead.
Blinded by tears, she saw what she thought was the gardener.
He spoke to her, so gently, "Woman, why are you weeping?"
"Oh please," she sobbed, "If you've taken Him, just tell me where and I'll go get Him!" (translation liberties mine) "You don't have to do anything! Please, please just tell me..."
And then her frantic sobbing and despair were banished by a single, tender, gentle word:
"Mary."
She knew that voice. She knew it!
It was HIM! And He was alive!
Sobbing now out of joy and wonder, she fell at His feet and did the only thing an unrelated female could do in that day and culture - she grabbed His feet - His precious, broken, nail-scarred feet.
Her grip must have fierce - and I believe there was a hint of a chuckle in His voice when He said, "Don't cling to me, Mary - I haven't been to My Father yet! I'll be back."
And that very line - with my translation liberties and emphasis included - really hit me today.
Mary - not the apostles, not even His own mother, was the first person Jesus appeared to that Resurrection Day. He hadn't even been to His Father yet! Imagine it!
He loved Mary with such a great, overwhelming tenderness that He wouldn't let her hopeless grief continue a moment longer - or her fears that the demons would come back, or her horror that someone would desecrate His tomb, His body.
And He loves us with that same great, overwhelming tenderness.
He doesn't want us, either, overwhelmed by grief, or fear, or despair.
Being CI didn't happen to us by accident, dear one. And sometimes, yes, it is heartbreaking, and grief-provoking, and fearful and devastating.
But into that darkness, He speaks our names, too - tenderly, never leaving us orphans, or unprotected, or Comfortless.
Like the stars, He calls us each by name.
And all we need to do, really, is listen.
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