Easter

It’s a celebration with all that is confectionary.

The little ones fought over the chocolate cross.  My mistake.  There was only one.

It wasn’t Easter yet, but it was Palm Sunday.  So, we talked about that and read the Easter Story. It doesn’t matter your age, I’ve discovered the best way to communicate the reason for an Easter gathering is in teacher fashion. Simple words.

A picture book!

God gave His son, Jesus Christ.

He came to die on a cross.

He rose in 3 days.

He’s alive today.

In us.

I’ve decided to tuck this simplistic book in my holiday decoration bin with the ceramic bunnies and plastic eggs as a new tradition for the season.  The day will come when likely next year we’ll have our very own first reader who will carry on the reading of the Easter story from the picture book before our customary dinner.

We followed the day with other fun traditions like Easter egg hunts for both children and adults, sidewalk chalk, kite flying and an unexpected moment that I stowed away in my heart that occurred during our church service on this first Palm Sunday without Dad.

You see, Mom went to my church with me for the first time.  We both were operating under a lot of new firsts.  On this particular morning, our minister was wearing a blue shirt. It was recognizable. I took one glance. Thought about it.  Stared a bit more intently.   What I saw was the exact same shirt out of all of Dad’s shirts as the one I had just chosen to keep after his passing.   From my distance, I looked closer to the texture of it and the color of the buttons.  Yep, it certainly was the shirt. It was like a sweet nod the Lord had for me that morning sitting with my mom. It was in this way that only I knew how the Lord had thought to include my dad.  I came home and wrapped myself up in it.

The Lord has all kinds of personal gifts.

Don’t think He doesn’t.

On Palm Sunday, He did it for me with a single matching shirt.

On Good Friday, He did it for us all.

It was a single cross.

No mistake.

There was only one.

Isaiah 53:5

Two Knees

I have gained a collection of Willow Tree angels over the years. This is one of them. It’s the Angel of Prayer, a gift from someone who knew I believed in the power of prayer.

Have you been on your knees like this?

Praying for something or for the end of it?

Have you prayed years and years?

Have you prayed over and over?

I have.

I give great thought to what two knees can do?

Have you been so desperate that’s where you have found yourself?

On two knees?

I have.

I read, “Listen! The Lord is not too weak to save you and He’s not becoming deaf.”

I know that.  I hold onto that.  It’s my hope.  He’s the only one who can.  But, there’s a problem.  I can’t see it.  I can’t hear it.  I can’t feel it.

I want it to change.

Hands clasped.

I want it to change.

Wondering.

Head bowed.

Wondering.

Maybe He wants something to end, too.

Deeply rooted things.

Seemingly embedded.

It probably needs acknowledged

to one God

on two knees.

“We are made right in God’s sight when we trust in Jesus Christ to take away our sins.  And we can all be saved in this same way, no matter who we are or what we have done.  For all have sinned; all fall short of God’s glorious standard.  Yet, now God in His gracious kindness declares us not guilty.  He has done this through Jesus Christ who has freed us by taking away our sins.”

I take a new grip with my tired hands and strengthen my weak knees.

Thankful for the greatest access to power available.

Prayer.

Romans 3:22-24

Isaiah 59:1-2

Hebrews 12:12

Bread of Life

I’ve just made bread.

It’s gluten-free “mock” rye bread.

Is there any smell that can compare to fresh baked bread?

The gluten-free version is no different. It’s heavenly.

It was this time last year that Covid was stealing tastes and smells.  So, I’m taking it all in today.  What a gift the senses are.  You know, I think I have taken for granted my whole life this gift to both smell and taste.  It’s not that I take for granted what I smell.  Like the bread.  I’ve long thanked God for food that is set before me.  What I have taken for granted is the fact that I CAN smell or that I CAN taste.  It’s quite the gift because there wasn’t one ding-dang thing I could do to change the fact that I couldn’t do either one this time last year.  I do not think I have ever in my life thanked Him that I could.

There’s a story Jesus illustrates with ten men who were healed, but only one came back to thank Him.  Jesus said, “Didn’t I heal 10?  Where are the other 9?  Only 1 returned unrestrained to give glory to God?”

What faith there was that his healing made him think of the healer.

So today, I’m breathing it all in knowing good and well that nothing I did earned myself the return of these senses.  And, they surely don’t always last as long as we do.  King David in the Book of Samuel said, “I am 80-years-old today and food and wine are no longer tasty.”  This came to mind at the same time we were caring for my dad at 86 and this 5 feet nothing man at 200+ pounds was not enjoying eating and drinking anything either.  Not even the smell and taste of a good loaf of bread.

It gives new meaning to the verse. “Taste and see that the Lord is good.”

It’s the Lord who’s good.

He is the bread of life.

I want to be the one out of ten to give Him thanks.

2 Samuel 19:34

Luke 17:17

Psalm 34:8

John 6:48

Word for Word

I am a creature of habit.

My morning routine starts before sunrise.

I set my alarm for it.

It’s the time of day when no one is yet to rise except my old fur girl whose alarm clock is determined by mine.  I don’t drink coffee, but I do steep black tea in one of three particular morning mugs.  I have a recliner where I will settle in for an hour or two.  A lightweight blanket will cover my lap while I situate my Bible and journal with a .7 Bic Velocity in hand.  From this position, I begin my day.

A devotional will usually lead my way. Devotionals impart a message through a story or experience but the associated scripture to it is what cracks the spine of my Bible.  It’s what I look up.  It’s what I write out in my journal.

Word for Word.

“Your words are what sustain me.  They bring me great joy and are my heart’s delight.”

I’ve had this practice for a good long while. It was early on that I read in the gospel of John, “the Word was God.”  At a time that I was trying to make sense of spiritual realities in a physical world, I believed that writing His Word was as close to Him as I could tangibly get.  I felt if the Word was God and I wrote the Word, it was like being with God.

I know God is everywhere.  He actually became human and made His home among us. I know the Word is a lamp for my feet and a light on my path.  I know it will never fail.  Whether I write it or not does not change what it is.

Alive and powerful.

Nothing helps me more though than to measure my pace and focus on each and every living, piercing, and penetrating word at dark o’clock.

It brings light.

John 1

Hebrews 4:12

Jeremiah 15:16

Psalm 119:105