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It is a tale as old as time, but without the Beauty or the Beast.

The one who walks away from all that they have, all that they know, all that is safe … for unknown places of possible dangers, heartbreaks and big mistakes. So much is out there that could go wrong, could destroy. Those who love them, who are left to stand on the sidelines, left with only prayer as their protection from the perils of choice. The greatest prayer being that they come back, returning to their home, family, faith.

Whether we are familiar with the lessons within the cover of the Bible, the common term for such a person who leaves what they have learned behind them and moves to unchartered territories, only to eventually return, is that of the prodigal.

We all have prodigals in our lives.

Though the famous biblical story is about a prodigal son, prodigals come in all ages, genders and backgrounds. Their lives are a vast array of how they live, or carry out, their prodigal stories.

The common scenario is that of the teen or young adult, walking away from the life they were born into. After they have tasted of all of the pleasures of humanity, recognize that those pleasures have left them hungry for something more filling, something more familiar. So, tail between their legs, then return to the safe haven from which they originally fled.

The story that Jesus told can be found in Luke 15:11-32.

The story tells of the son’s return (verses 20-24):

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.”

There was no waiting to hear why the son was returning home. There was no opportunity for apology, no words admitting his folly, there was no time for any words. The father did not run to meet him because he had rejected his poor choices, he ran to his son for he was his father … and he loved this son, simply because he was his.

“The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’”

Humility … that most difficult of characteristics to muster, for any creature of flesh. This is where we see the acknowledgement of error, fault, sin.

“But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.”

And then we have the only reply appropriate, when one acknowledges their wrong to the one who they most sinned against.

There is so much more to this story … an older son, inheritance lost and more. It is a story that I have not always appreciated, yet, the older I get, the more I see how this is a deeply personal story for me … for us all.

You see, from our very beginnings, God, the one who gave us life, also gave us choice. We were born into the richest of families, not rich in wealth, but rich in love. The inheritance he has amassed for us is endless eternity, in his presence. It is our birthright, not because of what we do or who we are, but because of who we are in him. Though it is rightfully ours, we must choose to accept it. Many (most) of us, consciously or not, at some point in our lives, take the shiny bits of our inheritance (the earthly blessings) and walk away from our good, good father …

… and he lets us go, because he desires that we choose him, rather than he tell us what to do, rather than he force us to stay with him. He wanted us to choose … him.

And so we go away from him, partying it up on the things of life that are … temporal, temporary. We find pleasure in our bodies, our senses, our forms of escapism. Until, one day, we recognize that our belly full of pleasures has left us malnourished, dying from the inside out.

And so we go home, tail between our legs, chin on our chests, ready to dish out heaping helpings of humble pie.

Then, when we are almost home, we hear something in the distance …

“I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.” (Jeremiah 31:3)

Though those words were God’s pursuit of Israel, they have also become God’s words to all of humanity, through the blood of Jesus Christ.

And we are embraced and kissed and welcomed home.

And our tears of shame fall on our cheeks, our chests heaving with shock, with humility, with the acknowledgement that our father loves us, not because of what we have done,

but in spite of our actions.

We apologize, we beg forgiveness, humility pouring from every pore.

And the father … he doesn’t ask for the details of our misery … he plans a party … for,

in the father’s mind, in the father’s heart …

his son, his daughter was lost and is found.

“And I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it,
still, You give Yourself away
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending,
reckless love of God”
Cory Asbury

 

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Recently students were discussing roller coaster rides they had been on, and one talked about a ride that took you out, over a body of water … and paused. Then, with no hint at what was coming it went from zero to fifty in the blink of an eye, quickly pulling them backwards, and they could not see where they were going.

One of the students exclaimed,

“that must have been so frightening to not know where you were going?”

To which the other replied,

“Nope! If I saw where I was going, I would have been much more scared.”

Her response got me to thinking …

maybe it is better to not know what is coming in our futures?

Then I remembered a verse, from 1 Corinthians 13:12:

 

“We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. “(this is such a visual! Haven’t we all been walking driving through thick fog that had all but blinded us? Can’t we all recall, or maybe currently going through a time when the circumstances leave us blinded to what might be ahead for us?)

“But it won’t be long” (it won’t be long! Don’t we all feel the seconds tick by when life is a struggle? This reminder will come to an end) “before the weather clears and the sun shines bright!” (yes! the sun is what we need to focus on … the sun in the sky, and the son who sets us free. It WON’T be long! The fog WILL lift!). 

“We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!”

Man, when I look back over different periods of time in my life, I could not have imagined the twists and turns, the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and trials that were about to come … or how they would play out in the greater story of my life.

And so we do not see what is to come, how the problems and struggles end, how the difficult road leads to completion, how the blessings become curses, and the curses become blessings.

Our vision is impaired, as though we are in a fog, or going backwards on a carnival ride. But the fog will lift, and from the reversing ride, we can see how vast the image of life appears, and how pieces have fit together.

But we are not called to just sit there and let it all happen, either. For verse 13 gives us our marching orders:

“But for right now, until that completeness,
we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation:
Trust steadily in God,
hope unswervingly,
love extravagantly.
And the best of the three is love.”

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starry

As I drove down the street, preparing to drive up my driveway, I noticed two bunnies hopping across my neighbour’s green grass … and smiled.

After parking, after getting out of my vehicle, I heard the song of the spring frogs, echoing in night air. Their song drew me out of the garage,  and my eyes lifted to the indigo sky, so clear.

Moments of creation calling my soul, slowing down my mind, soothing my rapidly beating heart.

The day of blood, sweat and tears was coming to an end, but not without succour from nature, from Creation, the Creator.

It was as though all of Creation was reminding me, teaching me that life will go on, that the God who painted the sky like a mood ring, who gave voice to the frogs, who put a hop in the steps of the bunnies … loves and cares for me, who cleans up my blood, cleans the sweat from my brow and wipes away my tears.

When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—
    the moon and the stars you set in place—
what are mere mortals that you should think about them,
    human beings that you should care for them?
Yet you made them only a little lower than God
    and crowned them with glory and honor.
You gave them charge of everything you made,
    putting all things under their authority—
the flocks and the herds
    and all the wild animals,
the birds in the sky, the fish in the sea,
    and everything that swims the ocean currents.

O Lord, our Lord, your majestic name fills the earth!
Psalm 8:3-9

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cloud

“I can see your heart in everything you’ve made”
Hillsong

The words caught my attention as I drove to work one morning, sun peeking through the heavy clouds, opening up a segments of the mountains for my view.

Sign …

That’s my soul language … the amazing nature of creation.

If I feel heavy with the struggles of life …

the light of a sunrise or sunset can catch my breath,

spring flowers can bring a smile to my face,

a surprise path-crossing with a coyote can make my heart sing,

a ladybug holding tightly to a rose bush can give me child-like glee,

or (like last night) the song of an owl late into my sleepless night,

can remind me that I have a heart within me created by the same one who spoke life into all creatures, who set the Earth on it’s axis.

“For once you have spoken,
all nature and science follow the sound of your voice”

For me it is God’s beautiful, amazing and wonder-filled creation that reminds me that, no matter the weight on my shoulders, no matter the sadness in our world, no matter that I do not have the answers, He does. He’s got it. He is big enough for whatever I am not.

Not only does creation realign my mind, heart and soul, it also reminds me that my calling, like the rest of creation, is to praise the creator.

“If creation sings your praises, so will I”

This is my father’s world, and it teaches me about the one who created it, and the pride he has taken in each and every part of it. Through what he created I come to know his heart, he attention to detail (just look at a bee under a magnifying lens), his vastness (just look up at the stars on a clear night, or the changing moon), his miraculous ways (the metamorphosis of a caterpillar to a butterfly), his redemption (just look at how a dead seed, planted and watered, comes alive again), his love (just look in the mirror).

“This is my father’s world
And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
The music of the spheres
This is my father’s world
The birds their carols raise
The morning light, the lily white
Declare their maker’s praise
This is my father’s world
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas
His hand the wonders wrought
This is my father’s world
Oh, let me never forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong
God is the ruler yet
This is my father’s world
Why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is king, let the heavens ring

God reigns, let the earth be glad”

 

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A good story teller, a good poet, will always include visuals for our brains to hold onto, so that, though we may forget their words, we will not forget their story, their message.

I have always believed that the best story-teller, the best and most creative writer of the poetry and stories of our lives is God, the creator, father, redeemer.

His story is even grander than the Grand Canyon.

Recently an old hymn (about one hundred years) has been playing in my head, but I didn’t hear it until the other morning.

… actually, I heard it, but I wasn’t listening

As I awoke Saturday, with the morning sky still awaiting to break, with the rains pouring down, I began to listen and hear the words, the message,

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
  And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
  And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
  Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
  Though stretched from sky to sky.

The words began to form images in my mind, that kept me from thinking of anything else (perhaps that was the intent of God, who had a message).

The evening before my mind was full of a good message on the phone, a bad message on social media and a most frustrating message via email. I was too inwardly focused to even pray, so I did all that I knew to do, and asked that sweet handful of trusted friends to pray.

My early morning alone, became a reminder that joy comes in the morning … after the storm, after the storming down of heaven’s gates by faithful friends. After my eyes were refocused … off of myself.

Those words from the hymn, The Love of God. The first two verses and chorus written by Frederick Martin Lehman, but the third (above) goes back much further into history.

The words of the third verse were found, inscribed on the wall in a room of an insane asylum, after the patient died. It was later discovered that those words were written by  Jewish poet, Meir Ben Isaac Nehorai, in 1050, and can be found in Rabbi Hertz’ “Book of Jewish Thought” for the synagogue Pentecost celebrations.

Perhaps it is because the Hebrew language is a spoken one, stories and poems told, over and over again, from generation to generation. Those which have survived the ultimate test of time, often the ones which create visuals in the minds of hearers. The word pictures searing eternity onto the minds and hearts of those who heard.

The longevity of those words, perfectly inserted into a song about the vastness of the love of God.

Words, written just a millennium after the death of Christ … the greatest imagery of the promise of redemption, of love, used in the prophesy of the Old Testament.

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

When hoary time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

Refrain:
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

 

 

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cris bdayIt was a trying time, when I was in my years of having babies … dreaming of … praying for babies.

You were the seventh confirmed pregnancy … I knew better than to imagine your future, my future with you, your future with your one older sister, your dad and I. It was always a tentative dance between excitement and frailty.

Sure enough, there was nothing confirmed about your future through all nine, nail-biting, knees bent in prayer months. Even your first breath was delayed … eternity in those moments.

Your first two years were like a smash dance of smooth public appearances mixed with screamo music coming from your lungs deep into every night. You had a voice, and you were not afraid to use it … when you chose to.

Then, you turned two and life with you went from,

a time to weep to a time to laugh
(Ecclesiastes 3:4a)

And your laughter was endless, rockus … and like your cries, it was loud and very much self-determined.

I recently looked back on pictures from the years of childhood of you three siblings, of your childhood, and I was astounded by how many I have of you dancing. You, mid-spin, in the midst of movement, of expression, of dancing.

And, my dear, life itself is a dance.

I did a little investigation in dance.

There is little known about the origins of dance, as it need only involve one’s body, mind and soul … no tutus have been unearthed in archeological digs of the middle east. Certainly there have been paintings in caves that show how dance was used in rituals, religions, cultures and events in early Egypt, Olympia and in early Hindu temples.

But dance, movement of one’s body, incorporating our souls (as in that naked dance before God, performed by David the King), is something that words cannot describe. It is an event, an experience that is innate, what we are made to do, as an expression, as a reaction to having been given breath, life.

As with David, it is an expression of truly getting it … understanding that to dance, like that, is what we were created for, with and by.

To dance, with abandon, is:

  • the butterfly, emerging from it’s cocoon, stretching it’s wings
  • those videos of cows, released from the barns in the spring
  • the baby (maybe delayed) but stretching out it’s lungs for that first breath
  • the little girl, or boy, twirling in circles … moving without a care in the world

I want this for you. This no-care-in-the-world freedom.

The thing is, life is made up of two parts, freedom and survival.

In the midst of life we need to strive for our very survival. We need to work, and struggle and sometimes it is just hard, it just hurts. We want the unabashed, joyful movement of being free indeed.

They go together … freedom and survival, tripping over ones feet and twirling on our toes, holding our breath and breathing, standing still and dancing with wild abandon. The parallelism from those contrasting verses of Ecclesiastes (3:1-8) reminds we mortals that we were created to do it all … in the right time, but also that we do not walk either contrasting life experience without the ability of joy … without the ability of dancing through it all …

for it is what we were created for,

for it is how my mourning was turned to dancing (v. 4b),

in your delayed first breath, eternity in that moment.

So dance, birthday girl.

“I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’
Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth makin’
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance”
I Hope You Dance

 

 

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“Christ is risen
He is risen indeed”

The traditional greeting of Christians on Easter Sunday. It is called the “Paschal greeting” and was used in Orthodox and Catholic early churches. Sometimes it is accompanied by three kisses, on alternate cheeks.

It is said to have come from the gospel of Luke (v. 34):

“It is true!
The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.”

This said after two disciples met a stranger on the road, as they walked to a village called Emmaus. This stranger, who appeared to know nothing of the events of the days prior, when Jesus, the prophet, was crucified.

 

You see, the stranger was Jesus himselfbut they were kept from recognizing him” (v. 16).

The stranger was told, but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus” (v. 21-24).

They seemed to think that, because of Jesus’ death, maybe Jesus hadn’t been the redeemer/saviour that had hoped him to be, and because they did not see Jesus, who was supposedly alive, they had missed out. All this blind disappointment, in the man walking by their sides.

Then this stranger rebukes them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.” (v. 25-27).

So this stranger (aka Jesus himself), slaps them upside of the head with what he always uses … what the prophets said. He reminds them that, according to the prophets, their long-awaited saviour had to suffer, had to die.

Then came the fork in the road, Jesus continuing on, but the disciples stopping in Emmaus for the night.

The disciples “urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.”” (v. 29). So Jesus joined them for dinner. 

It was there, at the table that the lightbulb came on for the pair.

“When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him” (v. 30-31).

“He took the bread,
gave thanks,
broke it
and began to give it to them”

Let’s rephrase that:

He sat before them,
gave thanks for the broken bread,

his body, days before, broken,
for them

It was in the reminder of Jesus’ broken body, for their broken lives, that their eyes were opened to who is was … for them. It is today, Easter Sunday, that we are all reminded that his body was broken, for our broken lives … but are our eyes opened to this, our Saviour?

” … and he disappeared from their sight” (v. 32). A bit anticlimactic … Just when he is known to them, he leaves them … again.

“They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”” (v. 32). Not so anticlimactic after all, for now that their eyes were fully opened, they realized that something in them had been stirring as they walked and talked with him on that road, to Emmaus. Something in them knew they were in the presence of their Saviour, but, as with all of us, they were blind to his presence.

“They got up and returned at once to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled together and saying, “It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon” (v. 34-35).

It is true! … almost as if they were saying, Indeed, the Lord has risen!

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Today is Palm Sunday, and in churches all over the world, talk of a parade was paramount.

Recorded in all four of the New Testament gospels, is the event of Jesus riding on a donkey, as he entered the city of Jerusalem (the City of Peace … ironic don’t you think, that a City, so very mired, today, in conflict was named a city of peace? … but, I digress).

Some in the crowd laid down their cloaks for his donkey to walk on (maybe this was the first red carpet event in history?), some in the crowd waved palm branches as he went by, and many called out, “Hosanna (meaning ‘save now’) to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” (Matthew 21:9)

This all happened as the festival of Passover was beginning. Exodus 12 tells the story of the original Passover (Passover). The Israelites had been enslaved by Egypt, for many generations. God instructed Moses to have His people slaughter lambs, and cover their door frames with the blood. Then, in the night, the firstborn of every family would be killed, except for the households whose door frames are covered in the lambs blood, because the destroyer would ‘pass over’ those homes (this was the final of the ten plagues used to convince Pharaoh to let the people go). 

Moses did as God asked, the Israelites obeyed, and the Passover story came to be. Even in the home of Pharaoh, the firstborn of every Egyptian household was slaughtered. But the people in the homes that were covered by the blood of the lamb, were spared, and Pharaoh set the Israelites free.

Later this week, on Good Friday, in churches all over the world, talk of a parade will be, again, paramount. Again there were crowds of people. Again there was shouting. This time, there was no “Hosanna”, there was no ‘save now’, being sung out. Instead the shouts were “crucify him.” This time it was all a parody, all a mockery of the earlier parade.

Each of the gospels mentions his walk to Golgotha (the place of the skulls), where Jesus was nailed to the cross that he and Simone of Cyrene carried there. That walk, that parade, was after being wrongly tried, convicted, flogged, and had a crown of thrones pushed onto (into) his head.

This parade was the parade of the lamb of God (the Son of God) to the slaughter. And his blood, shed for all of humanity, is what sets us free.

“And when your children ask you,
‘What does this ceremony mean to you?’
then tell them,
‘It is the Passover sacrifice to the LORD,
who passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt
and spared our homes when he struck down the Egyptians.'”
Exodus 12:26-27

Watch the Lamb

 

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Screen Shot 2018-03-21 at 11.07.08 AMWhat is the meaning of life? What gives meaning to life? What makes life meaningful?

Those are the questions of a life … my life … at forty-nine years into this life.

We look forward, we look back, realizing that once that which was was forward, is now back. Tomorrow, this day will be past. The clock ticks, the calendar flips. Our inhales are the past as the freshness of that breath is exhaled. Our days move so slowly, looking forward, so quickly, looking back.

“You don’t know what will happen tomorrow.
What is life?
You are a mist that is seen for a moment and then disappears.”
James 4:14

You are a mist …

If my life, if I am a mist, than what can any of us accomplish or do for anyone, for this world, for our God?

Yet, as I awakened this morning the grass was damp with a mist-like dew, giving me more margin before watering the new seed in the ground. That mist-like dew, watering and giving life to that seed that I spread … that dead seed, hard and lifeless. That mist-like dew, bringing breath back into that hard shell, reminding it who it is, who it is meant to be, what it’s job on this Earth, in this Earth, is to do.

I am to be more than just a mirage in the dessert.

So, if I, if my life is a mist, that is seen for a moment (a morning) then disappears, I guess all I am required to do is water, bringing life to that, to those who have been hardened by their circumstances, beat down by the winds of life, brining refreshment and hope to those who think there is no more hope.

I don’t think I do that every day, I know I don’t, yet I know people who have done that, who do that for me. People who love and care and water my soul each and every day. People who encourage and inspire me. My family and friends who show love with their hugs, warm words and laughter. People who are really real, and who open the door that others, that I, can be really me.

So, I am a mist … may I bring relief.

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Screen Shot 2018-03-20 at 8.18.25 AM.pngAs the Spring Break is underway for myself, and others, in my neck of the schooling woods, we get to also take in the signs of Spring.

Already I have examined the bulb plants growing, daily from their warming soil, Magnolia trees with flower pods getting heavy, the Forsythia blossoms starting to peek out, and buds on every tree. Even the grass is starting to dart up.

The gardening stores and nurseries are becoming the hubs of spring seekers, Seeds are being started, colour being added to the beds, pots and gardens. New gloves and clippers purchased to replace the broken and missing (no doubt to be found only days after new ones purchased). The blades are being cleaned and sharpened for trimming.

We breath in the air, fresh and clean, reviving our senses, our imaginations and dreams.

There is no sweeter start to any season. In a sense, spring is a sanctuary … a season of rebirth, renewal. A season of wide-eyed excitement and wonder. A time apart from the day to day of the rest of the year.

It is no coincidence that Easter also falls in the spring of the year. It, too, is a season of renewal, a season of wide-eyed excitement and wonder. It marks the end of waiting for the risen Messiah.

It reminds us that he rose once … that, like the crocuses, tulips and daffodils, he will rise again.

“Let not your hearts be troubled.
Believe in God; believe also in me.

In my Father’s house are many rooms.
If it were not so,
would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?

And if I go and prepare a place for you,
I will come again and will take you to myself,
that where I am you may be also.”
John 14:1-3

 

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