It’s Saturday. The day arrives at the end of every week, full of promise and precious hours which aren’t already booked up with work from my day job. But this Saturday is different. Today, it’s not just the 24 hours which make up this day that loom in front of me, waiting to see how I will fill them – housework, errands, a walk, a book – it’s so much more. Today, the whole summer is spread before me, an open calendar of many days, each one like a Saturday, sewn together like the squares in a patchwork quilt. There is a lightness in my chest that wasn’t there last Saturday. It feels like freedom.
After the pandemic school year we just navigated, it’s very likely that teachers are not the only people who woke up feeling this way today. Parents have been juggling working from home (those lucky enough to be able to do that) and their children’s online school for months, and looking in from the other end of that camera, I have seen their challenges. I can image the city rise off the ground just a little this morning with the collective sigh.
On the floor of my kitchen, next to the box of plants I finally brought home from my vacant classroom, is a pile of gifts given to me by my students and their parents. Beautiful store-bought cards and precious handmade ones with crayon drawings communicate words of gratefulness and appreciation. My love tank is full.
Some people have mixed feelings about giving teachers end-of-year gifts, believing that they merely did their jobs; jobs they were well paid for. But, when one of your love languages is receiving words of affirmation, those gifts and cards fill this teacher’s bucket to the brim. And this year, with its additional challenges, they mean even more.
We don’t all have the same love languages, though, do we? Some people don’t desire those words of affirmation in the same way, and they don’t need the gifts; those teachers tell the families to donate a book to the classroom instead, or ask that they not send gifts at all. I feel especially bad for those teachers whose strongest love language is touch. This was a year that receiving hugs from our young students was not recommended.
As we go about following Christ’s command to love and serve others, it’s important to acknowledge Gary Chapman’s love languages. We don’t all receive love the same way. In addition to words of affirmation, receiving gifts, and physical touch, there are people who especially appreciate acts of service or quality time. While these love languages were first introduced to build stronger intimate relationships, they can be generalized as we spread God’s love to the people around us.
One way to respond, as we acknowledge our differing love languages, is to build relationships with people – learn about them and what makes them feel loved, and then show God’s love to them on an individual basis. Another way, when the recipient is someone we don’t know as well, is to randomly try the different approaches and monitor the responses. This can be a challenge because people who don’t have the love language of physical touch don’t always feel comfortable giving love that way to others. It’s out of our comfort zone to offer a hug or just touch someone’s arm or shoulder to let them know we care.
As I sit here with my feet up, feeling loved and appreciated, (my belly full because my husband just made a delicious breakfast for me – an appreciated act of service), I believe God wants us to help others feel this way too.
Father, thank You for all Your blessings. Thank You for the rain that waters the grass, trees and flowers today. Thank You for the love that You showed by sending Your Son to sacrifice His life for us. Help me to spread Your love to others. Show me the best way to do this for each individual that You want me to love. Help me to overcome my discomfort when it’s an approach I don’t naturally take. Help me to fill love tanks today. Amen.
Whose love tank can you fill this weekend?
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Are you a lover of barefooting? For those of us who are blessed to own a pair of shoes (or thirty pairs — okay, more than thirty pairs), it might seem odd to some that we love having our toesies exposed and our heels naked more than anything. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the person walking on the hot driveway in bare feet or meandering through a public park shoeless. It’s when I’m at home, where I am most comfortable and familiar with all the foot hazards, that I want to expose my naked feet and let them breathe.
I didn’t inherit this desire to barefoot at home. My parents both appreciate a decent pair of slippers (which makes it easy for me to shop for them on special occasions!). But, for me, slippers have only ever been an option if my feet were cold. And we own a thermostat for that little problem.
When we moved into our empty-nesters’ condo, I discovered that a huge sacrifice had to be made in order to live comfortably in my new home. The floor, made of engineered wood, laid on a pad of concrete, didn’t provide any ‘give’, and I began to feel an unwelcome roommate slowly moving her things in – hip pain. Attributing my discomfort to the hard floors, I went in search of something that would cushion my feet but still allow them many of the benefits of barefooting.
I found such a thing in a certain name-brand open-toed sandal. It was the best of both worlds, and, when I slipped them on for the first time, I felt like I was walking on a cloud – quite fitting for living on the twenty-first floor of our high rise.
I wore them constantly for a year – my new version of barefooting – before I felt maybe their structure’s integrity might have been compromised by their overuse. After all, even when I got up for my three-a.m. pee, I slipped my feet into my little friends!
So, I went on a mission to acquire a new pair. I just wanted a brand-new version of the exact pair of cozy sandals I currently owned. This wouldn’t be like the first shopping experience. I already knew exactly what I wanted.
Shopping during a pandemic, in a city where shoe stores are only operating through curbside pick-up or mail delivery, if at all, had me looking up my sweet babies online at a familiar deliver-the-next-day-please webstore. As a repeat customer (as in, I should own stock in the company), I recognized that when you search for a specific item, the search results will include other suggestions similar to the specific product I’m looking for. Even though I type in the exact brand and model name, other items will appear on my screen as options for purchase. But I wasn’t interested in buying something SIMILAR; I wanted the REAL THING – the ‘tried and true’.
I found what appeared to be the exact pair and was slightly disappointed that it was only available in the same color as the ones I currently owned. Changing the color wouldn’t sacrifice comfort and would seem more like getting something new. I was delighted to see, however, that the price was fifteen dollars less than the regular cost of my shoes everywhere else, but I wasn’t overly surprised, since the prices on this site are often a little better than in other stores.
I ordered them in one click, since my credit card information has been conveniently stored in their cybervault of payment options. All I had to do was wait. Unfortunately, this item had a longer than normal expected delivery time, and it looked like I might be waiting a few weeks. But it would be worth it, and my old shoes hadn’t fallen apart or anything. I’d be okay for the wait time.
When I received the box at my door, earlier than I expected, I was excited to tuck my toesies into the new pair. I wasn’t surprised to see that they were identical in appearance. That’s what I ordered – a duplicate. I laid the four shoes on the floor together and took a photo with my phone. I had to tell a friend that my new lovelies were finally here!
After sending my text, I finally slipped my feet in and took a few steps. Wait a minute! They didn’t feel right. On closer inspection, the texture of the foot pad was different; grainier and more plasticky than rubbery. They also seemed looser, even though I’d ordered the same size.
I modeled them for my husband, commenting on these changes. Why would the company do anything different in the construction of a perfect shoe?
He noticed it before I did, because he didn’t have the same emotional bond with my shoes – a feeling that blinded me to deception. The name brand stamped into the new shoes (in exactly the same spot as the originals) was not the same. I had been duped!
I checked the box they came in, with disbelief replacing my excitement. This foreign brand name was plastered all over the shoebox, loud and proud, and I had not even seen it.
These imposters would never do! I had received a knock-off of the original, with inferior quality and substandard comfort. They would be returned immediately, and, unfortunately, at my own expense.
When I checked my order online, still in disbelief that I had been deceived in this way, I discovered that the name brand had been advertised, but appeared only once in the entire description and was written in a tiny font. The ad was purposely created to draw in customers shopping for the real thing and maybe, just maybe, they’d settle for the knock-off, saving a few dollars in the process, and avoiding the hassle and expense of returning them.
Not this barefooter.
So many people settle for the knock-off life. They are happy with the cheap version. It appears from the outside that they are content; that their life is good.
The original, name-brand version is the life that God intended for His creation: one that involves a close relationship with Him, our Creator. He offers this to us all, with no deception in his ad. But people often regard this wonderful product as not being worth the hassle and the expense involved of trading in their knock-off. This comes from the notion that the life of a true believer is restrictive – that they will have to give up their freedom.
Living in relationship with God, however, cannot compare with the knock-off. These people have been deceived into thinking they got a good deal. Walking in those knock-offs, the pain may not show up right away, but it will come. Their feet (and hips) aren’t getting the proper support and cushion from the hard floor. Eventually, they will suffer for their choice.
Freedom is one of those concepts that can be looked at in different ways. During our pandemic, there are people who refuse to wear masks or follow safety protocols because they feel the government is trying to take away their freedom. This is an extreme view and puts many lives in danger, in addition to their own.
The majority of people want the freedom to live their lives following their emotions – they want to do what feels good in the moment. Sometimes that attitude doesn’t consider the consequences in the long term, and sometimes these are weighed and considered worth it. They value the freedom to say what they want and do what they want, within the boundaries of acting legally, and, for the most part, responsibly, as a citizen of a civil society.
Freedom to a believer means something different. We live with Christ in our hearts. We pass our worries over to Him – we have somewhere to go when life gets hard; Someone who is able and ready to help. We know that in the long run, our name-brand shoes will give us the support our body needs – they are well worth the expense and hassle.
And, let’s not forget, that I’m walking to Heaven in these shoes. God has promised eternal life in Heaven to those who walk with Him. I have a moral compass in His Word, the Bible, that helps me see how God intended me to live, and I don’t feel restricted in any way.
If you think the world’s idea of freedom brings happiness, you have been deceived by a knock-off. We were created in His image. That means God knows what is best for us, and we will never be truly happy until our lives are tuned into His will. He loves us and cares for us. The shoes He offers are top-of-the-line. You should slip your toesies in and give them a try!
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As my Kindergarten students looked for signs of spring one day, we were delighted to see a beautiful moth flying just outside the fence.
Shouts of “Butterfly! Butterfly!” had everyone running to see for themselves.
They had no idea it was not a butterfly, but in fact a moth. To my students, it made no difference. They didn’t have preconceived notions about these insects. Adults, however, think of butterflies as beautiful, flower-pollinators and moths as annoyances around their porch lights or clothing-destroyers in their closets. Their experience and frame of reference differs from that of children.
The innocence of most young children is refreshing, isn’t it? Their smiles are genuine, and their tears are spontaneous and pain-releasing.
In Matthew 18:3, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven.” What do you think He meant by that?
There is a story in Luke 19 of a man who acted like a child in his pursuit of Jesus. Allow me to retell it here.
The famous teacher’s name echoed throughout the city as the news spread around town: Jesus was on his way to Jericho. Not only was this man known for his miraculous healings and exorcisms, but word was that he hung out with people like me. I had to see this guy.
I clearly wasn’t the only one feeling this way. The town square buzzed with activity as men, women and children all came out of their homes to see for themselves what all the talk was about.
Crowds were never pleasant for me. I could feel the hatred in people’s eyes as they looked down on me. Some even spat at me, which made me quite spry over the years, as I had to move quickly to avoid this outward sign of their revulsion. Children pointed and stared, laughing at my stature. It wasn’t often they saw a full-grown man standing at eye-level with them.
The adult’s loathing I had earned, I suppose. Everyone despised tax collectors, and I was the chief. While my parents had named me “pure one”, I was anything but pure. I was known for tax farming as well as the rest. But wealth was all I had. Always the shortest kid, teased mercilessly, I watched all the other boys grow to the same height as their fathers, while I remained shorter than my mother. There was just a little vengeance in my overcharging. They owed me for the misery they caused.
The children weren’t paying me any attention that day, however. They were too excited. People said this Jesus welcomed children into his arms too. Other Jewish teachers and leaders looked down on children much the same as they looked down on me.
Who was this man?
I’d watched a boy scramble up the trunk of a tree and shimmy onto a branch for a better view of the path the teacher was likely to take. Genius! Looking more closely at the trees, I realized he wasn’t the only one who had thought of this.
Could I? Even standing on my toes didn’t help me see over the shoulders of those in front of me. I remember thinking I’d look ridiculous, clambering up there like a child, but I might be able to see, and I was well beyond caring what people thought of me.
I spied another large branch on the sycamore where the boy sat, and I ascended, priding myself in matching the young man’s limber climb. I winked at him when he looked over at me. Yes, this would do quite nicely. My view of the city gate was unobstructed from my perch. I would see Jesus for myself!
My heart pounded, but it wasn’t from the climb. All of a sudden, I realized I didn’t just want to SEE Jesus; I wanted to MEET him. I knew in my heart that he could change my life forever.
And Zacchaeus did meet Him. Jesus not only saw him and called him by name, He rewarded his childlike faith and uncaring attitude about what others thought of him and invited Himself to Zacchaeus’ house. This tax collector would never be the same again.
We might not be climbing trees like children, but Jesus will still reward us for pursuing Him like children. Trusting, forgiving, loving, honest, repentant; full of dreams and fervor for life; full of joy and childlike faith — those are the people who will enter heaven. Oh, to be like a little child!
Which of these challenges you? Ask God to help you in that area.
Thank You, Father, for making me new when I invited You into my heart. I became Your child – Your daughter – as I started over in my new life. Give me childlike faith and enable me to glorify You with courage and unapologetic fervor. Help me to love, trust, and forgive like a child. Thank You for loving me.
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I took a deep breath, as instructed, and let it out slowly. Before I had puffed out the last of the air, the sharp-tipped needle had punctured my arm, gone in, released its antibodies, and retreated.
It was over. The first concrete step toward my protection against the coronavirus had been taken. After a fifteen-minute rest, I walked out of there a healthier version of myself to face a future that was less likely to involve a COVID-19 infection.
I was one step closer to hugging my grown sons; returning to work in person; eating in a restaurant; watching a movie in a theatre; going to church in person; working out in a gym; and hanging out with friends, playing games and singing karaoke-style. There was so much to gain from accepting this vaccine. It came with the promise of a better life.
Yet, minutes later, I sat socially-distanced with a new friend, thirty years my senior, who admitted she was not so ready to be vaccinated. Fear of the unknown prevented her from jumping at this opportunity, despite her risk of infection being higher because of her age. She wondered what side effects might we be unaware of. She admitted to comfort in her solitude (although she did seem to enjoy my company).
Personally, I’d rather live with an extra limb or a neon green nose than die from an illness I could have prevented.
This cautious rejection of a life-saving measure shouldn’t surprise us, however. Humanity has had a vaccine against the sin virus for thousands of years. Yet, so many people refuse to take it.
Is it fear? Fear of being different? Fear of standing out from the crowd; being called a fanatic? People are comfortable living in their restricted life of sin. They don’t acknowledge that God’s companionship is desirable. They are content to do life alone.
I took that first sin-shot many years ago, as a little girl actually, but, for some reason, I waited to take the booster — the important follow-up measure to ensure the greatest protection. I was comfortable with a partial immunity. But is there any such thing as being partially protected from a virus? Is there still not a significant danger of losing against a viral attack? I could still die because of my neglect to become fully vaccinated.
Jesus is the antidote to sin. When I invited Him into my heart, I received the first dose of soul-protection. The booster shot is my willingness to let God take full control of my life — to submit everything to Him. This actually requires daily check-ups with my Vaccine-Giver. I need regular boosters to ensure my heart is healthy and free from the sin-virus.
Thank you, Jesus, for your vaccine against the effects of sin. I repent of all my wrongdoings — for my life of selfishness. I submit my will to You. Lead me into freedom and eternal life with You.
Have you had your shot? You don’t need to book an appointment or even leave your home. The Great Doctor does house calls and guarantees, with regular boosters, you will not die in your sin. He eradicates the sin virus and brings us life. You don’t need to go through this journey alone. Let God take control.
While we sat in our car as we traveled, the vehicle’s engine slept; the forward motion accredited to the marine vessel it rested on. But, unlike other weekly sea voyages home from the mainland, the motion was less ‘forward’ this time than up and down and side to side. The forward progress was more difficult to measure with the estimated time of arrival in the ship’s log likely reading “Undetermined” or possibly “Never”. The journey might yet be aborted due to sinking. I clenched my jaw hard enough to make my ears pop as I imagined the captain shaking his fountain pen and scribbling with one hand while clinging to the steering wheel with the other.
When my mother turned to speak to me from the front seat, her eyes grew wide and her planned words faded off her tongue. “Valda, are you okay? You’re actually turning green!” She looked at my father in the driver’s seat beside her. “We need to get out of the car!”
We’d never left the car during our ninety-minute ferry ride, unless one of us had to use the washroom facilities. There was seating, of course, inside the ship and a deck up top where we could suck in the briny air, if our heads didn’t blow off in the gale-force winds. Most travelers, though, unless they were on foot, preferred to stay in their cars for the duration of the trip.
But not today. As I looked around the deck, I realized that most of the cars had been abandoned; their passengers having sought shelter inside the rocking vessel.
“Rocking” is too mild an adjective. Rocking suggests comfort and sleep-luring. “Heaving” might be more appropriate in this case. As the boat rolled into the bottom of each monstrous swell, the opposite side of its car deck, along with my family of five cowering there, rose up into the air so that we eyeballed the wave over the railing of the ship’s dipping side. Yes, heaving is the more appropriate description.
Boxes, crates and bags of groceries, which typically remained undisturbed during the journey, crashed from the cargo area and slid across the deck, which I noted was slippery with ocean water. Our path to relative safety was now a slick, treacherous tight rope over a world in continuous motion.
My father received Mom’s suggestion from the same vantage point as myself. “I think it’s safer to stay where we are,” he said.
The interior of our car slipped into an eerie silence. My family was never silent. We riveted our eyes on the show outside: a fight between nature and human invention. We each prayed for the human win.
Another wave crashed over the rail and washed the deck. I now understood why the crew took the extra time to chain our car to the deck after we boarded today. I tightened my fists as I watched the foam mix with broken eggs; my palms burning with the indents of my nails, which, incidentally, needed clipping.
I don’t remember how long the journey took. I don’t remember driving onto the pier to the motionless safety of our island home. I was ten years old, and this occurred many moons ago. What I do remember, however, is the fear. I hadn’t been sure we were going to make it to the other side. Not one person on that ferry had control over the raging storm. We’d hoped that the captain and his crew had experience navigating through such conditions, but they’d been as helpless as me to calm the waves.
I revisited this memory this week when I read a similar story in the book of Mark. I apologize to my Instagram followers if some of the content below sounds familiar.
Jesus’ disciples found themselves in a boat on a stormy sea one day; likely a much smaller vessel than the one I’d been on. They weren’t going far. But the storm that roared in caused the same intense fear in the boat’s passengers. The waves tossed them around, and they were terrified that they were going to die.
But there was one huge difference in our experiences: they had Someone in the boat with them who was capable of calming the storm. When they frantically looked around for His help, however, they discovered their possible Savior sleeping like a baby, His head resting on a pillow! How could a man ever have so much peace that He could sleep while His life was in mortal danger?
Not only was the raging sea, the pitching boat, the screaming passengers, and the booming thunder an unfavorable environment for a good sleep, but Jesus should have had a lot on His mind that day preventing such rest. Religious and political leaders plotted to kill Him; His family thought He was crazy; the crowds of people just wanted His healing powers; the guys He chose as disciples were a doubting, questioning lot; and, being the Son of God, He knew His destiny – He knew He would soon be crucified! And, yet, He slept. I can imagine how wide the disciples’ eyes must have grown with shock to find him that way when it seemed they were facing certain death by drowning.
The disciples had seen Him do many miracles. Calming a storm wouldn’t be much different for the Messiah. But because Jesus wasn’t alert and responding, they had little faith. They had trouble believing in the power of a sleeping Savior.
What about you? How strong is your faith when Jesus is quiet; when it seems like He’s sleeping? You pray and pray, and nothing happens.
God wants us to trust Him at all times, even when the seas of life toss us around, and we feel like we are at their mercy. He wants us to understand that He’s got things under control.
Even when we can’t see Him working.
Even in a pandemic.
Father, may my faith in You not be based on my human understanding. I know you are in control of all my ragingseas. Speak the word and calm my fears. I trust in You.
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Every time my husband opens the fridge door, a scent wafts through the air across my nose, reminding me that it was my intention to clean the refrigerator this week. As my Spring Break draws to a close, I don’t want the regret of not accomplishing this task. Oh, and let’s not forget the room I skipped while dusting the other day. Open windows plus street sweepers equals WORK! It’s the room that has the most shelves and effective dust-catchers – maybe that’s why I left it out of my efforts?!
We often make a list of things we wish to do when we have a block of time given to us, such as my one-week break from teaching. Sometimes the list is mental; sometimes it becomes more permanent in ink or as a note in our phones. If the time passes, and we return to work without our to-dos being done, we often feel regret. We question why we “wasted” our time.
Health professionals will tell us that resting and relaxing are not a waste of time, but a necessary component of staying healthy. But after 14 months of relaxing, maybe it’s time to consider doing something productive!
We can look at this latest tightening of lockdown restrictions in Ontario as a huge interruption to our lives, or we can see it as an opportunity. When the pandemic started over a year ago, you may have made a list of things you’d like to start or finish; projects you had in mind. Creatives have been working overtime: books have been written; songs have been recorded; videos made; blogs and podcasts started.
In his Enduring Word commentary, David Guzik writes:
“Each of us has a place in the service of God’s eternal plan. Knowing this and working towards it is a great guard against losing heart in the midst of tribulation.”
Paul wrote the letters of Ephesians, Colossians, Philippians and Philemon while in prison, all important books included in our Bible. We can view this pandemic as a tribulation – which it certainly is – or we can view it as time given to us to get some stuff done!
I’m sure you can make a list of chores very quickly, if you haven’t already. But when the Bible talks about service, it is usually talking about showing our love to other people. How can you serve others in the coming weeks of lockdown? Is there a friend who could use an encouraging message? Someone who lives alone who’d love to connect via video chat? A neighbor in quarantine who would appreciate a grocery delivery? Is there a book burning on your mind waiting to be written that would encourage its readers?
Now is the time! The end is in sight. Vaccines are being administered daily and our turn is coming. Don’t come out of this pandemic with regrets.
Lord, help us achieve balance in our lives. Help us to recognize that there’s a time for everything. Guide us in using some of those minutes to love and serve others.
I clung to Mary Magdalene, as we both shook with fear. The earth was trembling beneath our feet again, made scarier by the early hour. Neither of us had slept much in the past two nights, our hearts broken with Jesus’ death, so we agreed to visit the tomb together even as the sun was just peeking over the hillside.
The last time the earth shook like this, not only did it signal Jesus’ final breath, but with it came miraculous events – the temple curtain had ripped in half and many of our dead had risen from their graves! Even as we mourned our Teacher’s passing, we rejoiced to see dear friends who had followed him, whom we had mourned, now walking and talking as if they’d never died. It still baffled us why God would value their lives more than that of his own son.
As the tremors ended, the entrance area, where Roman guards stood next to the large stone, lit up with a brilliant light. We shielded our eyes with our hands at the sudden radiance. Mary gave a little cry beside me as we saw that the light gleamed out of a man-like figure standing in front of us. He was dressed in white from head to toe, and it was his face that glowed like a flash of lightning.
My jaw dropped, as we stood paralyzed with fear, and watched him roll away the huge stone as if it were nothing. He then nimbly hopped up to sit on it. It was I who gasped this time as I watched the guards fall to the ground, one by one. Had they died? Would we be next? I gripped Mary’s arm so hard, I knew she’d have bruises there if we survived this. I could feel her trembling, but I couldn’t look away from the mystical creature that sat before us.
When he spoke, his voice flowed into my soul and I instantly felt lighter; the pain of loss that I’d carried for two days lifted and I listened with anticipation, already expecting good news. This was about Jesus. In my heart I had known this couldn’t be the end.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Despite the shaking earth, the possibly-dead guards, and the appearance of this supernatural man sitting before us, my spirit obeyed, and I was no longer afraid. Peace flowed into my being, and I leaned in to hear his next words even though his voice was loud and strong.
“I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.”
We both nodded, our voices unable to make sound.
The angel, for that is what he must be, gestured to the open doorway to the tomb with his arm. “He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen.”
Mary and I looked at each other then, our hearts pounding in our chests, not from fear but excitement. Jesus was alive?
The angel jumped down from his perch on the rock. “Come, see where his body was lying.”
We forced our feet into action and ran to the entrance. Empty – it was empty! There was no smell of death, no body wrapped in cloth. But we had watched Joseph lay him there! Where was he? How could this be?
Too scared to ask the glowing creature standing behind us, his grin from ear to shining ear, I looked at my companion. “Where is he?” I hissed.
Mary shrugged and turned toward the stranger, taking me with her.
He spoke again, with authority. “Now, go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and he is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there.”
As the the edges of his body seemed to shimmer and become transparent, he said, “Remember what I have told you.” And then he was gone.
Mary’s fingernails were now boring into my arm as she tried to order words into a sentence, but they came tumbling out in a heap. Words like: Jesus. Gone. Empty. The tomb. Questions including: What? How? Where?
“We have to tell the others!” I cried. “They will never believe it, but we have to tell them – Jesus is alive!”
We joined hands and danced, leaping in the air with energy we shouldn’t have had after two sleepless nights.
“Come on!” Mary laughed, “We have to tell everyone!”
Then her face grew serious, as she looked to the rock where God’s messenger had sat, also noticing the guards rising slowly, fear and anger written on their faces.
“Trouble is not finished here. We mustn’t delay sharing this amazing news!”
We hurried off to the shouts of the guards, demanding we return with an explanation. Our hearts pounded as we pushed our legs to run as fast as we could.
When we had put some distance between us and the tomb, we stopped to catch our breath. The guards had not pursued us.
Bent over as I was, the first glimpse of him I saw was his feet. They still bore the wounds from the nails that had secured him to the cross. My increased heartbeat was no longer due to exertion. I stood up so suddenly, I swayed.
“Jesus?”
Mary’s head snapped up.
“Don’t be afraid!” he said, his warm familiar smile in place.
We both fell at his feet and worshiped him. The Messiah was alive and he was there! There in front of us!
After a few minutes of fellowship, Jesus repeated the angel’s message to us, “Go tell my brothers to leave for Galilee, and they will see me there.”
“We will, Lord!” we both said at once, then looked at each other and laughed. But when we looked around, Jesus was gone.
We ran laughing and crying with joy toward town. God chose us! We saw Jesus first, and he chose us to be his messengers! Praise be to God; Jesus is risen!
As we read the accounts of Jesus’s death and resurrection in the four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, we read different details in each one. This retelling is specifically based on the story told in Matthew 28. Were there more women present? Was Mary Magdalene actually alone? If we get hung up on these questions, we miss the main point of the story:
Jesus is risen!
God’s plan of salvation was complete. Jesus died as a punishment for our sins and then He rose again to give us life. When we ask Him to become the Lord of our lives, repenting of all our wrongdoings and selfish behavior, we become children of God – part of His family.
The Easter story is the pinnacle of our faith. We now have meaning and purpose in our lives. We have a personal relationship with a God who loves us and cares about everything we care about. We have hope for our future – eternal life with Him!
I thank You, Father, that Jesus’ resurrection brings us life. Move into my heart and resurrect it with a new awakening of Your love! Thank You for being the Way, the Truth, and the Life! Praise be to God; Jesus is risen!
If you haven’t given your heart to Jesus, what better time than on Easter! He’s ready to welcome you into the family.
Happy Easter, friends!
Val’s Stage Update
Two posts in one weekend! It is a special weekend indeed. For those of you who follow my blog, I’d like to let you know that I’ve made the decision to make Val’s Stage a bi-weekly blog, instead of weekly. The manuscript I have been working on for the last couple of years is in its final stage of editing and needs more of my attention! So, I’ll be here with a new post in two weeks!
If you haven’t taken advantage of my free audio prayer/meditation series, you will find the information on my Home page.
I had no tears left. The Messiah hung on a cross, broken and bleeding; hardly different in appearance from the two criminals hanging on either side of him. Except Jesus wore that horrific crown made from thorns, a reminder of the treatment he received before they nailed him there. They mocked him, spit on him, whipped him; and that was only what I witnessed with my own eyes. Father God only knows what they did behind closed doors. Angry shouts, jeering voices, and despairing cries filled the air.
But at noon, night fell, as if someone had snatched the sun out of the sky. At a time of day when it was normally shining its brightest, giving off the most heat, the sun had disappeared completely, leaving us in a blackness that felt thick and heavy. An eerie silence overtook the crowd, and Mary Magdalene and I linked hands as we moved closer to each other. As the exclaims and cries of surprise at the unexplainable darkness faded, we stood quietly facing the gruesome scene, our eyes adjusting to the inky gloom.
Standing with us were those who mocked him and wanted to see the end; those who loved him and wished to support him during his wrongful death; and those who were curious, who had heard of this Jesus of Nazareth, but had not come to know him like Mary and I. Our tears silently washed our faces in the darkness. We knew who he was. We loved him.
My feet and legs ached from standing for hours, but I would not sit down. Jesus deserved my respect and adoration right to the end. His love had changed my life and the lives of so many who stood with me. I only had to look into the eyes of the woman grasping my hand to see a soul that had been rescued from the brink of Hell, saved from the torture of demons inhabiting her body. How could they do this to a man who did nothing but love others and heal their minds and bodies? Fresh tears filled my eyes once more as I reflected on his goodness and gentleness, not only towards me and my friends, but to everybody that he met. The poor, the sick, the broken; he touched them all. And now we stood, shoulder to shoulder, a vigil like no other; the darkness an appropriate backdrop.
A ripple of murmuring stirred me from my reverie. Jesus had lifted his head. His voice echoed across the valley, cutting through the inky air.
“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
My heart broke at that moment. How he must have felt, hanging there as the life drained out of him, compounded now with his own Father’s refusal to intervene. God could have stopped this. If everything Jesus had told us was true, saving his son from this horrible death would be easy. He is a God of miracles, all-powerful. Why did he turn his back on Jesus now?
Voices called out from the crowd as they too questioned what was happening. Some misunderstood his words completely and wondered why he was calling out to the prophet Elijah. The mockers took up their cry again, jeering at him that even his own father had left him to die. And those of us who loved him mourned with groans and cries of agony, reflecting his pain.
Someone offered him a drink of wine from a sponge at the end of a reed. After a quick sip, he raised his head again, quieting the crowd with another shout.
There was a huge rumbling and loud cracking sounds as though rocks were splitting apart, and the earth beneath our feet began to shake, screams filling the air as the onlookers tried to keep their balance, fear overtaking them. As we tried to make sense of what was happening, shouts from those standing closer to the crosses confirmed that Jesus was dead.
Soon, small groups of people broke off from the crowd and began making their way back to their homes or businesses. But one of the temple boys parted them as he raced towards the group of priests still standing off to one side, shouting, “The curtain! The curtain! It ripped all by itself! It ripped right down the middle, from top to bottom!”
The crowd was still spreading this news about the temple’s heavy veil, when another young lad appeared with an incredible story of dead bodies rising from their graves and returning to the city. Fear and wonder rippled in waves through the congregation.
“This man truly was the Son of God!”
I craned my neck and squinted into the darkness to see who had shouted this. To my surprise, it was one of the Roman officers. It was a declaration that came much too late. Jesus was dead.
Mary and I stayed and watched everything as one of the soldiers stabbed Jesus in the side to be sure he was gone, and a group of them removed his body from the cross. After a man named Joseph got permission to bury him, we watched him wrap Jesus’ body and place it in a cave; a new tomb he likely had for his family. We didn’t leave until a group of men rolled a huge stone in front of the opening. We wondered at the reason for this; possibly to keep animals from going in to desecrate the remains?
Tomorrow was the Sabbath. It would be another day of mourning. The world had just lost a great man. The Messiah had come and now the Messiah was dead. We went home with heavy hearts.
The day after Good Friday, before Easter Sunday, is often called Waiting Saturday. As I retell the story of Jesus’ death from my imagined perspective of Mary, mother of James and Joseph, I recognize that Jesus’ followers hadn’t understood any of the references he had made to his resurrection. In their minds, he was dead, and all hope was lost. They may have begun to question if he was actually the Messiah. This was not the ending they were expecting. Their mourning would not have just been for a man they loved. They mourned for humanity; for the loss of one who was supposed to save the world. He now lay lifeless in a tomb.
The darkness may have fallen on the day Jesus died, but the following day would have seemed even darker for his followers. Their leader was dead.
But this is not the end of the story, my friends. Let’s pick up here tomorrow!
Thank You, Jesus, for going through with Your Father’s plan; for suffering a terrible death as a human so that I would not have to pay for my own sins this way. Your love is overwhelming. Father, Your sacrifice showed immeasurable grace and mercy for Your creation. Thank You for offering us this way out, this doorway to forgiveness, and a stairway to Heaven. We wait today, not with sadness, but with expectation, because we know how this story ends. May God be praised.
Clover barked and barked, voicing her worry and distress. Her owner, Haley who had just been walking beside her on their morning stroll, lay on the ground unresponsive, her body shaking with spasms. Something was very wrong.
After a few seconds, recognizing her calls were not reviving Haley, Clover looked to the street for help. A car drove by without noticing the woman lying on the snowbank, without hearing Clover’s pleas, without stopping. She wouldn’t let that happen again.
She pulled hard on her leash, tugging until it released from her owner’s hand. What she was about to do would be dangerous, but getting help for Haley was her sole mission. The lady on the ground had rescued Clover by giving her a loving home, now it was Clover’s turn to rescue her.
She walked into the middle of the road and squared off like a cowboy in a gunfight in one of the old westerns she watched with Haley. A truck turned onto the street and barreled toward her. She stood firm and barked a SOS at the driver. She wagged her tail with hope as the man slowed his vehicle and rolled to a stop in front of her.
The driver jumped out and ran to the nearest house, ringing the bell and pounding on the door. When no one answered, he went to Haley and turned her over and fixed her body in a more comfortable pose, staying with her.
Meanwhile, Clover searched for more Good Samaritans who could help. She barked another distress signal to a woman walking down the sidewalk.
The lady hurried over and called for medical assistance on her phone.
Clover returned to her master’s side and waited for the big vehicle with flashing lights to arrive. She had done her best. It was what Haley deserved.
Many of you know that this story is not fictional. This incident happened here in Ottawa this week, with the dog Clover being lauded as a hero in local news. It’s a heartwarming story of dedication and love.
Last Saturday my husband and I drove to a nearby town with our youngest son to pick up a puppy of his own. We fell in love with Charlie instantly. A beautiful Cavalier King Charles, his black and brown fur gleamed and his eyes reflected trust.
A bond of love grew so quickly between my son and Charlie that when I dropped by to visit a couple days later, Charlie greeted me with growls and barks. He stood in front of my son’s legs and glared at me, ready to protect his new owner if necessary. While Glam-Ma’s feelings were a little hurt that he didn’t remember me, it was touching to see his devotion to my son.
Man’s best friend.
When you marry, you create a union with your best friend as well. In an unforgettable book written many years ago by Danielle Steele called No Greater Love, a wife shows her love for her husband in the most sacrificial way. In this fictional recount of the Titanic story, a mother watches her six children climb into one of the few lifeboats as she makes the choice to stay with her husband who is not allowed to board. Women and children only were invited. She held on to the man she had claimed to love till death parted them, knowing that they would actually die together. This was the ultimate symbol of her devotion and love for him.
With so many good reads out there, I don’t often take the time to reread a book, but this one draws me back in, time and time again. This woman grew each of those babies inside her body for nine months. They were part of her. They were her blood. Yet, she chose to stand with her man, leaving her sixteen-year-old daughter to care for her five siblings. As I read about the struggles of those children surviving without their parents, I can’t help but feel that this is not a story about a great love, but a story of abandonment. How could a mother do that? It’s one of those books that brings out an emotional response from the reader, despite knowing it is a work of fiction.
As daughters of God, we recognize that the greatest love of all was not shown by a devoted animal or a dedicated spouse, but by the Father Himself. God showed the most sacrificial love for mankind when He send His son Jesus to die on a cross to redeem us from our sin. Just like I would never knowingly watch my children float away into an unknown future as orphans, I would never willingly give up one of their lives to save anyone else. Does that mean that God loved His son less than I love mine? No, it shows that His love truly is the greatest. He loves us that much.
If you feel an emptiness in your life, like something is missing, God’s love can fill that void. He invites you to accept His offer of devotion and protection. Of love.
He promises to never abandon us.
There truly is no greater love.
Thank you, Father, for loving the world; for loving me. Thank You for my free gift of salvation which was far from free for You to provide. Help me to never forget the sacrifice You made as you watched Your son die. Thank You, Jesus, for going through the pain and suffering of death on a cross to take away my sins. I will forever adore and praise You.
We woke to feel the earth trembling and to hear the sound of hundreds of pounding animal feet and raised animal voices.
The flesh rose on my arms as we stood in the door of the tent and saw the procession of animals walking two-by-two, as if led by an invisible hand toward the ark.
Noah squeezed my shoulder. “He says it’s time,” he whispered in my ear.
I had no idea how he heard anything over the ruckus outside, but again I had to trust him.
“We have seven days to get everyone inside.”
I turned and kissed his cheek. “We’d better get started then,” I said. If I ever doubted my husband’s message about the ark and God’s plan, this incredible sight in front of me wiped those thoughts from my mind.
For the next week we led animals into their rooms in the ark. Creatures that would eat me without a thought in the wild, walked docilely inside like house pets. And even though the door remained open at night, none of them left the boat.
Noah hardly slept that week as he continued to preach to those who’d gathered to watch the miraculous parade. But the people were just enjoying the show. They would never give up their free lifestyles to live like our family did.
“If you think I’d ever go inside that boat with that stench, even for a minute, Noah, you’re crazy!”
“Feeling any sky-water yet, Noah? What time is it supposed to start?”
Mocking comments echoed off the side of the ark. These were some of the kinder things said.
On Day 7, our family went into the boat as well. Noah gave a final plea on the ramp leading to the door. I squeezed his fingers as we walked inside hand-in-hand to the laughs and jeers.
The crowd went silent, however, when God Himself shut the door. They weren’t expecting that bit of magic in their show.
It was days later before we heard the sound of rain on the roof above us. “Forty days and forty nights,” Noah whispered. My husband was six hundred years old. A little over a month on a cruise ship didn’t sound so awful.
But when the animals were quieter a few evenings later, I swear I heard cries from outside the ark. Noah said it was impossible with the thickness of the lumber and the noise in the boat, but a few impossible things had already happened, hadn’t they. I covered my ears to block out the heart-wrenching sound.
Neither Noah or myself slept at all that first week as we thought about all the people we knew and didn’t know who were drowning outside of our ark. All of the innocent children who were dying because their parents wouldn’t repent; I cried for them until I had no more tears. Noah just held me, occasionally wiping his own cheeks.
“You tried to warn them,” I whispered. “They just wouldn’t listen.”
We set a routine inside the boat with everyone taking turns with the responsibilities. The animals had to be fed and their stalls cleaned out. We had to prepare food for ourselves as well. It was hard to ration since we didn’t know exactly how long we’d be in the ark, but our store of supplies never seemed to replete. There may have been some more miracles at work in the pantry.
One of our boys tracked the days with a mark for each on a wall. The forty days of rain passed quickly as we kept busy. But after the rain stopped hitting the roof, the marks continued filling the wall with no further communication from God. The days were long and monotonous. I longed to feel sunshine on my face.
According to the wall, we lived in the ark for five months before we felt a sudden jolt and lost the sensation of floating.
“Praise God. We’ve landed on something; likely a mountain peak,” Noah explained. “The waters must be receding.”
“At this rate, we’ll be here till we’re old and grey like you, Father,” Ham quipped.
Japheth pinched his arm hard enough for Ham to wince. “You want to get off the boat, Ham? We can make that happen,” his brother said. The close quarters were taking a toll on their humor.
“Patience, boys. Patience,” was all Noah said, as he turned to me with a smile. “It’s almost over.”
But Ham was right and Noah was wrong. It wasn’t almost over. We were in that boat much longer – for a year and ten days, in fact, and I did feel myself growing older and greyer.
Noah took the covering off the ark so we could at least see outside and feel the fresh air. He sent out several birds to scope the land. But even after the second dove did not return because it likely found a place to nest, we waited two more months.
Then finally the two words left Noah’s lips that we’d all been waiting for: “It’s time.”
We’d walked into the boat holding hands, so I held out mine to exit the same way. It felt glorious to feel the dry ground beneath our feet.
From our mountaintop, the view was spectacular with lush green forests and waterfalls. Noah dramatically hugged a rock as he thanked God for His mercies.
As the animals filed out of the ship in a similar calm manner as they’d entered, Noah insisted on building an altar there at the top of the mountain. Some of those clean animals and birds that we had brought were sacrificed to our Maker and Savior.
When he’d finished his ceremony, Noah got that gleam in his eye. I knew God had spoken to him again. Before he shared the message, though, Noah pointed to the sky. A magnificent colored arc with stripes of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple stretched across the horizon. A strange sense of calm filled my chest as I gazed at its beauty.
“God put that there for us. It’s a sign of his covenant with me and with all the future people on the earth.”
“Covenant? What do you mean?” I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even as I wanted to call the boys to come and see it.
Noah squeezed my shoulder. “God has promised that he will never destroy the world like this again. The colored bow will be a reminder of that covenant every time humans see it.”
I smiled. Yes, it made sense that God would make something so beautiful. And I liked the sound of that promise too. It gave me hope for this new start.
“If it’s up to our children to populate the earth, maybe the next generation will be more in tune with God. Hopefully He’ll never feel the need to destroy mankind again because people will be good, rather than evil.”
My husband didn’t answer, but I knew that standing next to me was one very good man who would live out his days serving God, and I would be right by his side for as long as we both lived.
Then God said, “I am giving you a sign of my covenant with you and with all living creatures, for all generations to come. I have placed my rainbow in the clouds. It is the sign of my covenant with you and with all the earth. When I send clouds over the earth, the rainbow will appear in the clouds, and I will remember my covenant with you and with all living creatures. Never again will the floodwaters destroy all life.”
genesis 9:12-15
This week in my Kindergarten class we explored rainbows as part of a spring week that included St. Patrick’s Day and its myths about an elusive pot of gold at the end of such an arc. Did you know that a rainbow is actually a full circle? We see it as an arc because of the horizon in our sight. We only see a part of the whole glorious phenomena. While this discovery kills the dream of ever finding that pot of gold, there is treasure to be found in rainbows.
A rainbow is a physical sign of God’s promise that He’ll never destroy the earth and its people again with a flood. But when we see that beautiful bow, we can remember so much more.
God’s Word, the Bible, is a story of love. From cover to cover, it tells how God created the earth and its inhabitants and how He loves them. It is filled with promises He has made to His people – to us. Here are just a few: a promise of salvation; a promise of His presence in our lives; a promise of His help; and a promise that He is committed to us – He will never abandon us.
We can’t see the full rainbow, but God does. Just like we can never see the full picture of the challenging events in our lives. But God sees those too.
Are you going through a challenging time right now? He knows how the situation will be resolved; how the experience will impact your life; and he knows the emotions you feel as you navigate through it. He invites you to trust Him. Put your faith in Him like Noah and his wife. Trust Him when it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.
We can turn our back on God and get angry with Him when we don’t understand why certain things happen. But God will never turn His back on us. He waits patiently for us to turn around and run into His arms.
Let your Father take care of things.
In His time.
He sees the full circle.
Lord, when I see a rainbow, help me to remember Your promises. In the lens of the earth as a whole, I feel so insignificant, but Your Word says that You see me; that You care about me. Thank You for salvation. Thank You for being my comfort and shield. You’ve got this.
I hope you enjoyed the fictionalized account of Noah and the ark, as told by his wife. I have taken liberties with the story to make it a relatable and interesting read, so forgive my divergences from the original script. In the manuscript I am working on called “You’re the Star: Step into the Spotlight, Daughter of God”, I retell the stories this way of nine women in the Bible who exemplify traits that God wants us to live out as well. For Noah’s wife, it was patience. From the first day that her husband announced what seemed like a fantastical instruction from God to build a boat where there was no water, to finally getting off the ark, she showed a lot of patience as she stood by his side. Stay tuned for more tidbits from my book as I continue my journey toward publishing it.
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Val's Stage 