We watched the days leading up to the resurrection of Jesus acted out this year. We started in the high school with the Last Supper, then went to a city park for the Garden of Gethsemane. The next night we went to the steps of the courthouse for the trial of Jesus; then followed him carrying his cross up the hill toward the crucifixion, which was in a parking lot by the library. We watched them carry his body and lay it in a tomb in a nearby church parking lot, and on Sunday morning we watched the resurrection and ascension.
It really did make the events come alive, walking from place to place, with days in between scenes.
I missed the trial because a boy needed a rest stop. I didn't mind. I didn't want to see him beaten. We showed up at the crucifixion and found a spot near the back. It wasn't a very good view, and again I was glad.
I could not have endured what Jesus did for me. We were talking in the van with our boys later, and I mentioned that I never could have done that, and Zac says, "You could have done the Last Supper." Yes, I suppose I could have done that part.
While we were at the crucifixion, a heard a man nearby calling the police on his cellphone. He was reporting the scene. That's the reaction I would expect from the crowd. Why was the angry mob calling out "Crucify Him!" Why weren't they calling out for someone to stop this madness?
I didn't want to watch. How could this have happened?
"It is finished," He cried.
And my sin was nailed to the cross.
He was bruised for my iniquity.
By His strips I was healed.
They took him down, and my son says, "He's fine Mom. He got down."
Yes, isn't that the truth! He is fine! He got down! He is not on that cross anymore. He is not in that tomb anymore! Sunday morning, the earth shook, the stone rolled away and He is fine -- more than fine.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Breakpoint
Yesterday I failed.
On Saturday, after 6pm my husband asks if we wanted to sleep in our new house that night. We had been staying in the basement of the camp office, where Eric is working this summer, but now the camp had a house available for us a little farther down the road.
This is when I should have used my brain and said, "NO!" First of all it was Saturday evening and the next day was Sunday. We usually leave at 8am in the morning to get to church on time, so it's nice to have things organized the night before. Not only that but Saturday was Shiloh's birthday. We had just come back from town and had played at the park and visited the library, now we were going to roast hot dogs in our wood stove and then have Shiloh's cake and presents.
But unfortunately I am not smart sometimes. I have a horrible habit of under-estimating how long a project will take. This problem seems to be hereditary. My uncle says to compensate, when you plan a project, estimate the time it will take, then double it, then double it again.
So my husband thinks we can pack up the whole house and move it to our new place in an hour. I agreed to try. At least I had the common sense to say that we should roast the hot dogs first. But then after dinner we began loading things quickly into suitcases, boxes and bags.
When our former pastor and his family moved to a different state, his wife had said, "I just want to move without sinning." That can be a challenge.
Surprisingly it only took 2 hours, which is double what Eric estimated, but it could have been a lot worse. But we didn't unpack things or put things away, so there was mess everywhere.
We had Shiloh's cake and garage-sale presents, then the boys went to bed.
The next morning, I thought maybe I could get things cleaned up before church. There was no way. What a mess! I was digging around trying to find everything the boys needed for church. No one seemed to know where things were so I had to keep helping people. There wasn't time for Eric or I to eat. At least my husband had the foresight to say we should just go to the service instead of classes an hour earlier.
On the way to church everything just seemed to hit me all at once. I don't know why. Looking back I can't see what was so bad. Sure the house was a mess, but that happens and then we clean it up. It would get cleaned up some day. I think it was just one disappointment after another. And those disappointments drawing me to focus on other issues that were troubling me.
Eric tells the story of his mother crying over spilled milk when he was a boy. Although he didn't understand as a boy, it wasn't the milk. It was what that represented to her. It was like that on Sunday.
On Saturday I wanted to get a library card because we love the library, but unfortunately we can't because this is a temporary residence. I should have know. Then we wanted to find a couple things at thrift stores for the house, but of course we couldn't find them. Then I wanted to get groceries while in town, but we didn't have time because it was Shiloh's birthday and we wanted to get home. People were meeting that evening for singing and snacks near our home in Wamic, but we took too long in town and couldn't go.
So I think it was a combination of feeling broke, alone, and out of control. Not going to people's house for singing again, (this was the second time we had to skip) made me feel like it was hopeless trying to make friends. The church we were going to was so far and it seemed when people that are closer got together we couldn't go. The presents and the groceries just reminded me that we didn't have much money. The mess and the boys just made me feel out of control.
On the way I kept spouting all these evil thoughts. Eric told me that he really thought I should just stop talking. I told him that we don't get everything we want. We stood in church beside each other, mostly staring at the music screen. I think Eric's arms were crossed the whole time.
And I looked at the words we were suppose to be singing...
I looked at the words, but didn't sing, because I was wondering...
Where is my strength to face this day? Are my fears washed away? And did I really want God to have his way with me? Was I welcoming him in my life?
No, I wanted my own way. But more than that I wondered, where was this power we were singing about?
Where was the power to wash away my fears -- my fear of not having our needs met, my fear of always being alone in a new place, my fear of people?
Where was the strength to face this day -- to face the disaster waiting for me at our new place, to face five crazy boys?
It didn't help when during that same day people kept saying to me...wow, you're a busy mom...you have your hands full, etc... I took three of my boys into the restroom at Burger King and someone told me, with just the three "You are a brave woman." I felt defeated.
Where was the strength to get the multitude of problems and projects worked out and somehow be a help to the camp this summer, to make a difference?
Basically, where was the strength just to do the right thing?
So I began asking...
Is God real? Am I fool?
Eric ran into the grocery store after church while I sat in the van with the boys, so I asked them.
How do we know God is real?
The Bible tells us He is alive. Prophets said Jesus was coming years before and that is just how He came.
Yes, but how do you even know that the Bible is true?
The Bible tells us that there was a Flood, and remember our science. The Bristlecone pine is the oldest tree, but the oldest one is about 4700 years old and that's about the time of the Flood. If the Bible wasn't true and the earth was millions or billions of years old, there would be older Bristlecone pine trees.
Ok, what else?
Earth is the perfect place for us to live. Perfect distance from the sun. Perfect speed of rotation. Perfect gravity....
But, couldn't we have evolved to adapt to this environment and that's why it's so perfect?
No...If evolution were true, then bees would do their best to survive and they would go to the closest flower for pollen. But they don't. Instead they go to the same kind of flower each day; so if they start with a daisy, they wouldn't go to a pear blossom, even if the tree was closer, they would go to another daisy and pollinate the flowers. The bees help the plants survive even if it's harder for them.
Well, what else?
Remember Brother Andrew... (We are reading God's Smuggler together as a family) ... how he prayed for a cake and God sent one in the mail right before his meeting. (They would remember the cake.) And remember when we prayed that God would help us find your wallet, and we found it?
Then Shiloh adds, "And sometimes we don't even ask and God gives us things, like Dad does for me." (Eric had just told Shiloh that he still had another birthday present coming.)
Zac agrees and says, "Yeah, like when those people brought all that food when we didn't have very much money in the bank."
So God is real because we see Him working in people's lives?
So God helps people return good for evil?
Yes, like when Caden kept hitting Micah and Micah didn't hit him back.
My shaky, weak faith is starting to spring up again.
So the Bible is trustworthy. God is alive. We see evidence in science, in answered prayers, in people's lives, and in God's goodness to us.
Still, I desperately need His strength to face each day. I want to see His power working in my life. I want to see victory. I want to see my emotions, not being controlled by my circumstances. I want to see me not fearing what people think, but instead courageously loving others. I want to see confidence in the face of financial difficulties that God cares about my needs.
I want to see Jesus in my life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VOH476VkLs
Hear the sound of hearts returning to You...
On Saturday, after 6pm my husband asks if we wanted to sleep in our new house that night. We had been staying in the basement of the camp office, where Eric is working this summer, but now the camp had a house available for us a little farther down the road.
This is when I should have used my brain and said, "NO!" First of all it was Saturday evening and the next day was Sunday. We usually leave at 8am in the morning to get to church on time, so it's nice to have things organized the night before. Not only that but Saturday was Shiloh's birthday. We had just come back from town and had played at the park and visited the library, now we were going to roast hot dogs in our wood stove and then have Shiloh's cake and presents.
But unfortunately I am not smart sometimes. I have a horrible habit of under-estimating how long a project will take. This problem seems to be hereditary. My uncle says to compensate, when you plan a project, estimate the time it will take, then double it, then double it again.
So my husband thinks we can pack up the whole house and move it to our new place in an hour. I agreed to try. At least I had the common sense to say that we should roast the hot dogs first. But then after dinner we began loading things quickly into suitcases, boxes and bags.
When our former pastor and his family moved to a different state, his wife had said, "I just want to move without sinning." That can be a challenge.
Surprisingly it only took 2 hours, which is double what Eric estimated, but it could have been a lot worse. But we didn't unpack things or put things away, so there was mess everywhere.
We had Shiloh's cake and garage-sale presents, then the boys went to bed.
The next morning, I thought maybe I could get things cleaned up before church. There was no way. What a mess! I was digging around trying to find everything the boys needed for church. No one seemed to know where things were so I had to keep helping people. There wasn't time for Eric or I to eat. At least my husband had the foresight to say we should just go to the service instead of classes an hour earlier.
On the way to church everything just seemed to hit me all at once. I don't know why. Looking back I can't see what was so bad. Sure the house was a mess, but that happens and then we clean it up. It would get cleaned up some day. I think it was just one disappointment after another. And those disappointments drawing me to focus on other issues that were troubling me.
Eric tells the story of his mother crying over spilled milk when he was a boy. Although he didn't understand as a boy, it wasn't the milk. It was what that represented to her. It was like that on Sunday.
On Saturday I wanted to get a library card because we love the library, but unfortunately we can't because this is a temporary residence. I should have know. Then we wanted to find a couple things at thrift stores for the house, but of course we couldn't find them. Then I wanted to get groceries while in town, but we didn't have time because it was Shiloh's birthday and we wanted to get home. People were meeting that evening for singing and snacks near our home in Wamic, but we took too long in town and couldn't go.
So I think it was a combination of feeling broke, alone, and out of control. Not going to people's house for singing again, (this was the second time we had to skip) made me feel like it was hopeless trying to make friends. The church we were going to was so far and it seemed when people that are closer got together we couldn't go. The presents and the groceries just reminded me that we didn't have much money. The mess and the boys just made me feel out of control.
On the way I kept spouting all these evil thoughts. Eric told me that he really thought I should just stop talking. I told him that we don't get everything we want. We stood in church beside each other, mostly staring at the music screen. I think Eric's arms were crossed the whole time.
And I looked at the words we were suppose to be singing...
"... Cause when we see You, we find strength to face the day
In Your Presence all our fears are washed away...
You are the God Who saves us, worthy of all our praises...
Come have Your way among us
We welcome You here, Lord Jesus..."
I looked at the words, but didn't sing, because I was wondering...
Where is my strength to face this day? Are my fears washed away? And did I really want God to have his way with me? Was I welcoming him in my life?
No, I wanted my own way. But more than that I wondered, where was this power we were singing about?
Where was the power to wash away my fears -- my fear of not having our needs met, my fear of always being alone in a new place, my fear of people?
Where was the strength to face this day -- to face the disaster waiting for me at our new place, to face five crazy boys?
It didn't help when during that same day people kept saying to me...wow, you're a busy mom...you have your hands full, etc... I took three of my boys into the restroom at Burger King and someone told me, with just the three "You are a brave woman." I felt defeated.
Where was the strength to get the multitude of problems and projects worked out and somehow be a help to the camp this summer, to make a difference?
Basically, where was the strength just to do the right thing?
So I began asking...
Is God real? Am I fool?
Eric ran into the grocery store after church while I sat in the van with the boys, so I asked them.
How do we know God is real?
The Bible tells us He is alive. Prophets said Jesus was coming years before and that is just how He came.
Yes, but how do you even know that the Bible is true?
The Bible tells us that there was a Flood, and remember our science. The Bristlecone pine is the oldest tree, but the oldest one is about 4700 years old and that's about the time of the Flood. If the Bible wasn't true and the earth was millions or billions of years old, there would be older Bristlecone pine trees.
Ok, what else?
Earth is the perfect place for us to live. Perfect distance from the sun. Perfect speed of rotation. Perfect gravity....
But, couldn't we have evolved to adapt to this environment and that's why it's so perfect?
No...If evolution were true, then bees would do their best to survive and they would go to the closest flower for pollen. But they don't. Instead they go to the same kind of flower each day; so if they start with a daisy, they wouldn't go to a pear blossom, even if the tree was closer, they would go to another daisy and pollinate the flowers. The bees help the plants survive even if it's harder for them.
Well, what else?
Remember Brother Andrew... (We are reading God's Smuggler together as a family) ... how he prayed for a cake and God sent one in the mail right before his meeting. (They would remember the cake.) And remember when we prayed that God would help us find your wallet, and we found it?
Then Shiloh adds, "And sometimes we don't even ask and God gives us things, like Dad does for me." (Eric had just told Shiloh that he still had another birthday present coming.)
Zac agrees and says, "Yeah, like when those people brought all that food when we didn't have very much money in the bank."
So God is real because we see Him working in people's lives?
So God helps people return good for evil?
Yes, like when Caden kept hitting Micah and Micah didn't hit him back.
My shaky, weak faith is starting to spring up again.
So the Bible is trustworthy. God is alive. We see evidence in science, in answered prayers, in people's lives, and in God's goodness to us.
Still, I desperately need His strength to face each day. I want to see His power working in my life. I want to see victory. I want to see my emotions, not being controlled by my circumstances. I want to see me not fearing what people think, but instead courageously loving others. I want to see confidence in the face of financial difficulties that God cares about my needs.
I want to see Jesus in my life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VOH476VkLs
Hear the sound of hearts returning to You...
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Strange Sayings
There are some sayings that I don't understand. For example, "sleeping like a baby". Does that mean that you wake up and cry through the night? Does it mean that you sleep often? Does it mean that everyone around you wishes you would sleep more?
I remember when President Obama was first elected and Senator McCain was asked how he felt about it. He replied that he was "sleeping like a baby...sleep two hours, wake up and cry, sleep two hours, wake up and cry."
Perhaps it's a worn joke, but I still thought it was witty. So sleeping like a baby must mean you sleep well.
Another saying I have wondered about -- "It's like taking candy from a baby." I assume that means it is suppose to be easy, but have they ever actually tried to wrestle a treasured piece of candy out of chubby clenched fist? A baby can have quite the grip.
Another saying, "You can pick your nose, and you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friend's nose."
So I think I understand this one pretty well, although my 2 year old son, Caden doesn't. He told me as we were driving in the van that he was picking his baby brother's nose. Gross. Of course he could be a little confused about proper nose-picking etiquette because Dad had to pick his nose with the tweezers.
For some reason Caden is attached to little pieces of fuzz or stuffing. He will find a piece of stuffing from a chair, or a blanket and stick it in his nose; or hold it close to his nose. He finds it at home, at church, in the van, and at Grandma's house. He is so often seen with fuzz that one of his cousins asked her mom why that fuzz was attached to Caden.
One day he went a little too far with his fuzz -- too far up his nose. Dad tilted his head back and tried to grip the fuzz with the tweezers. It hurt him, but we got it out. It didn't seem to hinder his love for fuzz.
Should I be worried?
I remember when President Obama was first elected and Senator McCain was asked how he felt about it. He replied that he was "sleeping like a baby...sleep two hours, wake up and cry, sleep two hours, wake up and cry."
Perhaps it's a worn joke, but I still thought it was witty. So sleeping like a baby must mean you sleep well.
Another saying I have wondered about -- "It's like taking candy from a baby." I assume that means it is suppose to be easy, but have they ever actually tried to wrestle a treasured piece of candy out of chubby clenched fist? A baby can have quite the grip.
Another saying, "You can pick your nose, and you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friend's nose."
So I think I understand this one pretty well, although my 2 year old son, Caden doesn't. He told me as we were driving in the van that he was picking his baby brother's nose. Gross. Of course he could be a little confused about proper nose-picking etiquette because Dad had to pick his nose with the tweezers.
For some reason Caden is attached to little pieces of fuzz or stuffing. He will find a piece of stuffing from a chair, or a blanket and stick it in his nose; or hold it close to his nose. He finds it at home, at church, in the van, and at Grandma's house. He is so often seen with fuzz that one of his cousins asked her mom why that fuzz was attached to Caden.
One day he went a little too far with his fuzz -- too far up his nose. Dad tilted his head back and tried to grip the fuzz with the tweezers. It hurt him, but we got it out. It didn't seem to hinder his love for fuzz.
Should I be worried?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)