Revisited from 2018: Death, Where is Your Sting?

He was in His early thirties.

Just a kid, by today's standards.

Yet, Jesus lived a sinless life, died a gruesome death, and most importantly, awakened to eternal life.

I imagine Jesus stirring to consciousness there on that cold slab. Remember, He was a young man, a human being like the rest of us. Have you ever awakened from a nightmare only to react like Ebenezer Scrooge, rejoicing to be alive? Jesus must have been rejoicing, too. His sacrifice was accepted by God! He conquered death! He knew full well what, in His obedience, He had done not only for Himself, but for those who believe in Him, those who are drawn to the Goodness of God.

The Prince of Peace sat up, and unwound the grave clothes from His body. Then, Jesus folded the small facial cloth and set it on the slab. An interesting note about that action, the folding of the facial cloth, is that in Hebrew custom, when a master was finished with his meal, he'd leave his napkin wadded up on his plate to signal his servant that he was finished eating and would be leaving the table. If the master left a folded napkin at his place, it meant he would return, so please, servant, leave his plate and silverware on the table. Was Jesus, in folding that piece of cloth, leaving a signal that He'd be returning for us? Perhaps. At last, the Messiah walked out of the dark tomb of a rich man into the fresh air of Jerusalem.

Think of it. Just think of His experience.

Death could not keep Him. He rose victorious over it. He is alive today.

Because He lives, we have the choice to follow Him to another Age, which we call Heaven. It is there He prepares a place for us so that where He is, we may be also. He waits for us, his younger brothers and sisters. It is glorious, and so humbling.

To you, gentle reader, I wish an Easter Observation full of love, joy, meaning, refreshment, and the realization that Easter marks the most Important Event in World History. The resurrection of Jesus.

I hope He has your attention...and your love.

Happy Easter!

When You Can't Get to France or Italy Soon Enough

Springtime, printemps, France and Italy.

What do these have in common?

They call to me so loudly that I am distracted on a daily basis.

Spring is entering my world slowly and steadily. Yesterday, I caught the first cherished scent of spring breezing in the air, the moment I wait for all winter. It's gentle stream of sweetness casually tickled my nose. I stopped and gasped At last! 

Buds are forming on tree branches. In the garden, bulbs have pushed cheery yellow daffodils up and out of the soil. Skittering squirrels in the yard, birds energetically bathing in their baths, grandchildren gleefully squealing on the tree swing. 

Rhapsody!

One ache remedied by nature.

But France and Italy don't waft into my neighborhood as spring does.

You know how it is when you've frequented a beloved place, but you are no longer there? Out of the blue something and many things vividly bring the place to mind.

Repeatedly.

For days.

Weeks.

Months.

Relentlessly.

Until you feel so distracted and lonely for the place you find yourself weeping during the day, in little bursts, tiny, personal, and very very powerful.

Circumstances beyond my control have cancelled an upcoming late spring European holiday for me.

I am gutted.

That being said, I am pragmatic about the postponement, for I know I will return soon. Pragmatism is my mind speaking.

For my heart, however, it's as if the promise of Christmas has been snatched away. All the feels are still there, the expectations, the joy, the glory of what was to come.

Then, nope. Gone. 

I don't give up easily. As a mother of four kids and four grandkids, I've learned to create work arounds to dispel disappointment.

So, work around it is!

Since I can't get myself to France or Italy right now, I deliver France and Italy to myself in the shape of favorite movies (A Good Year, From the Vine, Paris Can Wait), French music (Debussy and Satie), and in the form of favorite treats always enjoyed in France including some special new-to-me tastes from Italy. 

The movies and music soothe the aches. But not enough.

Today, my order of French and Italian treats came in the mail.

Hallelujah! Relief!

Here I sit, sipping my tea with a cube of rugged La Perruche sugar. I am transported to European cafés in powerful, lovely ways. So satisfying is one French sugar cube that the noise of the roofer repairing storm damage above my head fades. 

Well, kind of.

Add to tea sipping joy, a St. Michel madeleine. My daughter introduced these to me. She is married to a French man and goes to France often, every time grabbing a big bag of these for the visit and a few more for her return trip luggage. 

Because madeleines are part of every visit to France, for me these soft delicious petite cakes evoke the distinct emotions, aromas, pace, and beauty of the Old World. As though superimposed onto my western Oregon chilly February, rich French and Italian surroundings come alive via memories of stone buildings, castles, cathedrals, friendly people, heavenly organic foods, the clackity clunk of ancient cobblestones, the joie de vivre of country driving along narrow roads which take us to places unventured and inviting. 

To soothe my need to be in Italy, I selected some Italy to put into me: jam prepared in the Puglia region of Italy made from 55% Italian grown fruit. 

I've yet to sample it.

As a small business product, this jam fits the bill perfectly.

I will buy fresh made croissants from my baker on Saturday morning. I'll knife dollops of jam onto each bite. I'll sip French-pressed coffee my husband and I will make, adding French sugar cubes, bien sur.

France and Italy have entered my home, delighting my senses once again.

Music, movies, and tasty treats will stave me off for awhile.

If you catch me glowing, smiling, eyes half shut, know that I am dreaming of friends who miss me as I miss them.

Hemingway's Genius

In the movie Papa Hemingway in Cuba there is a scene in which Ernest sits at the bar with a new friend who, as a young writer, asks Hem about writing.

Hemingway implores the kid, as he calls him, to think of a number between one and ten.

Six, replies the kid.

With a pen, Hem begins writing on a small white cocktail napkin.

Finished, he slides it over the smooth bar to his friend, a complete story in only six words.

His words?

"Baby shoes. Never worn. Brand new."

Genius.

Who Cares About Art? Repost from March 2016

[First published in March, 2016 here on Cause I Believe in You, this post is even more relevant today as we observe the diabolical erasing of Western culture and its history. If you follow culture, as I try to, you are likewise familiar with this rapidly unfolding tragedy. Alas, God will only allow what is necessary for His story to be told. We who believe in God, and in His saving grace, are His witnesses. Salt and light, that is our calling, to preserve the Truth in whatever form it is expressed and presented. May we rise to the challenge.] 

 Bruges Madonna and Child, Michelangelo, 

It has taken six decades for me to understand the importance of art for a people, a culture, a civilization.

This quote from the movie, The Monuments Men, summarizes my thoughts succinctly. Frank Stokes, the leader of the group of men sent near the end of WW2 to save works of art stolen by the Nazis and stored in Hitler's hidden treasure troves, explains to the close-knit group his perspective on their mission.

"All right, listen up fellas because I think you should know the truth as I see it. This mission was never designed to succeed. If they were honest, they would tell us that. They'd tell us that with this many people dying, who cares about art. They're wrong. Because that's exactly what we're fighting for, for our culture and for our way of life. You can wipe out a generation of people, you can burn their homes to the ground, and somehow they'll still come back. But, if you destroy their achievements, and their history, then, it's like they never existed. Just...ash floating. That's what Hitler wants. And it's the one thing we simply can't allow."

Art matters. Too few of us alive today seem to understand this truth.

Ghent Altarpiece, Jan van Eyck, 1430 

An Art History course I'm currently enrolled in through the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City teaches me how to see history through works of fine art. Information is gleaned from more than what is overtly depicted in the art; it's in the style, the reasons behind the style, the perspectives and perceptions of the artists, how they came to have their views, and why the strong desire to express those attitudes and convictions. Our cultural timeline, our achievements, our failures, dreams, rebellion, foolishness, nobility, wisdom, and spirit are preserved in fine art.

Art is more than beautiful or interesting pictures, architecture, and sculptures. Art is a language of history, of culture, of mistakes made, of wisdom gleaned, and of warnings. Art is messages from the past which, when correctly understood, serve us today and will continue to in the future. Art inspires, disturbs, informs, challenges, soothes, and perplexes. It tells who and where we've been, and what we currently are. Art records everything!

How exciting to discover a new-to-me language, one which broadens understanding of the historical timeline, while encouraging the heart!

Who Does Your Indifference Hurt Today?

It seems we have entered an age where attention spans are so short, distractions so plentiful, shallow busyness so unquestioned, and conformity so widespread that the real aspects of living - of love and sharing and communicating in openness and sincerity - have been relegated to the bin.  

Who cares enough to set aside time to listen, to hear the voices of those we say we love? Who takes time to ponder anymore, to ruminate on thoughts and ideas shared by friends, then respond in kind? Who honestly desires to know their friends and family in depth, to share their joys and sorrows in the long-term, to take an active interest in what interests them? 

I do. And I feel very alone in this. 

My heart floats through the air expecting an echo of sincere response. 

It rarely comes.

I am awake. I hear and see true life and its happenings. I focus on them. I hold them up to the light for inspection and glean all I can from them. They build me, form me, teach me. And they show me how to care and love and engage. 

I long to discuss true life with others. 

But others are too busy for what matters. Others are content with slap-dash living. Others have a thousand pointless activities in which to drown their time and thoughts. Others choose paper over china, junk over gold. 

Shallow living is easy, as long as one remains anesthetized by the noise around them, and the denial within.

Living deeply, immersed in life and love, takes effort and time. But love compels the effort.

Perhaps the question, then, is where is the love that compels?

It is suffocated by indifference.

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”~~ Elie Wiesel

 

Christmas Through the Glass Darkly

 

In all the Christmases in all my life this one feels the most fully deep, the most clarified, the most connected to its purpose. Perhaps because I am older, perhaps because my daughter is to have a baby, perhaps because the chaos of the world demands the Peace of Christmas. All of this and more brim my heart overflowing with the Love and Joy of Christmas, that Baby in the manger, the man He became, the Gift He gave. In the glass darkly we see and feel glimmers of Heavenly Delight, it beckons, we sense it. Christmas is a tiny parting of the curtain between that world and this; we get a peek. It feels exciting, it feels compelling, it feels . . . . like Christmas.

Overcoming Evil with Good - Living in the Perilous Time

Signs of strain begin to show in my loved ones' eyes, voices, words, and shoulders. The mirror's reflection reveals the same about me. 

While the blows of current events batter us, we are not alone. Millions walk under the same questions with the same confusion, frustration, horror. Burdened. Shock from heretofore unimaginable human behavior stirs anger and fear in our hearts, muddying our thoughts. We shake our heads as if to wake our minds from a nightmare. 

These initial reactions manifest without our beckoning. In order to avoid bitterness and hatred we consciously grapple with the vigorous shaking the ugliness metes out; we know the danger of dwelling in thoughts of evil. The still small voice asks us, at this point, in whom do we trust and why? Our security is in our Savior Jesus, not in our circumstances. 

Deeper within our hearts - where God lives - Truth meets chaos, unceasing prayers begin to trickle and flow, peace which transcends understanding soothes. Jesus is the Balm of Gilead. 

How do my loved ones and I proceed? With searching intensity our eyes lock, "How are you doing today?" Our arms hug a little tighter, a lot longer, "I love you, you are never alone." Priorities shift, "You are more important than my tasks. I am here for you." 

With words we remind each other of our power to instill purpose and hope by living as bright spots - as best we can - in a cruel world, to share the goodness of God in our everyday lives, to listen, to care, to mourn with those who mourn, to conduct ourselves in purity, beauty, and compassion, and above all, to love. In these small ways we banish the darkness with light. We offer courage to offset the misery. 

To the raging storms in our hearts Jesus says, "Peace. Be still." I observe the power of the Almighty in my wee shaky heart. My shoulders straighten, my chin lifts. I am strong and of good courage. 

Let us be there for each other as we travel through these uncertain times, remaining as calm as possible, always walking in gentleness.

"Turn from evil and do good." (Psalm 34:14, Psalm 37:27, Peter 3:11)

"By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." (John 13:35)

It helped me to write this out.

I hope, in some small or large way, it helps you to read it.

I love you.

You are not alone.