Go

Stop

 

The world screams at us, "Be afraid!"

Men of Rohan, 

tossed with tempest, 

fear is the mindkiller, 

give it no quarter. 

Fear is a force of evil. 

It paralyzes. 

It is crazy-making. 

It stymies. It controls. 

Throw it off.

Listen instead to the Lord, 

His sweet words of kindness, 

His hope, His peace. 

We were not made for fear, 

you and I, 

but life abundant.

Beauty for Ashes

 

I love Jesus. 

He has given me beauty for ashes (Isaiah 61) 

and peace, hope, love for those I once could not forgive.

He makes all things new. Truly, He does that.

He longs to do the same for you.

Psalm 126

 

When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,

    we were like those who dream.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter,

    and our tongue with shouts of joy;

then they said among the nations,

    “The Lord has done great things for them.”

The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.

Restore our fortunes, O Lord,

    like streams in the Negeb!

Those who sow in tears

    shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping,

    bearing the seed for sowing,

shall come home with shouts of joy,

    bringing his sheaves with him.

Peace Lily

 

People Feared Me

 

She stepped through the wall of her ordinary, clean, sparse, luxury apartment, then into and through the insulation and plaster of the same wall of the building it had been many years previous. Suddenly, she was in the office of the proud leader a great nation of which she had only a vague memory. He stood abruptly and reached for something in his suitcoat pocket. He demanded to know who she was and why she was there. She recognized the language but did not understand. 

She said the only word of it she knew for certain, "Apples."

He replied, "Apples?" 

He was confused, but comforted that at least she was only a crazy person.

He pulled a weapon from his coat and aimed it at her.

She smiled. She hadn't seen a device like that since her days working in the Museum of Antiquities. She didn't remember what it did until he fired. He missed, she thought, but looked down and noticed a tear in her bathrobe.

"Hey," she said.

The word made him suspicious. He stepped forward aggressively, "American?"

She nodded, not knowing precisely what he meant. She was descended from the American people and spoke their enduring language which had actually come from somewhere else. Was he accusing her of something?

Trying to convey to the suspicious man that she was from another time, but the same place, and that she had no motive other than getting back was almost impossible in her language, let alone his. Explaining that his once stately office and headquarters was now her apartment building, also impossible. Telling him all that had happened since, even less possible. She motioned for him to come with her. At least she could show him. Maybe he wouldn't shoot at her again.

"Nyet," he said strongly.

"Oui," she nodded and held out her hand. Wrong word. 

He frowned and, thinking better of it, but now curious, went with her.

Now they were in the same room painted an odd shade of blue and decorated with soft couches and long drapes and skylights and empty coffee cups. He looked around, lifting cushions, opening doors. He looked her up and down. Slippers. Pajamas. He was offended by her lack of professionalism.

She looked him up and down. Sharp shoulders on a gray suitcoat. 

A tie! Leather shoes. A secret pocket for a gun. 

"Coffee?" She asked.

He wondered if she had any clean cups. 

She remembered the translator and turned it on. 

Now they could speak to eachother in the universal language of mankind.

"Hello," she said. 

He said the same and poked her in the face with his finger.

"Hey," she said.

He smiled, "Hey!"

He found the whole situation amusing. She was surprised by that. 

He had seemed like such a serious man while he was shooting at her.

He took a long sip of coffee, then spit it out.  

He wanted to know why she had come to get him. 

She hadn't. She had come through accidentally. 

"You want to see how things have changed?"

He did, but more than that he wanted to know why she hadn't come to get him on purpose and if she remembered him and how everything had turned out.

"Everything is a lot of things," she said. 

She knew who he was, but did not know much about him. Remembered wasn't even the correct word. Had read about or saw a painting of or, "Well, there's a statue," she offered. He brightened. 

"I want to see it!" He said. 

Before they could go outside she would need to explain. 

"Something has happened," she said.

She led him to the window and pulled back the heavy curtain. Everywhere and everything all at once, but not a single shadow.

"What is this?"

"The sky is different," she said.

He looked but could not see for all the light.

"It rolled back," she tried to find the right words. "Like a scroll."

He recognized those words.

"Did Jesus return?" He asked.

"Yes."

They walked along the golden street to the waterfall at the edge of the city and there under a thousand year oak was the statue of a man kneeling before a cross.

"Is this how I am remembered?"

"This is all that matters," she said.

He didn't understand. 

"People feared me."

"Some people loved you."

He nodded, though he preferred the image of power.  

"I defeated my enemies." He said and leaned in, "I defeated some of your enemies." 

He repeated, "People feared me."

She nodded.

He asked again, "This is how I am remembered?"

"This is all that matters," she answered.

Justice and Bread

 

Happy is he whose help is the God of Jacob,

whose hope is in Adonai his God,

who made heaven and earth, 

the sea, 

and all that is in them,

who keeps truth forever,

who executes justice for the oppressed,

who gives bread to the hungry.

Adonai sets the prisoners free.

Psalm 146:5-7

The Savior of Israel

 

And there is salvation in no one else, for there is 

no other name 

under heaven given among men by which we must be saved. 

Acts 4:12