Offend us, Please

 

Deep in her heart she was a punk rock girl. She would grow to be wise and calm. Her eyes would soften. Her voice would become serene. But now, in this moment, she was wild and unlearned and in desperate need of a protector. One had come to her just that morning. He sat with her now, invisible to the other punks, but stronger and braver than any she'd ever known. He whispered in her ear, "Say."

The new professor entered the class with assumed bravado. He had been told they were eager to learn, but was astonished by the welcome they gave him.

"Offend us, please, we have much to learn." 

It was their customary greeting for those who would teach them.

He smiled deeply. In all his days he had not seen humility like this in a classroom, certainly not among the young. How had they come upon it? It was a miracle, like everything else.

He began his lecture. He said man reaches to God with 10,000 religions. He knew much. Thought much. Taught much. Man reaches to God.

"But God reaches to man," said the punk rock girl in the front row. 

"What do you mean?" He asked back.

She said, "You know, Jesus, the Son of God. The Savior of the Jews. God sent Him."

"Oh," he had heard of that one. 

He smiled a bit, but then he wept. Not because she was wrong, or right. He wept because he hadn't thought of it that way before. 

"In the game of life, survival is only part of the battle." 

Gad Saad

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Something I Love More Than Words Can Say

 

Alpacas! There. I said it.

Words of Jesus

 

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who begs from you, and  do not refuse the one who would borrow from you.

  

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. “For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” 

Matthew 5:38-48

Searching

 

Search me, O God, and know my heart!

Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting!

Psalm 139:23-24

Bees

 

“If bees only gathered nectar from perfect flowers, 

they wouldn't be able to make even a single drop of honey.” 

Matshona Dhliwayo

I am a Stranger

 

They Stood Together

 

At the gate of Heaven she and he stood together, the woman and the man who had bombed her city. They died on the same day. Different causes, she by mortar, he by a tiny grain of sand in his heart. He recognized her somehow, though they'd not met before and her city was one of many. He was afraid, of her and of the judgment he would face.

"Is that Saint Peter?" He asked her, pointing.

"No," she answered. "That's my father. He died ten years ago and has come to welcome me." 

The man looked around bleakly. He did not see his own father.

"Maybe he's coming later," she suggested and felt sorry for him.

"No," he said. "I am alone here."

"I'm with you," she said, unsure why they were there together.

Suddenly, it dawned on her.

"I forgive you," she said simply.

He smiled. He looked like a shark when he did it.

"I do not deserve your forgiveness," he said.

"You think you're the only one who has killed someone," she said.

Unnerved, he asked, "Did you?"

"If you have hated someone in your heart it's the same as murder," she explained.

He thought she was wrong about that and asked for proof. 

Her father had a Bible and it spoke aloud to them.

"Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. 1 John 3:15."

Have you ever heard a book speak? Sounds like thunder.

"Ok," he nodded. "So we are both guilty."

"There is forgiveness," she said.

"Even for me?" He hoped.

"There is enough forgiveness to go around," she said.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is there forgiveness for me?" He paused, then added, "And for you."

"Jesus," she said.

"Jesus?" He knew the name, but he didn't know it. As he lay dying he had said it a thousand times, hoping his mother's stories were true.

They were.

What is This?

 

Her phone rang in the elevator. It was a prayer request, so she held up the flat rectangle and prayed in Tongues. Quietly. Calmly.

The doors slid open, bringing in two souls, a man who was smart but unwise and a woman who was a wise fool. The pair stood silently and faced forward as she completed the prayer and put the phone away.

"Do you speak English?" The man asked.

She nodded yes.

"I have to ask," said the man. "What was that beautiful language?"

She answered simply, "I don't know. I was praying in Tongues."

Important silence filled the space.

He had a million questions, but didn't know how to ask them.

His foolish partner spoke up, "What were you praying?"

"I don't know," came the honest reply.

Now the man really had questions.

He spoke out of the side of his mouth without turning, "It seemed like a real language."

"Yes." The praying woman agreed.

"Not just sounds," the man added, "I always thought it was just sounds."

His friend asked, "Can you see the future?"

"No," said the praying woman, then, "Sorry."

It made him uncomfortable. He understood most everything, or so he told himself, but not this.

The elevator opened and they got off on the same floor. The praying woman went one way. The two of them went the other.

Some Say the Rose of Sharon

 

Others say the Prince of Peace.

But I can tell this old world, He's been a Rock and a Shelter for me.

Hallelujah

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

 

Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,

    Old Time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles to day,

    To morrow will be dying.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,

    The higher he's a getting;

The sooner will his Race be run,

    And neerer he's to Setting.

That Age is best, which is the first,

    When Youth and Blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

    Times, still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time;

    And while ye may, go marry:

For having lost but once your prime,

    You may forever tarry.

Robert Herrick, 1648

What do I remember most of the years gone by? Taking my boys to our smalltown homeschool co-op. That day we couldn't find the shoes and a bumper sticker ahead of us reminded me God allows U-turns. I remember funny things. A joke, a smile. A friend in the rain, a coincidence to run into each other at that statue on Monument Avenue. It's gone now, torn down, like those old days. 

But are they gone? 

They live in my heart with my sons winning awards and that camping axe and patches for vests and long-practiced songs. I have forgotten most of the other songs and the pop stars who sang them, and why our hair was so big. I wore a white dress and long gloves at my wedding. I got married! I remember the army of bagpipers on that wonderful day. My husband taught me to drink coffee. I love it and I love him. 

One day Jesus showed up in my life and changed me all of a sudden. I was that and now I am this. My non-believing friend dreamed of Him. Do you know colors we've never seen before swirl around the Messiah? I have prayed and have been answered. It's a feeling that's hard to describe, somewhere between shock and surprise. 

To the virgins, to make much of time. I say that even to us, the ladies here in blogland and Jon. I am old, but I have been young. My hair is as white as my wedding dress and I am wise. Wise? I still have so much to learn. 

Make the most of it. We shall not pass this way again.