MARY MAGDALENE AND ME...

     Well, when reading of Mary Magdalene when I was simply reading the Bible years and years ago, I thought of what she was doing that was similar to what was going on in my life as a kid.  As I've often said, I was blessed when the Lord broke into my life.  This is filled with seriousness and sinfulness, so if you want to skip it, that would be fine, too.  But this was in the last portion of my Mary Magdalene book.  [OH, and on April 15th, that will be the 49th birthday of me through accepting the Lord.  I'll be sharing pieces then, as I do every year on the writing possibilities.  Makes me rejoice and smile!]
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Just turning 5; Kenton, WA, 1950.

                                          TESTIMONY

     I’ve described myself in testimonies for the last forty-plus years so many times in ways that I’ve described Mary Magdalene.  Especially anger.  Anger buried deeply in my heart.
     I was not an official prostitute – harlot – as Mary is often described in the thoughts of many people throughout the centuries, but I was just like that when heading to my late teens.  As a molested girl, from pre-school age, regularly abused from the age of 5 through high school, both physically and verbally, I left home filled with furiousness.  Yes, I had seed planted in my life by good people in my schools, through  churches, and with friends who accepted me in spite of my outlook on life.
     But, when I left home, after a short time in college, I ended up with a job in Seattle when 18 years old, no help or family or friends anywhere nearby.  I entered heavily into alcohol.  Then, prior-to and after a date-rape, the anger filled me again ... way over the top.  And I entered the “harlot” world and was there for nearly 2 years.
     I’ve often said that if the Lord had not broken into my life, especially as I was heading for 21, I would have died from alcoholism, violence, or suicide.
     But He did break into my life with great kindness, mercy, love, and grace.
     Now, I rarely am angry.  I’m rarely ready to fight, physically.  But often am ready to “fight” when I’m trying to protect other people and plant seed of the Lord into their lives.  And I am not at all headed to suicide.  I want only my life, my time here on earth and for eternity, with my Heavenly Father, Lord Jesus, and my Holy Spirit.
     I’m very thankful that, just the same as the result for Mary Magdalene, God is BIGGER than any people who live in the world and who attempt to draw us to the wrong direction.
     So, that is my forever life here and there ... filled with gratefulness.

One portion of Uganda where Dave and I were serving

the Lord for several years.  I was significantly different

before then and since then.  Now we're home, but both

of us are serving for the Lord and doing whatever He says.

I'm very blessed, filled with rejoicing.

 

MARY MAGDALENE IS ANGRY!

CHAPTER 4

ANGRY, RESENTFUL MARY

      By often sleeping during the day, Mary avoided seeing the other women at the town well.  The gossips and village crones had orchestrated and expanded the details of her harlotry so that her reputation spread far outside the boundaries of her district.   What they didn't know, and obviously didn't care to know, was that she had entered that life through desperation.  When younger, she had spent all of her meager earnings as a servant, seeking relief from the dreams, by visiting various physicians and religious practitioners.  For all this expenditure, she had gained nothing. 

      Finally, yes, she resorted to prostitution.  She already had the reputation for it ... she had heard the whispers ... so, in angriness, bitterness, and resentment toward God and, basically, all people, she decided to live up to her name and reputation.  She reasoned cynically that it kept her from relying on the charity of others  and it gave her something to do with her nights.
      In spite of her flippancy towards men and her brazen manners, she had no disillusions about men.  They were dishonest and unfaithful, and without honor.   She knew this, because, although she was the "harlot",  they were partnered to that lifestyle.  She often knew much about the wives and children of the men who came to her.  She kept the secrets, but these men never thanked her for her discretion.  They hated and feared her, because her presence was a reminder of their sin.
       And then Jesus came.   Jesus, the teacher from Nazareth, the Healer, the rumored restorer of Israel and awaited Messiah.  Not only was he strong and handsome, taller than King Saul must have been, a true seed of King David, but he was the first man she'd ever seen who was not afraid to be tender.  When he held babies in his arms, or touched people with his calloused carpenter hands, he was gentle as a summer breeze.
       For the first time in many years she was challenged to care ... to consider opening her life to others, to grow beyond the walls of her self-imposed prison. She wasn't free -- yet -- but there was a sun of hope, a spark of hope, burning, flashing.
       She wasn't free, either, from the nighttime attacks.  If

anything, they were worse, even frenzied.  And, although she had not changed her decision about death, and fully intended to end her life, a shaft of light seemed to block her from dwelling on it, and, instead, made her wonder if life could exist without torment, without fear.  And without sin!

MARY MAGDALENE -- SCENE 4

By often sleeping during the day, Mary avoided seeing the other women at the town well.  The gossips and village crones had orchestrated and expanded the details of her harlotry so that her reputation spread far outside the boundaries of her district.   What they didn't know, and obviously didn't care to know, was that she had entered that life through desperation.  When younger, she had spent all of her meager earnings as a servant, seeking relief from the dreams, by visiting various physicians and religious practitioners.  For all this expenditure, she had gained nothing. 

Finally, yes, she resorted to prostitution.  She already had the reputation for it ... she had heard the whispers ... so, in angriness, bitterness, and resentment toward God and, basically, all people, she decided to live up to her name and reputation.  She reasoned cynically that it kept her from relying on the charity of others  and it gave her something to do with her nights.

In spite of her flippancy towards men and her brazen manners, she had no disillusions about men.  They were dishonest and unfaithful, and without honor.   She knew this, because, although she was the "harlot",  they were partnered to that lifestyle.  She often knew much about the wives and children of the men who came to her.  She kept the secrets ... but these men never thanked her for her discretion.  They hated and feared her, because her presence was a reminder of their sin.

And then Jesus came.   Jesus, the teacher from Nazareth, the Healer, the rumored restorer of Israel and awaited Messiah.  Not only was he strong and handsome, taller than King Saul must have been, a true seed of King David, but he was the first man she'd ever seen who was not afraid to be tender.  When he held babies in his arms, or touched people with his calloused carpenter hands, he was gentle as a summer breeze.

For the first time in many years she was challenged to care ... to consider opening her life to others, to grow beyond the walls of her self-imposed prison. She wasn't free -- yet -- but there was a sun of hope, a spark of hope, burning, flashing.

She wasn't free, either, from the nighttime attacks.  If anything, they were worse, even frenzied.  And, although she had not changed her decision about death, and fully intended to end her life, a shaft of light seemed to block her from dwelling on it, and, instead, made her wonder if life could exist without torment, without fear ... and without sin.

MARY MAGDALENE - SCENE 3

Mary lay staring into the murky darkness, listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the olive trees outside the window.  She heard the sound of horse's hooves on the rocky pavement somewhere in the distance.  And, through some filtered moonlight drifting across her room she saw the shadowed forms of her family and heard their quiet breathing as they slept.

For Mary, sleep was a vestige of the distant past.  She hadn't slept well since childhood.  It wasn't because she wasn't tired; she had been tired for most of her life.  Sleep, instead of relief and rest, brought dreams and voices ...ghosts from her past, looming "beings"  from her present to repose in her room and mock her when she entered the anteroom of sleep.  So, she survived on short naps when others were nearby to wake her if she became restless or began to cry out.

She had become a joke to many in her village:  "God must be punishing her...the psalmist said God gives his beloved sleep...if she can't sleep that must mean she is hated...If God makes her suffer so, why should WE treat her any better?..."  Most people, not wanting to face a torrent of sarcastic, venomous words, kept their comments outside her range of hearing. Some, though foolish enough, let her hear them.  They received the full brunt of her wrath.

On this particular night, as she waited for daybreak, she thought of Jesus.  He had a deep capacity for compassion, and heart-filled insight into people.  Occasionally, as his eyes searched the crowds, Jesus looked at her, and she knew he could see right into her soul.  She was certain he knew her reputation as a harlot, most of which was a result of her night- time wanderings, but, some, she freely admitted, had a basis in fact.  She was nearly convinced that illicit love was better than no love at all.  What amazed her most was that his eyes carried no condemnation.  She sensed only that he hurt because she did.  And it was that discovery, more than any other, that put a spark of light into the darkness of her life.

She didn't talk about the change she felt inside.  She knew from experience no one would want to listen, so she hid the small piece of hope in one of the far corners of her heart, determined to keep it alive.  She was too realistic to believe the hope might grow, but was content simply to protect it.

As the golden-gray streaks of morning broke across the sky,

and the others in the room began to stir, Mary, still thinking of Jesus, pulled her blanket up under her chin, rolled towards the wall, and went to sleep. 
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Next week, Mary Magdalene Scene #4.  Jesus touches her again.  As he does to and for us.  Forever and ever.