Saturday, April 6, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
SONG OF SOLOMON -- SPRING
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| TETTAGOUCHE STATE PARK, MINNESOTA |
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| PUGET SOUND, SEATTLE-BREMERTON FERRY |
FLOWERS, BIRDS, AND TURTLES
[AND EVERYTHING ELSE SINCE CREATION]
ARE HEARD IN OUR SMALL LANDS
AND ALL OVER OUR WORLD.
HOW JOYFUL!!
Thursday, April 4, 2013
PROPHETS... HEART AND MIND
Have you ever wondered? Do you ever have the Lord tell you that you are a prophet? And, when the answer is "yes" ... do you know what to do next and where you fit into the Christian world and the worldly-world?
I have friends who are very prophetic... and they have visions and dreams and "see" the other world. Me? No. Well, very rarely, to say the least. BUT, the Lord has told me many times that I am a prophet. It's based on what He shows me through history or present-day activities that tie us to generations behind us, and preparing for those coming. Best way to explain that, I guess. People in my churches and in other nations have described me as a prophet, based on what I just told them historically, spiritually.
A number of times a year, I am led to read the prophetic portions of the Word. The history of some of them is fairly well known, and what they went through had to be both wonderful and horrific.
Isaiah, nearly 30 years after his prophetic involvement had ended, was martyred by being sawn in half by the son of King Hezekiah, Manasseh.
Jeremiah, after about the age of 60, with all his heavy-duty prophecies, sorrowful much of the time, ended up in Egypt for approximately 30 years before he died when about 90 years old. After being forced down there, by his own people, he talked to them, warned them about their ungodly decision to move there, leaving Israel unjustly. He didn't have a chance to go anywhere else.
Some Biblical prophets were accurately described, through the History portion of the Bible, by themselves and others, but in some cases we have very little info, if any, about them. This has been much on my heart for weeks, months, years when reading Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and many others, knowing much of what they went through.
When reading Malachi last week something really struck my heart. According to the Reese's Chronological Bible, he was the prophet when he was approximately 27 years old. Over the next 66 years, the Persian power dropped out of the world and Greece had taken over. And then Malachi died. And, when you read Malachi, remember that he lived for much longer than another generation -- the average life in Malachi's time was 35 years. He died at 93. Saw much.
What do we know about that stretch of life for him? Not much. In fact, as I've seen online, there are a number of different opinions. BUT if he was truly prophetic in his 20s, and didn't die until his 90s, and for those years saw more and more of what was going on around and about him, how did he handle it? Was he heartbroken? Was he angry? Was he planting God-seed into the hearts of those around him? Was he just living his life, doin' what needed to be done, helping people, sowing seeds, harvesting, raising a family? Who knows?
Now, re: us. Do you ever wonder, when we see so much, how it strikes our hearts? We might not be able to say much to anyone, but we see what the consequences of our present-day cultures can/will be for the generation that will follow.
Do I sound serious? Yep! I am. It's a day-by-day part of life for me. Seeing too much, knowing too much, but I'm not entering very many side-doors. Only want the God-door.
So, knowing, historically, what prophets went through, isn't much different than what many of our present-day ones, world-wide, will be going through.
What can we do? Trust the Lord. Live with and for Him forever.
That's all that can ever truly count.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Monday, April 1, 2013
MARY MAGDALENE - SCENE 9
"Mary." It was whispered so quietly she barely heard. She crept silently to the window and spoke to the shadow outside. "Yes, Naomi, I'm coming." She wrapped her heavy robe about her, pulled her hair back tightly and bound it, then covered it with a dark shawl. Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and streaked, shadowed face revealed the grief ebbing and flowing in her heart.
She and her friends were going to Jesus' grave to complete the burial rites begun, but not completed, after the crucifixion. She dreaded the chore. Seeing His bruised, torn body would be heart-wrenching. But a worse thought, and one that impelled her to this morning's task, was that Jesus might be left untended if she didn't go.
As she stepped into the early morning darkness, Naomi took Mary's arm. "His mother isn't coming. She said to tell you she trusts you to see this through. She can't bear to see him just now. She'll come later--when we've finished--and say her farewells.
Mary nodded. She certainly understood. If this was hard for her, his friend, how much more difficult for his mother.
A few small groups of women followed Mary and Naomi along the road to Joseph's garden carrying cloths, spices, and other burial elements. As the sun rose over the horizon, the eastern sky showed streaks of rose and pale pink. The trees bordering the road were a nearly luminous shade of green in the light of dawn.. All creation glowed in its beauty, a striking contrast to the bleak hearts in the little procession.
"What about the soldiers?" The question surfaced and then hung in the air. The women paused and looked at each other in consternation.
"What about the stone? ... How are we to move it?"
No men had come and the Romans couldn't be expected to accommodate the women.
Suddenly the air was full of questions. Admittedly they should have been asked and resolved earlier. But, in their grief, they simply hadn't thought of these details.
Mary felt an irritation growing. Her old bravado surfaced. With an edge of rebelliousness to her words she said, I don't know how it will work, but I promise you, they won't stop us. Now, let's go. And spurred on by Mary's determination, the women walked resolutely toward the garden.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
After the Resurrection of her Lord Jesus, she told this story so many times. She was a garden care-giver where he had been buried and had risen, and when people came through, she shared her story so they would be filled with encouragement.
“I still smile when I remember that Resurrection day. Of course, at the time, when first seeing him, I was terrified, but I truly can't believe I didn't know who he was. At the very least I should have recognized the love and acceptance in his eyes ... that had drawn me to him when he had touched my life... and since then it has never changed.
“So I come here. To rest and to remember. To share my story, my life with him.
“In our world, pain and suffering surround us. People are dying – often on the INside. Not because they want to, but, just as I was, before the Lord Jesus came into my life, they simply don't know how to live.
“I still hurt, for myself and for others. I still question. But I can never doubt. No matter how black the night in my soul or looming the problems, or large the ghosts that confront me, I know that I know that I know that God loves ME. And that one shaft of light will always cut through the darkness that occasionally surrounds me – and comfort me and bring me out on the other side of my pain, of my sorrow – to wholeness, to joy and to life.”
And, sharing, she always ended with a smile and her arms lifted up to the Lord, and saying,
“Thank you for your crucifixion for our sins .. and for your resurrection. Oh, my Lord Jesus, thank you.”
She and her friends were going to Jesus' grave to complete the burial rites begun, but not completed, after the crucifixion. She dreaded the chore. Seeing His bruised, torn body would be heart-wrenching. But a worse thought, and one that impelled her to this morning's task, was that Jesus might be left untended if she didn't go.
As she stepped into the early morning darkness, Naomi took Mary's arm. "His mother isn't coming. She said to tell you she trusts you to see this through. She can't bear to see him just now. She'll come later--when we've finished--and say her farewells.
Mary nodded. She certainly understood. If this was hard for her, his friend, how much more difficult for his mother.
A few small groups of women followed Mary and Naomi along the road to Joseph's garden carrying cloths, spices, and other burial elements. As the sun rose over the horizon, the eastern sky showed streaks of rose and pale pink. The trees bordering the road were a nearly luminous shade of green in the light of dawn.. All creation glowed in its beauty, a striking contrast to the bleak hearts in the little procession.
"What about the soldiers?" The question surfaced and then hung in the air. The women paused and looked at each other in consternation.
"What about the stone? ... How are we to move it?"
No men had come and the Romans couldn't be expected to accommodate the women.
Suddenly the air was full of questions. Admittedly they should have been asked and resolved earlier. But, in their grief, they simply hadn't thought of these details.
Mary felt an irritation growing. Her old bravado surfaced. With an edge of rebelliousness to her words she said, I don't know how it will work, but I promise you, they won't stop us. Now, let's go. And spurred on by Mary's determination, the women walked resolutely toward the garden.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
After the Resurrection of her Lord Jesus, she told this story so many times. She was a garden care-giver where he had been buried and had risen, and when people came through, she shared her story so they would be filled with encouragement.
“I still smile when I remember that Resurrection day. Of course, at the time, when first seeing him, I was terrified, but I truly can't believe I didn't know who he was. At the very least I should have recognized the love and acceptance in his eyes ... that had drawn me to him when he had touched my life... and since then it has never changed.
“So I come here. To rest and to remember. To share my story, my life with him.
“In our world, pain and suffering surround us. People are dying – often on the INside. Not because they want to, but, just as I was, before the Lord Jesus came into my life, they simply don't know how to live.
“I still hurt, for myself and for others. I still question. But I can never doubt. No matter how black the night in my soul or looming the problems, or large the ghosts that confront me, I know that I know that I know that God loves ME. And that one shaft of light will always cut through the darkness that occasionally surrounds me – and comfort me and bring me out on the other side of my pain, of my sorrow – to wholeness, to joy and to life.”
And, sharing, she always ended with a smile and her arms lifted up to the Lord, and saying,
“Thank you for your crucifixion for our sins .. and for your resurrection. Oh, my Lord Jesus, thank you.”
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