Smiling Grace

Morning
and morning
and morning again...
a day
a week
a month or more
ever
and ever
I find myself turning to You.
No other one can hear me
in my time of need,
but Your ears alone
pick up the slightest sigh.
You care enough
to know not only what I think,
but what I believe
what I cherish
what makes me cry
my shame
my love
my hope
my dreams
and how I change from day to day...
and still...
You do not have to change.
Alone today
in all my thought
Not a person left to share with
good news
or otherwise...
On my own two legs I stand in here
separated by a building
and a cubicle
and a desk
and squares and squares forever
between living and breathing
face to face
encounters
with people.

But in all my separation
I am never alone
for You are with me...
closer than my pulse
nearer than my own skin
more sure than my next breath
in You I find complete unmeasured wholeness
everything I have ever needed
or will ever need
or didn't even know I might need
...and all the rest of the world
does not matter
when You are there.
Every other voice
echoing in my thoughts
fades into silence
and I am filled with
nothing
but You

You speak to me in skies above
in the ground below
and everything in-between
Newly hatching ladybugs
crawling along the curb
to find a surface warm and safe...
Then as I walk past
tiny red flying jewels
swirl around me
trying out new wings
thrilled to be alive
and exactly what You
have made them to be.

Grass below is bursting with blooms
yellows, purples, bright reds
miniature white blossoms
signs of your heavenly array
wherever my eyes from in the bright colors.
Even the trees cannot help
but burst forth into green hymn of praise,
every leaf filled with life
reaching skyward toward Heaven above
each branch eagerly stretching
to try and touch the Creator

Branches are blessed with feathered throngs
who work the day long building a haven
for tomorrows winged hosts
of chirping, singing merrymakers
Flitting here and there
carrying a bit of fluff or grass
or carefully picked branch
with which to build a place
to raise tomorrow's dream

I watch them fly
and smile
they look so free
I almost envy how easily they move about
from here to there
much faster than my two feet
and yet I know
my real freedom
is not tied to feet
nor wings
nor any manner of moving around
beyond my heart,
for You have given the ability
to know and believe
without seeing
tasting
touching
smelling
or hearing an audible noise
I only need imagine
and in that,
I smile again

He IS

Omniscient deity,

Maker of everything,

Ruler of All,

and still closer,

more intimate

than my own heart beat.

You give us breath,

and yet You take mine away.

Lion and Lamb.

Untold power beyond our understanding,

lying helpless as a baby in a manger.

Creator and Sacrifice.

Supreme ruler of the universe,

and Lover of my soul.

You hold the universe in the palm of Your hand,

and yet pursue me with the gentleness

of a whispering breeze.

Wisdom and folly.

Armageddon and grace.

Blessed Redeemer,

and the least of these...

Eternity

and the blink of an eye.

God of fire and brimstone,

yet You patiently grew

the Tree of Calvary.

A pillar of smoke by day and fire by night,

and broken as the bread of life.

You are the Way the Truth the Life

and yet a choice we may make on our own.

Judgement and Mercy.

Finality and a new beginning.

I find You waiting in the garden...

Hound of Heaven, nose to the ground

following my every step.

Wherever I go, You know.

I can make no movement that You do not see.

I can hide no sin.

No deed.

No thought.

And despite my denial thrice,

You love me all the more.

You forgive me.

You die on the cross and pay the price.

All of your blood,

all of your tears,

all of your life.

Eternal paradox.

Suspended between earth and heaven.

Eden's debt finally paid.

I've never seen Your face as it was when You walked upon earth's common ground,

and yet I see You in the faces and eyes and lives of everyone around me.

You hold all prior generations in Your heavens, great numbers of people, so many I cannot count,

and yet You know me

and You call me by my name.

Your mystery ever deepens.

I am washed away in the great ocean of Your love.

Though I am found and saved,
I am lost in You again.

Children of Dust

Dust.
We are a people, a race of dust.
Formed from the ground.
Sprung from the dirt.
Crafted of clay.
Who are we that You O God are mindful of us?
We are tiny particles of earth.
Ground bits of rock and dirt.
Grains of sand and no more.
Without Your spirit, Your Life breathed into us, we are gravel on the ground.
Unable to move. Unable to grow.
We cannot see, feel, hear, smell, taste or touch
Unable to do anything but lie there.
Wisdom laughs thinking of us, each believing how amazing we are as humans.
And yet, we are a bunch of rock heads.
Our heads are full of rocks.
Our knowledge full of sand and dirt.
Without You we are clay formations, lifeless clay masks, hollow inside, no life in us.
We may be painted bright and beautiful or strange and odd....
but it is paint on the clay and no more.
Without Your breath of life within, we are carcasses simply waiting to be turned back into dirt.
We are but a vapor.
A borrowed breath from Heaven.
A flower or blade of grass which lives but today and tomorrow is gone.
Bits of dust blowing in the wind.
Sand upon a shore to be washed here and there by the tide.
Who are we that You are mindful of us?
Without You as our rock upon which we are built and fastened, we are doomed to be no more.
But You have called the Rock on which You would build Your church.
And if we are part of that church, we must also be living stones.
I am reminded of stones as means to build Your altars.
You were also called the Rock that the builders rejected which would be the cornerstone of a whole new world.
And there's no forgetting the use of stones in the punishment of those sentenced to die.
Stoning.
To stand and throw rocks at another until they died of trauma and blood loss.
Barbaric.
I think of the woman dragged out of her sin and into the middle of the other waiting men there in front of You...
They all wanted to see You stone her.
They wanted it enough they all picked up stones in their hands to kill that woman.
We want BLOOD!
She is WRONG!
And oddly enough, the stones remind me of the words we use to throw at one another...
sticks and stones may break our bones...
Words aimed like large and small rocks and stones, hurled through the air to strike and cause the most damning punishment.
Let us KILL the other because they are WRONG!
And yet... to the side You knelt, squatting on the ground, as though You didn't hear them, and You took Your finger and wrote in the dust.
Much like when we were formed... children of dust, demanding justice when we all deserved only death.
They questioned and questioned until at last You stood up and spoke,

"Let those who are without sin cast the first stone."
You, offering to give them Your right, for You alone had no sin.
But none of them could match You.
Each one thought of his own sin, dropped his rock, turned and left.
Profound.
The ultimate rock thrown back.
The precise word aimed at each heart.
You knew.
Took aim.
Threw the stone exactly where it needed to land.
Convicted.
Then You turned back to the dust on the ground and used Your Holy fingers which created us to write in the dust again.
And as they left, You got up again and asked the woman where were the other men to accuse her.
She looked around and there were none but You.
You aimed true at her heart and said, Neither do I condemn you. Go and stop sinning.

Aim your Words at me, Lord. 
I know they will strike true.
Cut away all that is dead and lifeless and not Yours.
Leave only what grows from You.
Let nothing remain of my old rock-headed stubbornness

Break me apart as I fall upon You.
Your words are power.
You gave us language.
You made words for a use and a purpose.
We are unable to speak without Your breath.
Without Your life breathed into us, we are lifeless.
Unseeing.
Unknowing.
Unspeaking.
Unable to move.
Unbreathing.
Unable to be more than dust outside of You.
Lord God, who are we and Great are You.

Hands of God

Fingers that formed the earth
and made mankind
wrote the commandments in the tablets of stone
formed the writing on the wall
gave sight to the blind man
touched the sick and made them well
grabbed the hand of Peter as he sank like a stone
placed Your hands on the children and blessed them

 

 

You lifted Your hands to heaven and blessed us

broke the fish and loaves in Your hands
drove the thieves out of the temple with a cord
You write in the dust.
You hold no stone in hand.
You allow Yourself taken by the rough hands of mankind
and You stretch out Your arms

as Your hands are nailed to the cross.
pierced
torn
scarred forever
while our names are carved into Your hands
to bring healing and freedom to a world lost and afflicted

Hands of Love

stretched out forever

to all who come.

 

Rocks Cry Out

Alas...

Our unhallowed form...

Children of dust.

Eyes of clay which cannot see.
Mouths mute.
Hands and feet unmoving.
Breathe Your life into us again.
Lord, make these stones live.

Satan tempts...
You don't have to be hungry, turn these stones to bread.
Jump down from here and angels will not let You strike Your foot against a stone.
Come with me to the mountain top, the highest stone,
look at all beneath You here...
I'll give you the whole earth...

But it wasn't common earth the Creator wanted.
Though His commandments were first written in the stone,
He wished them to be written on our hearts.
Flesh and blood.
Living earth.
Clay come to life.
God inside the living stones.
Upon this rock I will build my church.

And the rocks cry out.
Our blood cries to You from the very ground.
The Sacrifice bleeds upon the rocks.
The stone is rolled away,
and at last we are accepted.

Our stony hearts come to life in You.

 

Common Ground

Mud and clay
dust and dirt
soil and rock
tablets of stone
our lives in earth forever formed

from earth we were made
created from the dust
life breathed into clay statues

rocks in our hands
we are ready to stone
we cannot see love with dust in our eyes

Unseeing until Your fingers places mud upon our eyes.
You write in the dust,
and we find redemption.
Forgiveness hits home.
Grace sinks in.

 

feet of clay

we stumble and fall

our solid rock

please steady us all

You form the worlds

fashion us from the earth

write love and protection to us in tables of stone

You are our cornerstone

the building block

on this rock You build your church

living stones

altars of sacrifice

this temple will be destroyed

not one stone will be left standing upon another

bricks have fallen but we will rebuild with hand-cut stones

Jacob and his pillow of stone

night and day among the tombs we cry and cut ourselves with stones

we will be broken upon you

or crushed underneath

let us not worship graven images

help us rebuild the wall with new stones

let not Thy seed fall upon our stony ground

alas... our blindness...

eyes of clay which cannot see

mouths mute

hands and feet unmoving

breathe Your life into us again

make these stones live

Sugar Sandwiches

Sad thing... how little we really know the people around us. How we assume who they are by what we see. Judge them before they even open their mouth. Put them on trial before we even discover their own private history. We don't know their pain. Their suffering. Their childhood. The failed relationships. The loneliness or isolation. We know nothing about what sorrows they have known. And yet in a single glance, they are seen, weighed and declared unfit with our own reckless discrimination.

If I am overweight, I'm never given a chance. Some people only see "obese." They take one second to see me and immediately sum me up on the scales inside their head, and I am simply a lump of fat unable to utter a single syllable in my defense. And already I'm on the chopping block. They look at me and say "she's lazy."

I think it's unfair to not even get to know me, leaving my history unread like a dusty book on a shelf that nobody ever believes is interesting enough to pick up and read. The old saying about not judging a book by its cover... yeah… maybe that's me.

I've faced a lot of fear in my life… fear of people. People can be cruel, even when you're a kid. Especially when you are poor. Even more when you are kind of awkward… or if you have to move to another place and face a whole new school and you come to a bigger city from a small town with a funny name. And then sprinkle some shame in there like your dad being in prison, and your mom has to work all the time and you are so broke your mom doesn't even have lunch money so you're eating weird things like a cold corn dog in your lunch box or a boiled egg and a cherry tomato or maybe another jelly sandwich 'cause the peanut butter is gone…Or maybe you eat nothing but the heels of the bread because the jelly and peanut butter are both gone… Or maybe you don't even have bread, so you just go in there and wish you had a lunch while everyone stares at you and asks questions… It was easier when the school campuses were open at lunchtime... at least I could pretend to go home and eat. Nothing quite so embarrassing as having to explain why you aren't eating.

Not to mention the clothes... sneakers bought a size or two too big, that way I could wear them even longer. I think my least favorite ones were that horrid green kind of avocado color… whatever it was called.   I must have worn those shoes a long time. It seemed like forever… funny now when I look back. Tragic, and yet a funny twist… the ugly shoes matched my wretched coat (ugly green with big gold buttons; big and fuzzy like a teddy bear). I must have looked like a small furry monster child. Green shoes and horrible big, green, fuzzy coat.

I recall the pain and shame I felt sitting at the baby-sitter's house being taunted and made fun of relentlessly by a brat of a kid and his older sister. She was two grades older than me. The both of them set to dancing around as I sat in the chair in the middle of their living room. They were singing a made up song about my ugly coat and him hitting me repeatedly on the head with my own flimsy notebook while I ducked and tried to cover my head with my hands, tears streaming down my face, which was red with shame.

I felt so helpless. There I was, supposedly being cared for in their house, and while I was being tormented, their mother was not even aware how evil her kids were. Pure evil. They lived for nothing if not to torment and hurt anyone smaller or more helpless than themselves, like wild dogs preying on the young, the wounded, the hurting or anyone different from themselves. I cried and that only seemed to encourage them even more

I don't recall much else after I snapped. I was so angry. My sister just sat there and let them do it. I somehow knew she was helpless and that she could not stop them, but I was angry for that… her not protecting me… I was left to the wolves. There was nobody to offer me protection.

I exploded. I stood up and yelled at them, 
"I HATE YOU!!!!"

I don't know if I even took my notebook, but I opened the door and took off running. I ran and ran… up and out of that awful place leaving the demons behind me. As I ran, I screamed I never wanted to see them again, and cried just and ran and ran. I ran all the way to my little poor home down the street. It was empty… hardly even furniture in our cold little place… not much to eat. Still crying, I made myself a piece of bread with sugar sprinkled in it, locked up the front door and went out the back. I went up the road and down to the storm drain gutter behind a neighbor's house. I crouched down there, wiping my eyes with my furry green coat sleeve, feeling very alone...


I never wanted to go back again. I was cold, hurting and angry… crying and trying to eat that stupid sugar sandwich that stuck in my throat and wouldn't go down past the lump there.
I felt so betrayed. So humiliated. So wronged. An eight year old child out of place in the world, moved to a new city, strange and unkind. Out of my little home town with the funny name, away from everything familiar. No friends. No family that could help me. Alone in the world.


Daddy was in jail. I could not grasp what he had done back then... I must have blocked it out after being told, or else I did not understand what I had heard. It's kind of common for children to ask "what?" when they don't understand what they've heard. And then after they’re told again in a louder voice, they will simply say "Oh" even though they do not really understand. I think it may have been like that for me. At any rate, there were no rescuers. No one to stand up for me, and I felt it down deep. I knew then I was an outcast. An outsider. A continual victim. And then and there, I took it to heart.

Maybe the only thing that brought me comfort that day had been the little sugar sandwich. Maybe that is what sparked my relationship with food in an unhealthy way. After that, food became what felt good, or what made me feel a little better... It was associated with happiness, and even comfort.
Every birthday party meant ice cream and cake and all kinds of goodies. Every Christmas meant fudge, divinity, pies, cakes and candy. Every camp-out meant hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecue and marshmallows. Every Sunday meant some kind of snack in class. Every weekend meant cooking out. Every Thanksgiving meant turkey and dressing. Every Halloween meant plenty of candy. Every county fair meant candied apples and cotton candy. Every holiday at school meant cupcakes, punch, coke parties, pizza parties or candy.
And love for me came in candy coated goodness, plates full of happiness and joy, wrapped up in tin-foil inside a pie plate, or wafting through in the air around me as pots and pan simmered on the stove and something delicious baked in the oven… close my eyes and breathe in the smells of heaven on earth. Family get-togethers with warm pumpkin bread and cakes and pies lined up in rows… everyone happy and talking and eating… A smile on the faces of everyone. Maybe the only time I felt liked was when we were all eating. For eating and happiness went hand in hand… Love and acceptance and feeling good ...all of that was tied forever with food.

My sister came and found me at last on that terrible, awful day. I wasn't really all that good at running or hiding anyhow... probably my stupid green shoes and coat that gave me away...anyway, I was made to come back to where the two demon children were then forced to apologize. It seems the angry father giant had awakened and he had punished the two with a pretty good spanking (which was really the only reason they were saying sorry). I heard their words and saw the tears in their eyes, but knew the tears were only anger at their dad. They secretly hated me because I had caused it, and I knew they would try to hurt me again if ever I slipped up enough to give them the chance (and I never did again).


I knew I should probably feel bad for them for getting the spanking from the angry big man, but I felt only hurt and alone even though they got spanked... At least they had a dad there to spank them. Mine was locked away and I was stuck wearing ugly shoes and matching coat and at least they could wear something better, so I had no pity.


Selfish of me... but at 8 years old, maybe grace and forgiveness was not so easily understood, or… maybe it was only then that I would really begin to  understand what it might cost... When you are so young and vulnerable and helpless, and you are taken advantage of... perhaps only then, when it cuts so deep and affects your life afterward, molding and shaping you into who and what you are and will forever remember, maybe, that is when you can know best… how horribly hard it is to forgive.
I had done no wrong to cause it. I was innocent. The only crime that day was wearing ugly clothes through no fault of my own. I was poor. I wore what had been handed down to me...And then I was wronged Discriminated against. Made fun of. I was made an outcast for sport.


Forgiveness?


I knew right and wrong then, and I knew I had been wronged... It hurt and I could not defend myself, well… not without being beat up by those brats… Ask me to forgive them then and there?...and then what? Would they have continued with the hitting and dancing? Would they have slapped me and kicked me? Would they have pulled me off the chair? Pulled my hair out and choked me? Would their whole family have joined in and killed me? I was so afraid... these thoughts filled my head.


So I stood there, as they cried alligator tears, and listened to the apology. "Sorry!" one blurted out among her angry crying. Looking down, I just said in a very small voice, "It's ok." The other one was made to be polite even more. "I'm VERY sorry." he lied. "That's ok," I whispered, still looking down. And they were then forced to their rooms.

But even though I said it… it was not ok.

I don't know what happened afterward very clearly. I can remember their mother having to explain to my mom I can remember my sister being really mad at me. I think she was embarrassed at the whole situation... Maybe she was mad because I made her look stupid. I don't know. I know sometime after that (I'm not sure how long) we were given a key and told to go straight home and that my sister was in charge and I needed to mind her. We became latch-key kids.


I was never so happy Free from the demons. No more useless baby-sitters.  No more of anyone laughing at my strange attire No more waiting for mom in a stranger’s house ...even when she had to work late. But home in my familiar living room with mom's sewing machine, the old wooden rocking chair and that black couch. Home, with my stupid sugar sandwiches, and a newfound obsession with food that would follow me for a long, long time.


Thinking about it now... I think the demons' mom was cooking dinner. She was probably having to scramble to make it happen… No way to watch wild children and do household chores too... And the giant angry man, her husband, turned out to be an alcoholic...who was very angry and looking for an excuse to punish his kids. Maybe they needed the extra money watching us, or maybe she thought her kids could use some friends (or targets for practice) and maybe her hands were full with the abusive husband, and ill-fated kids. Maybe she was just trying to be nice to my mom who had no husband and had to work all the time.
I wonder about them a lot now...


Years later, one of her sons would die in an accident. Their family suffered a tragic loss. I found out about it and immediately I was taken back in thought to that scared eight year old me cringing in the chair, hiding my head inside that coat with my knees drawn up to my chest, wishing it would all end... and I pitied them... but still felt the shame and anger inside.


Later, I found out they had bought a little diner where my grandfather used to take me when he would visit us. Sadly, I determined never to go there, it's image tarnished somehow by the events of so long ago. Even now when I drive past, too many thoughts swirl through my head. Can't bring myself to even drive past now, so I avoid it and go blocks out of the way to keep it from my view. Out of sight and out of mind.
I've come to terms with my feelings now… Somewhat... I do forgive them now for all that happened... I was hurt... but maybe they were hurting too at the time and afraid to allow anyone else to be happy when they were so miserable themselves. They had to act tough to mask the fact their father was a drunk and abusive to them… that their mother could not protect them and ending up putting her kids into that situation. I do not blame anyone...


Fear makes us do strange things, reckless and wild... appearing tough as nails to keep anyone from seeing the real you, small and afraid, eight years old, and wishing to be normal… whatever that may be.
Maybe all we really want is acceptance.


To be loved no matter how ugly our coat and shoes are. To be a part of a family where everyone is friend and no one is foe, flaws are overlooked, fears are overcome together… where peace reigns at last and there is no need to eat a sugar sandwich to feel good.


Sadly, we only find short glimpses of that ideal place while we are here in this world made of dust which is laid in the lap of our enemy. We struggle to fit in when fitting in does not fit us here, for we are not home yet. We search for Eden and find it unobtainable. We eat everything unknowingly searching for the fruit from the Tree of Life... never realizing it is not to be found in this place. And we struggle to drink the living water for it requires death of our hidden selves, change, the unfamiliar…so we run away, crying and saying I hate you,  with a sugar sandwich in our pocket and a lump in our throat, hurting like little children, which we all are inside.
We are wishing to be found and taken home to that place where we are held in the embrace of love and acceptance and peace of those who love us unconditionally... forever...


...and nobody has to eat a sugar sandwich to find it.

Letter from God to me

Can I ask you what you are so afraid of?

Financial ruin?

Bankruptcy?

Being left alone, abandoned and ashamed?

Are you worried about security?

Can I ask you, in My hands, are you not in the most secure place... anywhere?

Then why are you worrying?

Let Me deal with it.

Let Me work My ways and rest knowing I will do you no harm.

Everything I do is for your own good.

Do you remember the stories of yesterday?

The Children of Israel in the wilderness?

Did I not provide for them there?

Did they starve?

Or wasn't it I Who rained down manna from Heaven to feed them?

Did Pharaoh capture them and bring them back as slaves again to Egypt?

Or did their pursuers not drown in the very same water the Children walked through the middle of on dry land?

Security is a fiery pillar by night and a tower of clouds during the day.

I was always there for them to see.

And I AM ever present in your time of need.

And even after I had rescued those people, and they forgot every miracle they had seen or tasted...

and they turned away their faces and looked at the problems ahead as though they were bigger than ME...

...I STILL never left them.

Remember the city where they marched around for seven days....

Do not forget that.

I delivered them over and over and over again.

And is Jesus not the hope and redemption of all mankind?

I will never leave you nor forsake you

Do not despair

If you will remember Who sent along boxes of clothes

and bags of food

and assorted produce in the car

and envelopes of gift certificates and money

and a can of peas that everyone ate and liked

and a ten dollar bill stuck in a rake for a Thanksgiving turkey

and a grandmother who would buy dresses for you in the summer

and Easter bunny cakes in the spring

and soda pop and your favorite cereals when you would visit

and shoes and back to school stuff when you needed it most

I provided a wide variety of people the opportunity to receive a blessing from Me

by giving unselfishly to you.

Don't focus on the negative.

The negative is around you all the time.

You have it every day.

This world lies in the lap of the evil one

but you have overcome through ME

I cannot fail.

Trust Me.

Let Me work.

I am knitting ends and edges together.

I am weaving a most marvelous work

The big picture will soon be finished

though it seems sometimes like it is taking forever

and it will have everyone in it together

trust My handiwork.

You have today.

Don't worry over tomorrow.

It is in My hands.

No matter what happens I love you dearly.

I created the universe

I hand crafted galaxies and stars and regions of space not yet explored or known

and I made the microcosms, so small things have had to be invented just to glimpse it in part

Every bit of it fearfully and wonderfully made...

...and yet...

it is you I hold in my heart

You are etched into the palm of My hand

And you are the apple of My eye

Whoever touches you, touches Me

Don't lose heart

Give Me time

for all things work in timing....

and My time is always perfect.

Never too soon

Never too late

Always right when it should be

Fear not, stand still,

Fear not, stand still

and see the salvation of the Lord!

Scars

I'm a scarred person.
I've got a number of scars that tell a lot about my life.
One on my leg from a dog bite back when I was in elementary and tried to intervene in a dog fight between my pet and another dog.
I've got a scar above one of my eyebrows from getting chicken pox as a child.
I've got another one in the palm of my right hand that looks about the shape of a match head. Got that one from trying to put out a fire that was begun with a match, funnily enough. I was a kid and panicked. But the fire was put out... no harm done. Just a reminder of that left on my hand for the rest of my life.
Oh and I've got scars from a couple of minor surgeries for hernias and such.
And a really big one from three dear children who were all c-section deliveries.
Not to mention a lot of old leftover stretch marks...
And then, I've got a very bothersom and obvious scar on my left arm.
It's near the wrist and continues down near a vein for about three inches.
It still bears the marks of the stitches on either side of the cut, looking rather like a mini stretch of abandoned railroad tracks.
Draws a lot of attention sometimes.
People comment on it because it's so easily detected.
It has faded more and more, so it's not as discolored and glaringly noticable as it once was.
But it's also a reminder of a time in my life when I had no joy.
No hope.
I could find no reason worth living, and this is why I have the scar today.
And it really used to bother me.
I was so obsessed with being perfect.
Looking like everyone else.
Wishing I did not having a huge scar reminding me of the old hurts and horrors of my past.
It was like a reminder of my failure in the past.
I failed to realize the gift of life I was given and that this life is really not mine to end, but it is my duty and my constant assignment to serve the One who loved me enough to save me and give His own life for my salvations.
I find myself facing a number of old scars inside myself too.
I'm scarred both inside and out...
Scars of being abandoned, scars of being hurt physically, emotionally, or attacked verbally. Scars of abuse. Scars of loved ones who died due to suicide leaving an open ended question that can never be answered.
Scars of all the little hurts from my past that left me hurting and wounded and afraid to live because I knew the weapons out there would only cut deeper wounds if I dared to move again.
But these scars and wounds heal in time.
Some leave more of a visible mark than others.
Some are mere ghosts of what they once were.
Each one has a reminder. A history of life, be it a good time or a struggle.
Each scar has a significance behind it telling a story of my little life and bears witness to the events of what I've lived through and overcome.
So why allow myself to view them as something wretched?
Why the wish to be free of them and look like everyone else?
I don't know what it is in our human nature that makes us want to be accepted because we're just like the other person beside us.
It's not something we SHOULD wish for.
And when I think of all my scars I count them as nothing in comparison...
with the One who has two nail scarred hands
two nail scarred feet
scars upon His sacred brow where the thorns pierced his innocent skin
scars upon His back where he was scourged, whipped, beaten in my place
and the deep scar in his side, thrust through by the sword of a soldier.
Scars of love.
Scars of life.
Scars that tell the most wonderful story in all of eternity.
Scars that mean I can live with Him eternally, accepted and loved by the one who gave the ultimate sacrifice for human kind.
Scars that should have been mine, but for His saving grace alone that bore my own sin and shame to the cross.
And when I think of His scars, I don't despise them or wish they weren't there.
I am drawn to tears to think of them.
For by One man's scars, I am made whole again. By His scars I am given new hope and a new life.
By His suffering, I was able to cross the bridge over the great divide between man and his Maker.
I am able to be a part of God's family because of the sacrifice made by the bearer of those scars.
No scars?
No thank you.
I'll keep my scars... they too tell a story.
A story of grace, hope, love, faith and redemption.
A story of my feet walking down that path before me.
Tells of the times I fell. The times I got back up again and kept walking.
The times I faced an enemy and maybe got bit in the leg by a dog.
And the times I fought off all the fiery arrows of the enemy and prevailed.
Let me wear my scars in honor of Him who bears the scars for me.
Mine may not be the scars of saving another's life, but they are the scars that remind me where He has been faithful to save me again and again.
I found this beautiful poem written long ago by a faithful missionary, Amy Carmichael.
I think it is very, very fitting.




NO SCAR?


Hast thou no scar?
No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear thee sung as mighty in the land;
I hear them hail thy bright, ascendant star.
Hast thou no scar?


Hast thou no wound?
Yet I was wounded by the archers; spent,
Leaned Me against a tree to die; and rent
By ravening beasts that compassed Me, I swooned.
Hast thou no wound?


No wound? No scar?
Yet, as the Master shall the servant be,
And piercèd are the feet that follow Me.
But thine are whole; can he have followed far
Who hast no wound or scar?


BY AMY CARMICHAEL,
IRISH MISSIONARY TO INDIA FOR 55 YEARS

In The Depths

In the depths of His love is a powerful place to be.

We think of depth in terms of deepness of things like water, or a really deep sink hole, or maybe the vast depths of space beyond our little world.
And we seem to like to measure things a lot down here...
We measure mountains to determine the highest height of each one, and measure all those really deep places to find out just how deep they are after all.
We hold up our measuring sticks to keep track of our kids and their growing progress.
We mark the wall to show how tall they've grown over the years.
And we measure the growth of all things from plants and pets to our circle of friends and our incomes.
Then we measure ourselves against our friends and family and those we meet to make sure we're measuring up to them so we can fit in and be as normal and regular or as different and as extraordinary as possible...
That's a lot of measuring.
We seem to spend our whole lives holding up one after another means of measure to everything and everyone along the way.
But what about the real measure of our lives?
Only God can see and know the contents of our heart, no matter what our tape measure or our scales or our yard stick has to say.
He alone knows if we are measuring up.
And in the end, we shouldn't be trying so hard to measure ourselves up to anyone else except Him.
And there lies the real beauty of it all.
We cannot be perfect. We cannot ever reach it while we walk around on this earth filled with the dust of human kind wearing our earthen suits of clay....
And we know this deep down.
It frustrates us to no end sometimes. We're such a long way from being perfect creations.
Tempers flare, we lose sight of our goal, our joy is stolen away and we lose hope and begin to wonder, why does He even bother with me? I can never be perfect.
Ah, but the answer is just beyond that conclusion.
In our imperfect state, we accept Him as the only answer to our lowly position here.
In our sin, we ask Him to complete us.
In our separation from the Father, Jesus becomes that missing piece (or peace) that makes us whole.
Only in Him are we made perfect.
And in that measure, we have nothing to fear.
We know in Jesus, we can finally measure up.
No more struggling to keep up with the Joneses next door and struggle to make ourselves meet their income, their social stature, or their level of fitness, or their social acceptance...
We have ultimate acceptance in His eyes.
What else counts?
Nothing.
It is the one true measure of all eternity.
And in those depths of grace and mercy, we find His love is deeper than anything we can ever comprehend.
What does infinite mean?
God's love is the definition of infinite.
How can one put a limitation on infinity?
How can there be an end to something that is fathomless?
How can something that is bottomless be filled?
How can we put His love into a box and say to anyone, there is no love in God's heart for you...
when it is not true?
How deep and wide it runs.
It encompasses us on every side.
It is a mighty flood that has escaped out of its shore and is surging beyond every border in pursuit of those who have not yet known His love.
It is a fire that fully consumes anything in its path.
It is so large, it can hold all our universe in the palm of one hand, lift it up to the face of love and smile.
And it is so infinite and intimate His love can hear the smallest whisper of our hearts breathed in a prayer in the middle of the night just before sleep sets in
He knows our deepest secrets, our hidden thoughts, our most disguised painful memories...
every tear drop we've cried he has seen, heard and felt.
In our deepest hidden place where we crawl into and shut out the world behind us... even there He is.
He is closer to each of us than the very air we breathe...
He's more a part of us than our own skin.
He is more intimate to me than my very own thoughts inside my head.
He is more life to me than the pounding of my own heartbeat.
How can I measure this?
There is no measure.
It is without end. Measureless. Fathomless.
Deeper than anything I can begin to comprehend.
In His depths is a very powerful place to be indeed.
I am held more secure there than I know.
And He isn't letting go of me... His love is forever.
No matter what.

Hope

I feel You today...

Your hand on my back

warm and steady

keeping me calm

this child that I am.

Your touch

melts my fears away

like frost on glass panes

as the sun's rays

break through the clouds

and shine through the windows.

My snowy heart

is warmed again

and life stirs

within my soul.

Your voice reminds me

"fear not"

echoes in my thoughts

resounding in my soul

and I am not afraid

with You here.

Peace be still

and I am calm

the whirlwind subsides

every thought is quiet

as You stand beside me

and take my hand in Yours.

When I remember

YOU are my Father

and You call me

Beloved

Precious

the Apple of Your Eye

Christ as my brother

Righteous

I am taken from my guilt

and given a new name.

I find complete freedom from fear

here with You

like nowhere else on earth...

Free to love

Free to live

Free to share

Free to give all of this to those around me.

Also I find that in You

I live

and move

and have my being

just beginning to understand

what this means.

Thank You.

Thank You, thank You, thank You.

Forever thank You.

You have made my heart new

inside and out.

Fear is gone

Old is passed away

and New has come.

Hallelujah!

Curse of Thorns

Thorns

On my mind very much lately.

As I walk I pass by many thorn bushes and mesquite trees filled with thorns.

I walk through stickers sometimes and end up with one in my shoe on occasion.

How they hurt.

Nothing like walking a little too close to a thorny bush and being scratched or your clothes caught or torn.

It's a painful reminder to pay closer attention to where I walk.

Every time I see the thorn bushes, it reminds me of the crown of thorns Jesus wore for us.

And it also reminds me of how Adam and Eve were put out of the garden and the curse first began for mankind.

Genesis 3:

14 So the LORD God said to the serpent,

“Because you have done this,

“Cursed are you above all livestock

and all wild animals!

You will crawl on your belly

and you will eat dust

all the days of your life.

15 And I will put enmity

between you and the woman,

and between your offspring and hers;

he will crush your head,

and you will strike his heel.”

16 To the woman he said,

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;

with painful labor you will give birth to children.

Your desire will be for your husband,

and he will rule over you.”

17 To Adam he said, “Because you listened to your wife and ate fruit from the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You must not eat from it,’

“Cursed is the ground because of you;

through painful toil you will eat food from it

all the days of your life.

18 It will produce thorns and thistles for you,

and you will eat the plants of the field.

19 By the sweat of your brow

you will eat your food

until you return to the ground,

since from it you were taken;

for dust you are

and to dust you will return.”

Cursed is the ground.

In one weak moment of unbelief, arrogance and disobedience the curse fell upon all.

We were cut off from the Creator.

Man, made from the dust with life breathed into him, reduced from job of caring for the created garden to farming, and dealing with thorns and thistles.

I can't imagine a world without thorns and thistles.

I've seen them all my life.

In west Texas a person sees a lot of thorns and thistles. From the mesquite trees and prickly pear cactus, to thorn bushes, thistles and stickers, catclaw vines... sharp and pointy things are everywhere you look.

I can remember as a child going barefoot trying to cross a little patch of grass beside our house to get over to the neighbor's grapevine on his fence.

I loved the deep purple concord grapes he grew, and he allowed us to enjoy them most graciously.

But in my hurry to get to the grapes, I forgot there were stickers growing in the grass. I would end up with two feet full of stickers before I realized I'd walked right into the middle of them.

Painful!

Thorns mean pain.

I can only imagine how painful it was for Jesus to wear the crown of thorns.

Not just the woody points pressed down into his skin against his head... not just the bleeding the barbs must have caused him...

But also in knowing that thorns sprung from the curse of the fall of man.

And so He was crowned with the curse of all of mankind.

The king of glory, the son of God, the light of the world, the prince of peace, Love divine...

crowned with the curse of man, torn and bleeding, dying in place of humankind.

And how our sinful nature seems like thorns to me.

Sin grows inside us pricking against our conscience, jabbing our thoughts, wild and unrelenting, never abating,

creeping into our lives like a wild weed full of stickers and thorns.

We keep cutting it back, chopping it off, plowing it under, trying to uproot it...

And it pokes us, pricks us, scratches and tears against us and sometimes even entangles us.

This brings to mind the ram caught by it's horns in the thorny bush which was used as Abraham's sacrifice in place of his son.

When we become entangled by sin, we are caught struggling to get free in our frustrating thrashing about.

The more we struggle, the more ensnared we become by what we want to be free from.

Trying to get rid of the sin in our lives is a little like trying to remove a catclaw vine from a fence.

It is one evil vine to try and rid from your property.

It grows back almost faster than you can get it cut down and removed.

It climbs fences, walls, telephone poles, trees, and even houses. And the thorns... the vine nearly seems to wrap you in thorns when you're trying to pull it away from the fence. If you don't wear gloves you're asking to come back with bloody arms.

Sin is the same way. It's insidious. It takes root and tries to grow in every part of your life.

It takes over. It climbs all over everything unwatched and grows thick and thorny and covers every inch of space until it occupies all we are.

For Jesus to be crowned with the curse must have penetrated much more than his physical body.

It must have struck him with pain much deeper inside as He bore our sin inside Him.

Our own thorns of sin must have struck his heart like nothing else ever felt by any human.

Every pain a barb of our iniquities.

Every failure of my inadequacy, not serving Him as I know I should... every wish of mine to do as I please, every broken promise, backsliding, selfishness, and every missed step ...another thorn He had to endure.

He was crowned with my sin. He was made king of my errors. He wore my shame for all the world to see.

He was made sovereign ruler of all of our sin.

And in that crown of thorns lies all of our hope.

“For he has made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians. 5:21).

Willingly Jesus wore the shame of all mankind.

Nobody forced Him to.

He did it for us because He knew we could not ever reach grace without His sacrifice.

Every time I pass the thorn bushes on my daily walks, I remember the crown of thorns.

Where once they brought me annoyance and occasional pain as I would brush against them,

now they bring me hope as I'm reminded just how much He loves us.

Not just me. Not just you. He loves all of us.

Come to Him.

Crown Him as king of your life forever.

"See from His head, His hands, His feet,

Sorrow and love flow mingled down!

Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?"

Ram in the thicket
horns caught in a crown of brier
willing Lamb among a world of bramble
curse of Love upon Thy sacred head
You hold in Your hands my name
as You step upon the barbs for me
bruising your feet on the serpent's fangs
Thorn in Your side - a cleft in the rock
forgiveness deluge flows free
grace in redemption's tsunami
blood of the lamb
the greater flood
drowning all of our sin
old man is gone
and new has come
borne of the new ark
- a common manger