The Easter Story

Ever been so lonely that you just wanted to be...alone?

I think maybe Jesus at Gethsemane felt like a single teacher at the end of winter--crap yet to be put up with, and going it alone.

Again: "Huh--He does get me!

UPDATE, about an hour later: I caught up on emails and six or so online Scrabble games. I checked local and national news, ate a sandwich, drank a pop. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING fixed my loneliness, frustration, angst. Didn't I write once about a child fighting off sleep? And how I do that with Him? So I caved, went to my "Devotions" bookmark folder, and found a link for "Hate Your Life." (Things aren't that bad, but I appreciated the sentiment.)

What I hadn't realized all that time was that God was waiting for me. He was waiting for me to be willing to decrease so that He could increase. He was waiting for me to say (and believe) that I needed Him more than I needed my dreams to happen. He was waiting for me to know that His grace is more than enough to not only heal my broken heart, but to fill it overflowing. He was waiting for me to realize that no check-marked box on the agenda list of my life could make me feel as whole and fulfilled as picking up my cross and following Christ would. He was waiting for me to trust that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

I had planned out my destination. I had prepared for the journey. I wanted to go where I wanted to go. But, while I prayed and begged to move ahead, the Lord wanted me to stand still. Like Moses told the children of Israel, I knew the Lord was saying to me, "Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall see again no more forever. The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace" (Exodus 14:13-14).

The Lord will...fight for me? For me?

Yeah. It's that kind of love.

Sacrifice

Dejected, I plopped myself down in one of the balcony pews. The stage had been cleaned up and readied for Easter morning. All that remained of hours of work by dozens of people were the cross anchored in the false flooring and the empty tomb displayed in the choir loft.

And I sat there and bemoaned my unworthy videotaping skills to Him in the darkness. The production was over, most people were gone, and the only light trickled in from a hallway.

"I stank. We all watched it on the big screen at the cast party, and I stank."

I butted in on my thoughts. "Wasn't your camera (you don't have a videocamera); wasn't your tripod (you don't have a tripod)."

And then I argued with my thoughts. "So. Should've been better. There my name was listed under 'videography,' and everyone watched it and probably thought, 'Why did _she_ do this? Never have _her_ do it again!'"

"It was your fourth time taping ANYthing!"

"So. Still stank. Wasn't perfect."

"Fine. It wasn't. You do stink." And then the cross and the empty tomb lined up in my view. "Why do you think you need a Savior?"

It hit me that my videography skills are much like my life--never going to be perfect, never going to be enough. That's a need for a Savior.

People walked past the doors to back halls on their way to pick up personal effects before leaving. More lights winked off.

"But I wish I could have shown them--shown them the good version, from the second performance. The one where I had the transitions down better and knew how to find my spot in the darkness."

He gently prodded me. "And why didn't you?"

"Because the sound was better on the first recording, and if I were one of the singers, _I'd_ want to be able to hear myself well."

"So you sacrificed what would have made you look better, for what made _them_ better?"

"Well...yeah..."

"So it was a sacrifice."

I suddenly realized I was sitting above the aisle I'd watched "Jesus" carry his cross up the other night. I remembered the "soldiers" mocking him, and tonight, one even kicked him. "GET UP!" the "Roman" had yelled when "Jesus" had stumbled.

"You don't think I didn't want to?" He seemed to whisper to me tonight. "You don't think I couldn't have called down all sorts of...whatever, and smote the tar out of them? I didn't have to come out looking bad. But it was a sacrifice."

Oh.

Oh.

It's not that I understand Him a lot better...but I know that He understands me.

You Are Loved

I remember a time in college when I was incredibly frustrated/depressed/sad/lonely... Not being incredibly into self injury, I stood under a tree in the cold. Yep. Pretty extremist. But that was my little form of masochism. Something on the outside had to hurt or get my attention more than something on the inside.

Later, I took to driving--driving fast (which meant going out of town, because I'd still only go four miles above the limit) and with the music on loudly. It was a sort of catharsis.

Tonight, I found that the two melded. Driving with no reason when gas prices are at $3.15/gallon _is_ a form of masochism.

I was "sinking" about an issue, and prayed about it. And I've felt encouraged to fight for it. I've just been reading in Wild at Heart and am learning that it's okay for women to have a warrior heart. We're made in the image of the Creator, and He _is_ a mighty Warrior. I need guidance, but I'm strapping on my armor. Training, until I know what to shoot and how to aim.

Not Just Another Shiny Icon

I slipped through the darkened back hallway before rehearsal and stumbled upon "Jesus" spattering "blood" upon his cross.

He paused in his work. "What do you think?"

It was dark, dirty, red, gouged, scarred... My eyes took in the darkest parts and associated them with the appropriate body parts.

"It's horrible." I looked away. Kept going.

I ran into the thing again as I walked through another hallway later on. It looked even more hideous in the light. Juicy. Not in a "fruity candy" sort of way, but in a "fresh kill" sort of way.

And that's what it was, wasn't it, that moment of crucifixion? Like a carnivorous beast that requires its meat to be fresh, so it was for the sacrifice for sin. Fresh and alive--enough for the blood to drip--until the lungs were still and the heart was silent.

And it was His blood--the blood of that Guy I know.

The same thing that makes me want to run and vomit, simultaneously makes me want to curl up at the base of that cross and wait three days. He's coming back.

Don't I Know You from Somewhere?

What is it that makes you stand by, look away, when someone you know is being hurt? Cowardice? Fear? He's yelled at, mocked--and you're silent, removed.

In this case, it was the director of the musical that kept me from intervening. But I knew that guy--knew the guy who was stumbling, tripping, dragging his cross and then falling with a thud at the crest of the hill. I knew the guy with the crown of thorns--the guy showing the patience of the Creator of Job. He was placed on the cross, and it was raised until its base settled into a hole in the floor of the stage. And there he hung. The lights went dim. I knew that guy.

They rehearsed it again--yell...shuffle...stomp...fall...

Couldn't watch it.

I'd seen "The Passion of the Christ" a couple of times, and it was easy enough to distance myself from the crucifixion scene in that one. Fake blood; fake hand; Jim Caviezel got paid.

But tonight, sitting six pews from the front and again hearing the commotion of soldiers and a Savior coming up the aisle beside me, it struck me: I know that Guy.

It's a Small, Small, Small, Small World

E and J are in Ukraine to pick up their new son. While there, they get to spend time with E2.

H is still in China.

J is currently on a plane from Chicago to home, having just returned from Ethiopia.

M and B are heading to Russia in a few days to meet their infant son.

S, B, A, Highness and others are heading for New York City next weekend on a missions trip.

It's a small, small, small, small world...

One of the Coolest Compliments

I had dinner with a fairly new friend and her husband tonight. Somehow during the course of the conversation, she brought up the possibility of her premature death.

"I told him," she said, glancing at her husband, "'If I die early, I fully expect you to go ahead and remarry. And if you do, and if Goalie's still single, well, I'd like you to marry her.'"

It's one of those things that makes your heart smile--not about him, but about her love for you.