Liz's Front Porch

Clutter and Spring

Spring arrived exactly on schedule….even though I was not ready!

Oh my yes, don’t get me wrong! Spring is my favorite season—when I’m not soaking up summer breezes, gazing at fall colors, or meditating under quite, winter skies. But, this year, spring sneaked up on me because unrestrained recklessness sneaked up on me and overpowered my usual behavior controlled by common sense, caution, and good judgment.

On a dreary day just before Easter, I began cleaning our office. No, I do NOT mean a spray, a swipe, and a smile. I mean a total down and dirty, clean out, undo, sort, move, reorganize, and throw away meltdown. One of those once-every-five-years-whether-it-needs-it-or-not major upheavals.

The problem with this year’s project is that at five years I didn’t have time. At six years all our kids were home for a birthday celebration. It’s now been seven and counting while the stuff kept piling up!

I was just getting started when Easter came along with company and family dinners so I had to hide, cover-up, and shove stuff aside. Every few days, I shredded a stack or two then covered up and shoved aside again to enjoy more company. Today recklessness struck big time and instead of seeing some glimmer of ending, I created more havoc and disarray.

All of which would be fine and good because I thrive on finished projects, neat surroundings, and an orderly environment. BUT, SPRING IS HERE and I want to go outside and dig in the dirt!

Yesterday, Aunt Margaret’s antique yellow iris screamed at me to stop, sit down, and drink in the beauty of its perfect bloom. I did a 30-second stop, quickly smiled, then rushed back inside to my jumble of chaos.

I took a split second to look out my office window and the willow tree, decked out in spring formal attire, sways her arms back and forth calling me to prayer.

So, I’ll just clear a path between stacks of empty folders, newspapers, trash cans, and magazines and shut the office door behind me.

Who will ever know???????

 

After Easter - What ?

Easter morning in our part of Texas was glorious.

Easter morning in my heart was spectacular.

Monday our children returned to their homes, jobs, and schools.

I straightened the house, put away the nice china, and yawned.

Tuesday I slept and tried to recuperate.

Have I forgotten already? The miracle... the perfect love... the sacrifice...

What will I do with so much knowledge, so much truth, so much love? Hide it under a basket? Claim I'm too tired? Or just get too busy to remember to share the great good news that Jesus, my Lord, is alive and offers forgiveness and life everlasting.

The Gospel accounts of Easter morning are exciting. I urge you to go and read—all of them. Compare. Study. Examine. Speak to your Father. Then, look into the empty tomb yourself and let us together run and tell!

Thank You, Father, for giving me another day, another opportunity, more grace to live your salvation and to go and tell.

Let’s Shout the Good News together,

   Liz

My Lord is Alive ! !

               

I need not have been afraid!

Jesus Lives!

The tomb could not hold Him!

The cross is empty!

Jesus, the Lamb of God rose from the dead.

Jesus lives. Even today, He walks and He talks with you and with me.

He cares. He knows. He is in it with us.

No matter what!

My Lord and my God, my Savior and my King.

 

 

 Very early on Sunday morning the women went to the tomb,

carrying the spices that they had prepared.

When they found the stone rolled away from the entrance,

they went in.

But they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus,

and they did not know what to think.

Suddenly two men in shining white clothes

stood beside them. The women were afraid and

bowed to the ground.

But the men said, “Why are you looking in the place

of the dead for someone who is alive?

Jesus isn't here!

He has been raised from death.

Remember that while he was still in Galilee,

he told you, ‘The Son of Man will be handed over

to sinners who will nail him to a cross.

But three days later he will rise to life.’ ”

Luke 24:1-7 (Contemporary English Version)

(See also Matthew 28.1-10; Mark 16.1-8; John 20.1-10)

May ALL the blessings of the resurrection be yours,

every day!

        Liz 

  

My lord is Dead

My lord died last night. They crucified him. I watched, frozen in terror, from a little distance. My friend Mary, the mother of James and Joses, and Solome stood with me. I have watched many die. Many times I sat long hours waiting for the last breath of a loved one. I have bandaged wounds and set broken bones. I am a mother. Mothers do those things. But watching my friend die on that cross tonight curdled my stomach.

Jesus was my rabbi. He was our teacher, our friend. We thought he would bring peace to our land and would sit on the throne of David. I remember that day on the mountain when he taught us how to live. I ate the bread and fish Jesus provided--from nothing! I think we would still be sitting there listening to his words, soaking up his teaching but he had to move on to teach others. We had forgotten our hunger—but he didn’t. Jesus fed us and we listened. The sun was warm that day, our hearts full of hope.

I was so sure he was our messiah. Today I am frightened and hiding with others who followed him... and hoped.

Last night, when Jesus shouted, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” I trembled; cold chills ran down my spine and I covered my mouth to stop the screams gurgling in my throat. I was so sure Jesus was the one sent from God to be our king. But...today I have bruises on my hands and arms  where Mary and Salome and I gripped each other and someone’s nails dug into my arm.

When I heard the centurion soldier say, “He MUST be the Son of God!” I felt more confused. How can he be the Son of God? Jesus is dead.

The whole earth shook when darkness fell in the middle of the day. We hovered together. Watching.

Yes. Jesus was dead.

Suddenly, soldiers pushed us away and took his bloody body down from the cross. Sundown was drawing near. The dead could not stay on the cross on the Sabbath. It was horrible. Our screams could no longer be stifled. Men beat their chests. All of us wondered What has happened? What do we do now? Where do we go?

We didn’t know what to do, but whispers spread through the crowd that Joseph from Arimathea had claimed the body of our friend. Some of us women followed, pulling scarves closer over our heads and faces, so we would know where they laid Jesus. We watched as Joseph and Nicodemus bound the body of Jesus in linen wrappings and laid him in a place in the rock where no other body had ever laid. Joseph and some men pushed a huge stone against the opening.

As we watched from behind a tree, the garden was quiet and lovely. Full of peace. I wanted to stay in the garden all night, but soldiers were gathering to guard the tomb and Sabbath was almost on us, so, quickly and quietly, we retreated to my home.

But before we rested on the Sabbath we hastily prepared spices and perfumes—mixed with our tears. We would find courage to face the soldiers the day after Sabbath. We would anoint the body of our friend.

But tonight we are afraid. My home is in a secluded part of town, so a crowd of Jesus’ friends gathered here for the Sabbath. And to hide. And to think. And to pray. And to worry together.

We sit. In fear. What are we to do now? What will become of us? All through the night we sit. All through Sabbath we sit. Now and then I hear moans and soft sobs. Some groans are my own. I shake in fear. My husband keeps watch by the door. The night is black and dark.

Our friend, who we thought was God’s own, is dead.

Jesus is dead.

                         

Thursday's Meal

Today is just Thursday, but we draped the cross in black anyway. Perhaps knowing what "good Friday" is all about causes my soul to sit in ashes and wonder at so much love and grace. It just seemed fitting that the cross be black today.

We hung the black drape before the wind came. Wretched wind that saps the last drop of dampness from our land and from our souls. Blowing, howling, billowing, blustery, angry winds.

Some of our children will arrive in a while then after hugs and commenting on the fierce winds we will cover our heads and go into town to share the Last Supper with fellow worshippers.

We will remember. We will ponder. We will buck up a little bit…just being in His presence. At home we will have a family Easter meal because of schedules and because we are together. We will pray and mourn and bless each other and laugh. Yes, on the day before Jesus, the Son of the Living God was crucified, we can do all of that because we know about the empty tomb.

As often as we eat the Bread and drink from the Cup, we will remember Him.

Until He comes again.

May the blessings of the bread and the wine be yours,

     Liz

Wave Those Palms

Tomorrow, in the ancient tradition of the church year, we will celebrate Palm Sunday.

I love being called to remember specific and true things about our Lord Jesus Christ.

           It excites me to remember that the Holy Scriptures have withstood 2,000 years of testing, changing, science, the printing press, and the age of computers. My heart is thrilled to know that in spite of the dark ages, man's inhumanity to man, and the new age that the one triune God reigns supreme.

           Tomorrow, we will wave our palm branches and bow our hearts in thanksgiving that Jesus loved us enough—fully aware of Calvary’s horror—to enter Jerusalem riding on a donkey.

           Then, we’ll break bread with our Master, and stand at the fire beside Peter—denying our Lord. The sound of hammers striking spikes will echo in our minds forever.

On Saturday, we, too, will hide in fear and trembling because it is finished.

           We think.

Dear friends, while our own injuries bleed from skirmishes with the world, remember…..

           Don’t give up.

                      Stand firm.

         Let’s not look for the Living among the dead.

May you find new blessings this Palm Sunday.

       Liz