It is the middle of the week and everyone is in the house because of the Corona Virus. Justin has no schedule except to sit and study. Jordan has soccer practice on Monday and Wednesday. Aidan has study room everyday so he seems to be in the best shape of all of us. My husband went to school for a faculty meeting and I am trying to figure out how to teach online. 

This leaves us with lots of time on our hands. Way, way too much screen time for everyone! It would be so much better if I could just say, "Go play outside!" but this really isn't an option.

One of the good things about all of this time is I can read whenever I want to. I have been reading Faces at the Cross by J. Barrie Shepherd. I am reading this for Lent, which began last week. The book has more than 40 entries that are written in the first person. These are all people who were there during the Crucifixion. The entry I want to share with you is J. Barrie Shepherd's interpretation of what was going through Mary Magadelene's mind during the crucifixion.

The Face of Magdalen

So did we love him wrongly, after all?
Could this grim horror have been prevented?
Might it have never had to happen,
if we, if I, had only figured out the right way
to respond to all the love we found,
and felt and feasted on him. 

His love was unconditional,
always there for me,
even when he might have been provoked,
annoyed or disappointed 
in something I had said or done,
an attitude to others.
Our love -
mine I do know about, for sure - 
our love was always eager to possess. 
We loved him, those of us who got close enough,
just as one might love a thing of beauty,
cherishing its grace and loveliness, needing to reach out and grasp it,
have it be at our disposal, 
ready to be enjoyed at any moment.

He said his love, God's love, 
was just like that, 
was always there for us,
shining on us like the sun,
and would never let us down.
We didn't have to make it ours,
lock it up and throw away the key,
couldn't do that anyway, 
because God's love can not be held, 
can only be received and passed along.

And right then,
when we were with him, 
where he was tell us all this,
we could believe it, at least I could.
Trouble was,
he wasn't always there
and then the doubts began again.

You see, love is such a basic thing,
being loved is so important that,
if you can't be certain sure God loves you
then you just have to love yourself.
You have to watch out all the time
to make sure you don't get hurt.
You have to realize,
accept the fact that everybody else 
is busy loving their own selves.
So you can never fully trust them
because finally, when a life is on the line,
they will want it to be yours, 
rather than theirs.

See what happened to him.
See where his God-love got him in the end.
Do you suppose he still believes in it up there?
Do you think, with all the hurt and hate
He's seen these past few hours,
he still hangs on to what he taught,
and walked and worked at with us
all those weeks and months
that seemed to be leading toward forever
till they ended with a crash?

Now even the two thieves 
are cursing at him in their desperation.
Why must they pick on him?
Didn't they know?
His suffering's as bad as theirs,
and he's done nothing to deserve it.
Just to listen to them argue,
even up there when all is lost 
they can't agree on anything it seems.

What's that?
One of them is defending Jesus,
asking him to bless him in his death?
And jesus is assuring him or paradise,
blessing the legionaries too
as they gamble for his seamless robe.

What love is this?
What wondrous love is this?
Of all the miracles
I've witnessed these past months,
the miracle he brought about in my own life, 
this is the richest, truest of them all.
Even death, this cruel, bloody death,
cannot quench the flow of God's love in this man,
this man I love, and learn to in God by.

His body weakens fast now.
It's getting harder and harder for him to breathe.
And yet the love, God's love in him,
goes on, and on, and on.
It's almost as if that love can never die;
almost as if, beyond the grave, 
God's love in him will still go on,
will still be with me giving strength 
to love the way he did,
even to die the way he dies,
God grant it may be so.

One thing I know, 
whether we loved him wrong or not,
he loved us right.

______________________

Christ loves us in a way we can barely comprehend. He endured the cross for us. I am more and more certain of my own sinfulness as I walk through this life, but Jesus died to change all that. His arms are stretched out toward you. Accept his gift! 

The thought I have been home with my children for the past two weeks and it has been good. We have played, we have engaged, we have read, we have written, and we have done all kinds of things to keep everyone busy! We have yelled, we have hugged, we have enjoyed each other's company, and we have fellowship with Him! God is there in the midst of everything. 

I have a bit of an outlet with this blog. I can get on the computer at any time and write. God is there in the midst of this too.

With that said, I am willing to admit to the world that homeschooling has got to be the hardest thing in the world to do well. I feel like I am surviving. I am reading water. I want so much to bless my children but it is so hard.

This morning was a case in point. I was the first one out of bed and it was 8:00 am! We went to bed early. I had intentions of getting up around 7 but it just didn't happen. 

The other case in point is the morning Bible reading. I had intentions of blessing the boys with a Bible reading this morning. I wanted them to eat their breakfast and listen to the story of how much God loves them. The thought was food for the bodies and food for their souls. They barely listen to the Jesus Storybook Bible or to Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing. I keep hoping for a slightly longer interaction! 

Another case in point in screen time. They are constantly wanting screens, and it is a constantly battle to get them off of the screens. As I write this, my youngest is in the kitchen, playing on my phone. He enjoys Youtube videos! LOL!  Lord help me with this!

I do get them to do a little bit of handwriting and write in a journal everyday. They don't really like it. I hope they will see the merit in it someday. Small things build character. I really am interested in building up the character of my children.

We went swimming today down at the reservoir. There are free pools available from 9 to 5, so we went down after lunch. It was so good to splash in the water for an hour and a half! They were happy to play. The boys found a couple of friends to play volleyball with. The pools are a God-send!

So what do other people with their children during the holidays? My other question is what do homeschooling Moms do to keep their children busy and happy? Are there lessons and activities all day? Are there moments when you through up your hands and say, "I know you're bored! Find something to do!"

I just want to say that I admire you homeschooling Moms.

You have taken the hardest job on earth and you have added teaching to it! God bless you!

You serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner. God bless you!

You plan lessons for your children. God bless you!

You tolerate artistic messes in your home. God bless you!

You slow down to enjoy your children. God bless you!

You encourage them to read when they are bored. God bless you!

You encourage them to find something to do when they are bored. God bless you!

You let them capture than bug and encourage them to let it go. God bless you!

You let them listen to Mozart and Beethoven and hope it inspires. God bless you!
​
You stop and smell the flower that your youngest brought to you. God bless you!

You tuck them in at night with a good night kiss and hug. God bless you!

And you fall into bed exhausted from the activities of the day. Tomorrow you will wake up and repeat it all again. God bless you!

I will be in a better mood when there is a change in the weather (it's 35 degrees as we speak!), but for now I would like to say kudos to you! You are amazing! You are doing the hardest job on earth! 

​I admire and love what you do!

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed?
And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard?
And how are they to hear without someone preaching?
And how are they to preach unless they are sent?
As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”
​
Romans 10:14-15

If You Can’t Find the Words, Preach with Your Feet.  

We were standing in her ramshackle hut — with the tarp roof — at the top of a hill.  The bare-footed woman who lived there had no shoes of her own.  And in that moment, I knew what I needed to do.

I took off my shoes and gave them to her. I walked out of her village barefoot.

I am telling you this story, not because I’m some kind of hero. The reason I’m telling you this story, is because of what happened next:

When it came time to leave, I balled up my skirt in my fists, and began to walk carefully down the rocky path. It hadn’t occurred to me that my first-world, tender feet would have trouble navigating the path. My feet were accustomed to carpet, not sharp stones. I winced with every step.

Another woman, seeing my discomfort, stepped out of her home and began to walk ahead of me. With her own, toughened bare feet, she began to kick aside sticks and rocks. She leaned over and picked up thorns with her fingers. The woman stayed several steps ahead of me, clearing a path for me. I can’t begin to tell you how humbling this was.

She never said a word, but with every step she took, I sensed the goodness of Jesus. She couldn’t speak English, so she didn’t have any words for me. But she preached a pretty amazing sermon about servanthood with those hands and feet of hers. She just smiled and kept motioning me to come farther down the path. Walking behind her, I was moved to tears, and a part of me wanted her to stop. I didn’t deserve such care.

How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news! (Romans 10:15)

Whenever I read those words in Romans, I think of that bare-footed woman who made a clear path for me. Her selfless act of love reminds me that we don’t need a lot of money, influence, power, or status to preach the good news. All we need is a willingness to walk the path with other people.

How beautiful are her feet.

Do you want to share Jesus with the world in the coming week?

Simply take those beautiful feet of yours and walk the path with others. Serve. Bow low. Give. Offer comfort, even at your own discomfort. Love. With simple acts of service, people will see Jesus alive in you. Your life will preach a sermon, even when your lips aren’t moving.

How beautiful are the feet of friends, who drive their neighbors to chemo.

How beautiful are the feet of foster mothers, who won’t stop praying for God’s unstoppable love to break through.

How beautiful are the feet of nursing-home workers, who care for our elderly brothers and sisters.

How beautiful are the feet of teachers, getting classrooms ready for new students while praying over every desk.

How beautiful are the feet of CEOs, who bring the ethic of Christ into the workplace.

How beautiful are the feet of bloggers and poets and song-writers, who string together Gospel-laced words that help us make sense of the world.

How beautiful are the feet of women everywhere who, in this moment, feel invisible and unseen in their small daily tasks but press on, because this is what God has called them to.

What you are doing matters a great deal, friend. Oh, how beautiful are your feet!

It doesn’t matter where those feet have been in the past; what matters is where they’re going today.

When you hear these words – “how beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news” – who do you think of?  

How do you preach?  Use your feet.  

​The words can be few but the steps taken together should be many.

This Post was originally on Jennifer Lee’s Blog. Walk in the word before you talk about it!  

Ash Wednesday. Crosses on the forehead.  These are reminders for us.  We are ash.  It's a reminder from Genesis 3:19, "Dust you are, and unto dust you shall return."

Once again, Ann Voskamp expresses the frustration and fruition of Lent in the shortest summary ever.

"I can't seem to follow through in giving up for Lent. Which makes me want to just give up Lent.  Which makes me question who I am following.  Which may precisely be the point of Lent."

We know what Lent is.  It's preparing the heart for Easter.  It is similar to Jesus being in the desert for 40 days.  It is also similar to the Israelites wandering for 40 years.  We do it so we might come to face to face with our enemy.  We sacrifice so that we might become more like Christ in his sacrifice.  

Lent teaches us how depraved we are.  We are ashes.  We are dust.  We are incapable in the flesh.  I am incapable in the flesh.  I can't keep the law. I need HIM.  

This is a tough journey that leads to joy. You are supposed to give up something.  Forfeit something.  Forfeiting becomes formation. I give up.  I forfeit.  I fast.  I forget.  I fall.  I fail.  I am ash. I am dust. 

Lent.  The word itself comes from Middle English, lente, for the season of spring.  A rebirth.  A new beginning.   Herein lies the beauty.  I am supposed to fail.  The deeper I fall into the pit of my own depravity, the deeper I will drink from the fountain of joy.  

Everything we experience from Ash Wednesday up through Easter is a reminder of how great the Gift really is. Reconciliation for the world here and now.  

Enlightenment, transformation, and salvation are gifts we will experience as we move through this season.  

Can you feel the Gift start to move through you?  Grace and peace filling your space...

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God - not by works, so that no one can boast.
-Ephesians 2:8,9

To say that His birth was opposed is to touch the limits of mortal language.  The mighty one has been hated since the pride of the bright one led many away.  Your world war comes close, but even then, believe me, you have no idea.

We sang that night as we had never sung before.  Those shepherds believed they were the primary audience.  True, they were important — the Mighty One has always favored the lowly.  But there was much going on that night.  The other reason we sang in the fields was to hallow the ground where Rachel would weep over her sons.  There the graves would be dug, the graves for the little boys of Bethlehem. 

Herod’s rage soon stripped dozens of firstborns from the breasts of their mothers.  Those so fresh from heaven, so quickly silenced.  Slaughtered like animals.  So much blood.

The town had no room for Mary, and Herod’s heart had no room for another king.  He would not share his glory.

Although we do not exist in time, there are moments when the affairs of earth are hard to endure.  Even Angels desire vengeance. 

“Vengeance is Mine,” declared the Mighty One.  “Justice is coming.  I need you to sing.”

And so we sang. What the shepherds heard as an anthem the innocents would hear as a lullaby.  We sang as we had never sang before. A song to bring Him safely into the world, a song to guide them safely from it, and a song to help Mary endure it:

Glory to God in the heavenly heights,                             
Fly, fly to the breast of the Father,                                     
This wrong will be righted,     
Jesus is here,                      
Peace to all men and women on earth                               
who please Him.                   
Rest, rest in the arms of the Father,                                  
His fury remembers,                
His love holds you dear.   

Many do not sing of this horror at Christmas.  That is understandable; it was an unspeakable deed.  But I remind you that His birth was opposed.  You have no idea.

(This version of the Christmas Story has been adapted from Touching Wonder: Recapturing the Awe of Christmas by John Blasé)

Heaven.  I thought about it as I waited for students to come for their tutorial sessions this afternoon.  It was a combination of the students' faces and the rather large bird's nest nestled in some tree branches that made me think of it. 

I imagine my grandmother as one of the faces of heaven.  I can see her in my mind's eye.  Her bright eyes and lovely smile.  She is covered in light.  For some reason she is offering me something to eat ... her cookies or her famous chicken and rice.

Why don't we talk about heaven more often?  Maybe it's because we are too busy talking about the ills of this world.  The traffic, increasing costs of living, natural disasters, complaints about your job, concerns about family. We should talk about these things, but some time focused upwards, contemplating heaven, could make some of these burdens down here on earth easier to bear. 

Stay with me for a little while with this.  Feel the November wind, a little chilly.  And then let your soul find the warmer place ...

Heaven.

It came down last week.  Heaven touched earth.  I felt it.  The load I was carrying got lighter.  I felt a little stronger and the weight of life was gone.  I had energy.  I enjoyed interactions with students and colleagues.  I laughed a lot at home with my children.  I was able to love and be loved.  Life was a pleasure.

Then that ugly thing called sin crept in.  I didn't repent immediately.  In fact, I got angry.  I knew I was pushing God away but I did it anyway.

Heaven came down again and touched me.  The weight of sin lifted as I lifted my hands to heaven and expressed myself to God.  It's amazing how much God loves us and pursues us.

Heaven is for real.  I can almost feel its breath on my face as I write these words.  

Upstairs, in heaven, sin will be a memory.  Pain will be gone.  Envy won't exist.  Hurts and worries will be a thing of the past.  Our earthly hearts that have begged to be seen, loved, known will know that our souls have stretched towards toward our forever-inheritance.

I like to imagine putting my hand to the heart of Jesus and feeling the rhythm.  His breath on my back and shoulders.  

I imagine physical things as well.  Laying in a hammock.  Running barefoot in the snow feeling fully alive.  Spinning through fields of Queen Anne's lace.  Swimming in a river of warm, clear water.  Riding on the back of the Lion.  Feeding a giraffe.  Painting my house purple.  Not looking the door.  Walking on water, through sand, and no one complaining about dirty feet in the throne room.

Every good thing we want is fulfilled in an actual place where our souls' feet stand, in the presence of the King. 

Heaven.

Think about it.  Reach for it.  Know it is real.  Heaven.

A strange, disturbing, and, ultimately mind blowing path to joy.  We have now entered into the Holy of Holies of God's plan, our salvation, the week in which Jesus Christ offered Himself up as the sacrifice for the sins of the world, instituting and giving us His Holy Supper, taking His place in a grave, to take the sting of death away from the grave in which we will one day be. If you haven't been thinking about those precious days, read now, see Him in Scripture, and receive the Gift.

Palm Sunday - Christ rides in on a donkey.  Palm branches are waved in front of him.  People recognize him, crown him.

Monday - Christ overturned tables in the temple.  He was angry.  He cursed a fig tree.

Tuesday - The disciples see the cursed fig tree on their way back to Jerusalem from Bethany.  Christ, unafraid, confronted Jewish leaders.  The plot to kill him begins.

Wednesday - Chief priests, elders, and scribes continue to plot and He continues to teach.  Satan enters Judas.  The darkness of story is about to unfold as Passover and the feast of Unleavened Bread approaches.

Thursday - Christ reinterprets Passover. He breaks bread and shares wine with his disciples.  Communion.  A new ritual.

Friday - A death kiss from Judas early Friday morning.  Peter denied him three times.  Pain, hurt, anger, the weight of it almost unbearable, yet he bears it.  The crucifixion, the hanging of the impossible dead.

Saturday - Confusion, grief, and anger for those who loved Him.  He was laid in the tomb.  A guard was supposed to watch to make sure nobody took the dead body.

Sunday - Glorious Sunday.  Mary found an empty tomb.  Emotionally wrought she speaks to Him, thinking He was someone else.  "Rabbini!"  The shock of seeing the risen Lord.  She ran to tell others, she proclaimed, "He is alive!"

Something new was born that week.  Hope. Love. Peace. Mercy. Joy.  All intermingled, wrapped in sacrificial form.  A loving, sacrificial lamb, echoing a Jewish tradition of God saving you, passing over doors, overcame death.  He is a gift that overcame death.

He brings life at its fullest.  He is the Gift.  He is hope.  He is love.  He is peace.  He is mercy. He is joy.  He is.

This little person is easy to love most of the time.  I am not as in love with him when he bites.  And he bites a few too many times for my liking.  Despite repeated attempts at punishment to get him to stop, he bites as a means of communication.  He bites when he is hungry, thirsty, or tired.  Love bites.  

I am not thinking about love when he bites.  I am thinking about how to get him to stop that.  

But love does this amazing thing.  Love bears all things.  It's stego in the Greek, a thatch roof.

Love is a roof.  What does a roof do?  It absorbs storms when the weather takes a turn for the worst.

Love bears all things - like a roof bears wind and rain.  Love willingly carries one another's burdens. 

How does a mother continue to do that in the rainstorms of missed homework, a full time job, a husband, learning struggles, bedtime angst, childhood fears.

They just need me to love them.  

Christ's love carries the burdens that sets us all free.

Love bends and unfolds itself around others like a roof.  This is love.

And often, when I have thought about how much God loves us, those moments of bearing one another are not even painful. They are beautifully weightless. 

It's not always a bite