Good Friday

Last night we celebrated Good Friday. We had a family meal together and read, the account in the gospel, of Jesus at the last supper with his disciples. Dave and I got down and washed our children's feet, encouraging them to go and do likewise. It always surprises me how some of us fight being served. One child refused to remove his socks. A Peter among us asked Dave to wash his hands as well as his feet. It's a vulnerable place. To hand someone your filthy foot and try not to anticipate judgement.

Five or so years ago Dave and I took the kids out to dinner for Good Friday. We had a large gift card to the restaurant so we let everyone order lavishly. Order, like they wouldn't have to pay for it. To our surprise, the gift card that we gave our waiter had never been activated. We had lived largely and had a debt to pay. Thankfully, Dave had money in the car and we were able to leave without washing any dishes. 

I'll never forget the the unwillingness of my child to uncover his foot.

I'll never forget sitting at a table and being told that what I thought would cover my debt, couldn't. 

I'll never forget the moment I realized I needed a Savior, my debt was discovered, my filthiness exposed. 

So we remember. 

A life full of moments that we entered into the life of Jesus, and He entered into ours. 

And we celebrate.

Because Good Friday, really is Good.

The world in resurrection!

Good Friday hike. Getting our clean feet dirty.

Sacrifice

I teach her to braid. Three colored strings tied to a desk leg.
Red. Yellow. Green. Red. Yellow. Green.
She murmurs the pattern, her full concentration on the twisting rhythm of the strings.

The table downstairs is covered in brightly colored eggs. A messy tradition that dates back to my little girl days in Alaska. My dad loved to celebrate. He pushed Halloween and Christmas and Birthdays and made them fun and exciting. Easter was no exception. He boiled eggs and mixed dyes and we stained our fingers making artistic eggs. And afterwards, we'd throw the dye colors off the deck into the snow. And the snow would be stained bright.

Children need to know how to make good choices when they leave the house. Preferably before they leave the house. So we teach them, methodically, how to make good choices. But the tricky thing about making good choices is the knowledge that God trumps all human reasoning. So good choices are really God choices. The best yes, is the yes to His leading.

I read Mark 8:18 earlier this week, "Therefore consider carefully how you listen." Listening is a verb. It's important. There have been many times in my life when I made good, moral choices and God said, "No." There have been times God has asked something of me that.made.no.sense. The times I chose wisely in those situations were the times I yielded to God's voice. The times I listened. So listening is the key factor to making good choices. I am learning.

Grandma's funeral is Saturday. On Sunday Dave's parents and his Aunt and Uncle will lead the Easter service at the nursing home where she died. They've been faithfully bringing God's Word there for years. They asked us to come and bring the kids to minister with their music. I said no. Every year, for 12 years, we've gone to the egg hunt at our park. It's tradition. Avonlea is too old for it now and this will be Grant's last year. I love it. I love the laughter and excitement and a park filled with beautiful children in beautiful clothes. It's what we do every year. Red. Yellow. Green. The pattern of our life.

But I start to get that twinge in my conscience. God wants us to go to the nursing home. I see it clearly, bright colors on white snow.

So I sit the kids down and I tell them. Let's go to the nursing home on Sunday and minister and afterwards I will give you an egg hunt. I'll give you better candy than they do at the park. They agree. They know how to make good choices.

That night I sit long in front of the computer processing checks for the business. And suddenly, impressed upon my heart like bright colors on white snow, You didn't let them sacrifice. I wasn't praying. I was working, I was braiding the pattern of my day. But I recognized God's voice in my heart and so I listened. You padded their sacrifice. When I ask for sacrifice I don't pad it.

And I realized afresh, what Easter is. It's blatant sacrifice.
The cross was never candy-coated for Jesus.

When approached, the kids joyfully sacrificed any kind of egg hunt.
"That's really not what Easter's about anyway, Mom."
"I'd much rather play my violin at the home than have an egg hunt."

It's a small sacrifice.
Just a little step toward Jesus.
But it's the little that prepares us for the big.

I forget sometimes, that it's not just a family God has asked me to braid together.
It's a kingdom.
The pattern is His.
So is the Glory.
Amen.

Remembering the Debt

Two years ago, I told the Easter story to the kids. When I got to the part of the resurrection I said "But He didn't stay dead did He?"
Rowan looked up, hazel eyes a-sparkle and said, "NO! And THAT is the Big Surprise!"
I stared at him for a minute. Yes, it was a big surprise. No one expected that ending. Not His mother. Not His disciples. It was a massive earth shaking surprise.
But to me, it's just the end of a well known, well loved story. I lost the surprise of it in the familiarity.

This year, I thought about what I wanted to impress upon the kids at Easter. And it was that same idea, Jesus is full of surprises. Faith is surprising. Perusing Hebrews 11 lately leaves me speechless at how crazy faith is.  Build a massive boat no where near water? Sacrifice the only son, the one that God had promised would be heir? Walk through the Red Sea?
I make a rational decision and I call it faith. But it's not. It's a rational decision, well thought out, well prayed over. The things God has asked me to do by faith are crazy to my rational mind. It's not that God is not rational, it's just that He's full of surprises. Surprises that are way outside of our understanding.

So today, the day before Easter, we took the kids downtown to Portland to have lunch. It was a big surprise. We had a gift card to PF Changs and we used it, had an excellent lunch and talked about the surprise of the resurrection. Dave gave the waiter the gift card and we left him to finish up the bill while we headed to Powell's.
Well Dave was in for a surprise, because the gift card was unactivated and had a 0$ balance. Ouch. Dave took care of it and found me in Powell's and told me what happened.
As we walked back to the car I processed. What if we didn't have the money to pay for that meal? We walked past homeless people holding signs, and I wondered, what if we had consumed something we couldn't pay for?
And so it is, I can't pay for this life. I can't pay for my sins. I can't pay for an eternal home. But God can, and He did. In my rational mind, this makes no sense to me. Why would He do this for me? But when I look at it through faith, I see the debt, I see the payment. and I'm so thankful. So surprised!

"Let no debt remain outstanding except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law." (Rom. 13:8)

I have talked to two friends today who reached out to others this weekend to share the joy and surprise of God's grace. Yes. It's accepting His grace by faith and turning around and offering it to others. Telling them that even though their gift card is useless, their bill is covered. Paid. That we understand how they feel cause we were on the street begging and God intervened and paid our debt. That Jesus is the definition of "surprise" and faith is not faith if you can wrap your brain around it.

I think I just preached a sermon and I'm really sorry about that. I got carried away. May you have a blessed Easter full of the surprise of Jesus!

Faith

"It is by grace you have been saved through faith..." (Eph. 2:8)

His grace, our faith, fingers entwined, arms swinging in joy.

Joy is the offspring of a faith/grace union.

I've been walking this Holy week reverently.
Treading lightly.
(Which was well because there were raisins on the stairs today.)

I've been quiet.

Because really, I have no words to say....

To thank Him enough.

The Big Surprise

Still talking like gravel sounds an hour before Good Friday service found my faith firm. When it came time I spoke clearly and audibly into the microphone. Sitting in the dark behind a black curtain I marveled that it was my dry rasping voice filling the candlelit room. And that it didn't sound dry and rasping but full of Christ life. I have no pretensions to my voice, it's not professional, it's not beautiful, but it's His.

Living lent with my family these past weeks gave me many good points of contact with them. One of my favorites was with Rowan. We were talking about how Jesus died for us and what that meant. Just us two alone in the kitchen. I said, "And that is how He died. But you know that's not all that happened, right?" Rowan's eyes twinkled and expanded and he answered, "No! He came back to life! AND THAT IS THE BIG SURPRISE!"

He ran off and I sat there stunned. The big surprise? When was the last time I looked at it as that? I've known the end of that story as long as I can remember. But do I? Really does Jesus ever stop surprising us? I think of this week and my struggles, of the mercy I never expect but always find, of the grace that brings joy even out of death, of the myriads of times Jesus has caught me off guard with His love, His forgiveness, His laughter. Yes, Jesus is the big surprise. May I never forget it.

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." Isaiah 49:15

Silence

So last week my sweet Avonlea left me a note on my pillow asking if she could play the computer in the morning. Unfortunately Grant found the note before I did and taking a piece of my stationary he answered it. A very confused little woman sought me out the next day. "Mommy this note is signed by you but it's not your handwriting! Did you write this?"
The note read, "No you can't play computer because you are nauthy. I have work to do. play with Grant. Mommy"
Grieved that the spelling issues didn't tip her off, I replied, "No, I didn't write that Avonlea and you did just right by coming to me and asking."
She tripped off to play the computer with my blessing.

My house is very quiet these days. That's because I'm not talking. I'm narrating a Good Friday service and I'm singing in three Easter services. So, I need to take care of the goods, grease down the engine, or whatever. Every year this happens. The week before my voice is needed it decides to go on vacation somewhere. It's rather incredible. I'm chugging lemon tea and honey and gargling salt water but the best advice I've gotten was "do not talk." It sounds so easy - zip your lips and throw away the key! But the words that would be stifle and choke and long for expression. And I have to wonder, why would God give me a voice to use for Him and then take it away when I try to do so. As this thought was making it's circuit in my mind the above story of the note keep coming up to jog alongside it. I thought about my advice to Avonlea, if in doubt over the validity of something ask the assumed giver. So I did and He replied in James 1.
"Don't be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows...everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.....if anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless."
The light blinked on. This enforced silence is a gift. A time to be obedient to God in private before I am obedient in public. A time to chastise this unruly tongue of mine. An opportunity to examine the thoughts internally that normally would have been spoken in haste. Last year my voice came back right before I needed it and the enforced silence filled me with suppressed expression that found it's way out in the services. I pray that the same thing will happen this year and that this week of quiet will not be in vain.