In the Garden with Mary

Courtesy of M Nota, Free Images

I hide among the olive trees, gazing at the weeping woman, Mary Magdalene. She stoops, peers into Jesus’ tomb. Her chest and abdomen shudder with every sob.

I want to run to her, take her in my arms, tell her what I already know, but something restrains me. So I wait in wonder for the moment I know is coming.

Then she spins around and sees Him! But sadly, through tear-filled eyes, she doesn’t recognize Him.

Jesus realizes this and plays along. “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” A mix of tenderness and firmness fills His voice.

Thinking He is the gardener, she says, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.”

I smile from my hiding place. My heart swells at her persistence, much like another woman, Anne Graham Lotz, who generations later would write, “Just give me Jesus; you can have this whole world but give me Jesus!”

I wonder where Mary will take Jesus if she finds Him. I get the impression in her crazed grief, in her frantic search, she will do anything. She’s not thought through all the details; she simply wants her Lord. She wants the security of knowing where He is, so at least she can be close to His body.

“Mary!” The one word that breaks through her grief and ends her search. The one word from the Voice she knows and loves, the Voice that quiets the singing birds who lean in to listen to their Creator. The loving Voice of authority which she’s chosen to follow. The Voice that spoke to her troubled soul, delivered her from sin, and established her identity in Him.

“Rabboni, Teacher!” is her joyful cry as she falls to her knees, grips his feet, and washes them with her thankful tears. She peers into His reassuring face. His hand extends, lifting her.

“Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father; but go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, and to My God and your God.’”

I shrink into the shelter of the trees, pondering His words. Clearly, He loves Mary, but He redirects her display of physical affection with a commission. Time to focus, Mary, on the task at hand. There will be plenty of time for embracing when I call you to my heavenly Kingdom; for now, go and tell what you have seen and heard. Tell them, remind them, that I must go and prepare a place for them, but I will come back for them, for you, Mary, and take you to heaven to be with Me.

I touch my cheek. It’s wet. I’m weeping! Are my tears a result of watching this tender, personal encounter that I’ve read so often in Scripture unfold before my eyes?

Or do I weep because the risen Christ chose to first appear to a woman, one who clearly sought Him with her whole heart, who loved Him much because He forgave her much?

Or do I cry joyful tears at Jesus’ promise to her, to all His followers . . . to me?

Yes, on all counts. Yet, I sense an even deeper reason for my tears: Holy Spirit conviction. The gift Jesus would soon give Mary and the other disciples. The member of the Godhead who would fill her with power from on high, who would be closer “than breathing and nearer than hands and feet,” writes poet Alfred Lord Tennyson. Her Comforter, Teacher, Counselor, Helper . . . Friend. The Holy Spirit—Jesus’ down payment on her heavenly inheritance.

Among the shadows, I sigh, thankful that though conviction stings, it’s also a comfort, affirming that I, too, am one of His disciples. I breathe deeply, square my shoulders. I must stop hoarding Jesus in my house. I must go and tell others what I have seen and heard, assured by His Spirit within me that Jesus is with me wherever I go.

With robe lifted, Mary sprints past me. Our eyes lock for a moment. Is that a twinkle in her eye? I cock my head. She knows something. Something more. 

I blink, sweep the tears from my cheeks. For a second, it seems she wants to run to me, take me in her arms, tell me what she now knows from her heavenly grandstand, centuries removed from this garden encounter. Things I do not yet fully know as I look through a glass dimly. But she presses on, perhaps in wonder, waiting too for the moment when her Lord and my Lord will break through the blue to gather all His redeemed children to Himself for all eternity.

So, I too run.

And tell.

For further reflection, read John, chapter 20 and John 14:3.

A Good God?

This whole maddening affair with the Coronavirus which originated in China but now has become a global pandemic, has left me with an odd peace, not in its wake but as it barges through, stirring up troubled waters for me and all around me.

In the midst of the horrific swell, God whispers His care. "Be still, Eileen, just be still. You are under my wings, sheltered as a hen shelters her chicks from harm."

In this knowledge, I choose to dwell, for as a friend noted on Facebook: "It's a win-win situation. If I don't get COVID-19, I win; if I do get it and die, I'm ushered into the presence of my Savior for all eternity."

Yet what of those who do not know Him personally, who have not cried out to Him for salvation in the midst of their lostness? With Isaiah, with Paul, with so many other faithful servants of the ages, I must be faithful to boldly share the love of Jesus.

It may not be with words at first, for as I noticed while reading neighbor posts on "Nextdoor Neighbor" online forum, some are not tolerating quips about prayer and trust in God. "How can I believe in a benevolent God?" one person challenges. Another retorts: "Trust in God. Yeah, right!" The cynicism drips off the page. And I cringe at Satan's age-old lie: "God is not good."

The question that bubbles to the surface throughout history is "How can a good God allow suffering?"

So we are sent back into our cocoons for the pondering. While I don't presume to fathom the deep mysterious workings of God, I do know the inspired, inerrant, infallible Scriptures speak truth, whether I choose to believe it or not. But it will be to my favor and my ultimate good if I do. And that truth is that God is good, but man is not.

With Eve's first gullible latch onto Satan's lie, sin entered the world. So did sickness, sorrow, and death. The perfect world God created fell under a sad and terrifying curse that can only be redeemed by His perfect Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

God is the remedy we seek, though the present world system, the depraved flesh, and the devil blind our eyes to Him.

But into our profound darkness, God speaks, "Let there be light!" The light of His invisible attributes revealed in creation, His written Word, and the Living Word--Jesus Christ--shines into our dismal selves through His Holy Spirit, we who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, and guides us onto the path of peace, so Luke notes in chapter 1:78-79.

This is our only Hope, the blessed Sunrise from on High, who lifts our faces heavenward as we live through and in a still cursed world.

For some, hearing these words is like breathing in a sweet aroma, readily received; for others these words are the aroma of death. For the latter, I would hope that the gospel in action--"For God so loved that He gave . . . . " would connect with the giving actions of their believing neighbors, folks who deliver groceries to doorsteps, send cards, check on neighbors via FB, email, phone calls, and video chats. Who show they care more than merely say they do, because as God's children they imitate their Father. They give!

That's what love does in crisis and out of crisis. Love gives, for God is love. We who know and love God can't help but love others. His goodness flows through our veins, and if for no other reason than that, I'm assured that indeed God is good. 

Romance from the Song of Solomon

For you married couples, take a trip to my other blog titled, "Guard Your Marriage," and check out the latest article. Might just breathe fresh air into your relationship!

Guard Your Marriage

You Can't Legislate Morality?

You can't legislate morality, a phrase that strikes me as curious. 

Especially given the first "Thou shalt not" dating back to the beginning of time with Adam and Eve (Genesis 2:17).

Was not God the first legislator of morality?

According to Merriam-Webster, "to legislate" simply means "to make or enact laws."

Which is exactly what God did in delivering the Ten Commandments to Moses who then delivered them to the children of Israel (Exodus 20:2-17, Deuteronomy 5:6-21).

The very act of law-making and enforcing comes from God Himself, which is exactly why our sin nature and Satan so vehemently oppose laws that promote righteousness.

Thus all the theft, murder, petty infractions, and everything in-between that flies in the face of God's righteous standards for individuals who in turn comprise a society.

I suspect when folks toss out the phrase, "you can't legislate morality," what they are really saying is, "you can't change a person's heart."

True, only God can do that, and even He doesn't force a person to comply. He states the command along with the consequence and allows, even gifts the person with free will to choose to obey or disobey.

Parents, operating under the authority of God, are commissioned to legislate morality to their children. They hope against hope that their kids' outward conformity indicates a changed heart, but there are no guarantees that rebellion doesn't boil under the surface waiting to erupt when least expected. Even the Perfect Parent created kids that rebelled. Thus, the reason we entertain this discussion about legislating morality.

My husband and I felt this tension while in the active child-rearing years. While some children are more compliant than others, there's still that nagging thought that these kids are simply obeying because they have to, not because they really want to. Simply because they know they'll get punished if they don't toe the line.

But it's a step. Godly discipline teaches cause and effect, reward and retribution. When practiced consistently early in a child's life, it can lead to heart change, to a respect for authority. No promises, but great expectations. Because this is the system ordained by God, beginning in the family structure, and having vast ramifications for society at large.

So, legislate morality?

Seems a no-brainer to me. Otherwise, as in the days of the Judges, every man will do what is right in his own eyes.

And we know where that's getting us in our culture. If there are no God-given absolutes for morality, then anything goes!

God help us. He's the only one who can. May we who know Him serve as faithful instruments in His hands for promoting and encouraging, yes, even legislating morality.

Unless of course, we sanction someone killing another, even someone we love, even the most vulnerable among us, or stealing our property.

I don't think so. Nor do I think you sanction such horror.

Perhaps a review of the Ten Commandments would be a good, no a GREAT thing right about now. But tell that to the ACLU and watch the fur fly! Need I say again that Satan hates the Ten Commandments. Why? Because He hates the Law-giver.

God's righteous ones via the Cross of Christ stand for what is good and holy and true and pure. Like David of old writing in the psalms, God's law is sweeter than honey. We know that what God mandates is for our good that we might live in freedom and contentment, loving and rejoicing in Him all the days of our lives and on into eternity!

May I encourage you, dear reader? Spend some time meditating on the Ten Commandments. Ask the Lord to convict you of any that you need to work on with His help. I know I need to work on a few. After all, legislating morality starts with me. My heart. It starts with one person. Who then models that for another. And on it goes. Be that one!

Ten Commandments list

1. You shall have no other gods before Me.
2. You shall make no idols.
3. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.
4. Keep the Sabbath day holy.
5. Honor your father and your mother.
6. You shall not murder.
7. You shall not commit adultery.
8. You shall not steal.
9. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
10. You shall not covet.

Our French Adventure!

Bonjour!





With family spread all over the world, my husband and I have no lack of places to visit!

This year we traveled to France to spend time with our middle daughter and family currently living in a small French town cradled by the magnificent, snow-capped mountains of the southern alps. My camera shot simply does not do justice to the pristine splendor of these beauties. However, the actual visual image while standing before them is a snapshot in my mind I will not soon forget.

Among our touring spots was Conflans, a village nestled in the mountains, and dating back to the 1500s. The building below is the Catholic Church in the center of the village with houses grouped around. I enjoyed ambling along the meticulously laid cobblestone streets. The pic below is also taken at Conflans as the sun set.

Sledding at a nearby ski resort was a highlight for me! I think I love this activity about as much as I enjoy bobbing in ocean waves.

A stroll through town on a mother-daughter date with a stop at a crepe shop proved an enjoyable and meaningful way to experience a bit of French culture/language and catch up on each other's lives.

Speaking of la crepe . . . France is full of delectable baguettes, croissants (huge and so light and flaky, I thought I was eating air!), other pastries, cheeses, chocolates, and cafe ooh lait. The vendor in the above picture is scraping off melted cheese onto a baguette during an outdoor Christmas festival in Annecy (the Venice of France). More pics of Annecy below.

A tour of a cheese factory included a walk through what felt like a dungeon, cold and smelly, with aging molds of shelved cheese. A robot worked 24/7 to lift, flip, and dip each huge hunk of cheese (representing about 100 gallons of milk) in salt water, then return to the shelf. Yummy samples of summer cheese followed the tour. See pic below.

Time with family enjoying another culture is always the best treat of all! We are so thankful for our fun and meaningful time with our kids/grandkids, making more good memories to draw upon until we see each other again.

The Last Place You Wanna Be

The last place you wanna be on your birthday is in a dental chair, looking up at the ceiling.

But God has a way of showing up to celebrate your birthday when you least expect it.

Even while in a dental chair, counting the holes in the tiled ceiling.

Which in a flash took me back to my church days as a five-year-old snugged against mom during the service. Fidgety, I'd finally comfort myself by laying my head in her lap and staring at the ceiling.

Yes, a similar tiled ceiling with holes I could count.

The memory provoked a warm nostalgic flood to wash over me.

Mama would stroke my brow with a gentle sweep of my bangs to the side.

Just when I'd counted as far as I could go (maybe to twenty or so as a five-year-old), I'd get fidgety again.

Mama would pull out her pretty cloth handkerchief and fashion it into a tiny cradle with baby inside. I can still picture it, though I never learned how to do it.

I wish I had, because it would be a wonderful thing to pass down to my grandchildren from their great grandmother.

Perhaps my sister will know how. I'll ask her when I see her next.

In the meantime, I'll bask in the glow and wonder of God showing up with a warm mother memory to help me feel close to her on my birthday.

Even in the dental chair. 

A Grandson's Change of Heart

            Grandson Gabe and I walked down the brightly lit hallway. A nurse smiled at us from behind her computer screen as she tapped on the keyboard. A dietitian carrying a food tray disappeared through a doorway. An elderly man with white hair haphazardly sticking out from his head worked his wheel chair with his slippered-feet. He grinned as we passed, revealing multiple missing teeth. A mix of disinfectant, urine, and the day’s lunch menu hung thick in the air.

            “I don’t think I could work in a place like this,” Gabe said, squeezing my hand.

            I nodded. “It does take a special person to invest time and energy in these dear ones who are so often forgotten, even mistreated at times.”

            Gabe grew quiet as we approached the door we were looking for. Room 103: Mable Bishop. “This is it!” I purposely brightened my voice to encourage Gabe. On occasion, he and our other grandchildren sang and quoted Scriptures when we visited various nursing homes, so he was acquainted with the protocol. However, since he and his family had recently returned to the States after serving in Thailand, he’d not been with me to the nursing home since he was six.

            I gingerly pushed on the heavy door and peered inside. Mable lay in her bed staring out the window. Her roommate, Edith, snoozed in her bed. Mable and I enjoyed a rich history as prayer partners. While she didn’t remember my name, only that we used to go to church together, she smiled whenever she saw me. Widowed at age 51, Mable taught me by word and example, and definitely through her prayers, that the Lord was her number one Husband, and as such, would provide and protect her. How I’d valued her simple, honest prayers during those days. Now in her advanced years, she no longer prayed with me verbally, but she testified to praying silently throughout the day as she gazed out her window.

            Her head turned as Gabe and I moved to the side of her bed. Her face lit up. “Hi, Mable!” I gently squeezed her shoulder as Gabe took his place at the end of the bed. Perhaps his advanced age of eight was making him more cautious. “How are you today?” I said. She smiled, nodded. “This is my grandson, Gabe.” Plates clattered in the hallway. “You remember my youngest daughter, Stephanie. This is her son.” She beamed as if remembering, but I knew she didn’t.

            I pressed on, uncertain how long Gabe would tolerate this visit. “Would you like to sing today, Mable?” I winked at Gabe. He was all about music. I leaned over, gazed into Mable’s eyes. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound . . . ”

            Riveted on my face, she mouthed the words with me, an occasional sound slipping from her lips in the form of a groan. She loved it! I exchanged a glance with Gabe. He had moved a bit closer to us and was beginning to sing, too.

            By now Edith was awake, and while she couldn’t utter a note, she seemed fixated on our music. After a verse or two of “Nothing But the Blood” and “The Old Rugged Cross,” it was time to leave.

            I gave Mable a hug. “Please, come back and see me,” she said as I lingered in the embrace. “Any time.” She grinned at Gabe.  

            Gabe and I waved to Mable and Edith as we left the room. As we walked back down the hallway, Gabe was quiet. At last, he said, “Ya know, Grandma, I think I could work in a place like this.”