TAFKAP (The Artist Formerly Known as Prince) sang it. So have lots of other artists. "I would DIE for you!" And really, that's great. As a matter of fact, it's the greatest. "There is no greater love," says the Lord, "than to lay down your life for a friend." It's true, but is it enough?
Jesus died for us, we've established that. We've spent the last week celebrating and pondering, and contemplating and reliving it in our imaginations. He died a horrible, cruel, bloody, barbaric death. It was brutal before he even got to the cross part. He laid down his precious life VOLUNTARILY for us, his friends...
Then came the really awesome part!
HE CAME BACK!!! He didn't stay dead. That wasn't it! It wasn't the end, it was just the beginning! He loved us enough to die for us, then he loved us enough to conquer that which threatens to warp and dement and damn our souls, and came back to let us know the job was truly finished! HE CAME BACK!!!
That's what I'm celebrating now! He loved me enough to die for me and come back with the gift of eternal life! Now it's my turn to do the loving! Now it's my turn to die for him (to my crappy, selfish, sinful life) and come back for him! It's time for me to live for Him and let everyone around me know that Jesus finished the job, and what's left to do now is to spread the love God surrounds us with.
Happy Easter! I gotta go Live for Him!
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Seeing the blood...
"But the blood will mark the houses where you are.
Seeing the blood, I will pass over you;
thus, when I strike the land of Egypt,
no destructive blow will come upon you."
God the Father asked Moses to mark the doorways of His Chosen People with the blood that drained out of the sacrificial lambs. Upon seeing this blood, the Angel of Death was instructed to pass that household by, as it had already offered it's sacrifice.
During the Last Supper, Jesus started to make it clear that HE was to be our sacrifice.
"Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed* for many."
During Matthew's version of the crucifixion, Pilate wanted to set Jesus free, 'And all the people said, "His blood shall be on us and on our children!"'
Seeing the blood, I will pass over you;
thus, when I strike the land of Egypt,
no destructive blow will come upon you."
God the Father asked Moses to mark the doorways of His Chosen People with the blood that drained out of the sacrificial lambs. Upon seeing this blood, the Angel of Death was instructed to pass that household by, as it had already offered it's sacrifice.
During the Last Supper, Jesus started to make it clear that HE was to be our sacrifice.
"Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, “This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed* for many."
During Matthew's version of the crucifixion, Pilate wanted to set Jesus free, 'And all the people said, "His blood shall be on us and on our children!"'
So in order to be passed over by the Angel of Death, my doorways require the blood of the sacrifice. Jesus was that sacrifice, and provided the blood of a new covenant. His blood was shed for many, and all the people begged and cried out for His blood to be upon them and their children.
I beg this same thing, Lord.
May your blood be upon the doorposts of my heart, and those of my children. As you take up your place on the Cross, covered with the sweat and pain of bearing my sinfulness and each blow that I deserve tears into your flesh, may those precious drops of blood be upon the doorposts of my soul, protecting me from harm. Let YOUR sinless, precious blood proclaim to all who see it that the sacrifice has been made. May it go before me into every place I enter. May it follow my children, and their children to untold generations, purifying their souls as they give their faith, hope and love to you.
Lord, you shed the blood. Please mark my house. Please pass over us in your wrath, but enter and stay with your love. When you see the blood, know you are welcome here.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
He's Leaving...
He's leaving...
It's true. My son is leaving and I'm afraid of what will happen to him. He's a great guy with a good head on his shoulders and he's such a huge part of my heart that I just can't help but worry about him.
I have saved up so many precious memories of him in my heart. I remember when he was born, how I lost the "urge to push" so he looked like he had been wearing a hat for a few hours after he was born. I remember being amazed by how much I could love another person when I first saw his face. I remember the funny way he used to crawl. He laid on his back and pushed his feet to scoot himself along, occasionally looking around to redirect himself.
I remember cuddling him as a baby. I remember spending time with him as a toddler and reading together as he got older. I love the cute way he mispronounced things. I love the way he's always had a quiet confidence about him, even when he was smaller than the other kids. I love the way that he never stopped trying when things were difficult.
And tomorrow he will leave our home again. He will branch out on his own, taking my heart with him. He has his own path to follow, and it's time for him to go fulfill his destiny and continue his own journey. He will stand in harm's way to make things better for others, and I fear for him. He will be lonely sometimes, but I don't want him to feel abandoned. He will be sad, and scared, and I won't be able to help him or protect him. Some of his friends will let him down. What if they betray him? What if he gets hurt? Or worse. Will he know how much I love him? Oh son, please know how much I love you!
A spear pierces this mother's heart...
But the story isn't new. Another mother. Another Son. One son goes to the Cross, one son goes to Afghanistan. Her son saved mine, and in that grace is where I take refuge and comfort and hope.
It's true. My son is leaving and I'm afraid of what will happen to him. He's a great guy with a good head on his shoulders and he's such a huge part of my heart that I just can't help but worry about him.
I have saved up so many precious memories of him in my heart. I remember when he was born, how I lost the "urge to push" so he looked like he had been wearing a hat for a few hours after he was born. I remember being amazed by how much I could love another person when I first saw his face. I remember the funny way he used to crawl. He laid on his back and pushed his feet to scoot himself along, occasionally looking around to redirect himself.
I remember cuddling him as a baby. I remember spending time with him as a toddler and reading together as he got older. I love the cute way he mispronounced things. I love the way he's always had a quiet confidence about him, even when he was smaller than the other kids. I love the way that he never stopped trying when things were difficult.
And tomorrow he will leave our home again. He will branch out on his own, taking my heart with him. He has his own path to follow, and it's time for him to go fulfill his destiny and continue his own journey. He will stand in harm's way to make things better for others, and I fear for him. He will be lonely sometimes, but I don't want him to feel abandoned. He will be sad, and scared, and I won't be able to help him or protect him. Some of his friends will let him down. What if they betray him? What if he gets hurt? Or worse. Will he know how much I love him? Oh son, please know how much I love you!
A spear pierces this mother's heart...
But the story isn't new. Another mother. Another Son. One son goes to the Cross, one son goes to Afghanistan. Her son saved mine, and in that grace is where I take refuge and comfort and hope.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I wish I could be who you think I am!
A very dear young friend of mine asked me if I would be her sponsor for the sacrament of Confirmation. This is a great honor, and one I don't take lightly. Basically, I am being asked to stand before the bishop and put my hand on this young lady's shoulder and say (by my presence) "I'll vouch for this one! She's ready to become a disciple of Christ all on her own, regardless of what decisions her parents make." To be a sponsor, you must be a baptized, practicing Catholic that is willing to be a mentor of sorts to this young person, offering suggestions (or a listening ear) when this new disciple has questions or concerns about living a life of faith. It's kind of a big deal...no, I'd say it's more than that.
It's huge.
I haven't the slightest reservation in the LEAST vouching for this young lady. If anyone were ever called to be a disciple of Christ, this one certainly is! She's an amazing young woman that I believe is called to sainthood. She lives her life guided by the principles she has been raised with, and God has uniquely prepared her to have a deep patience, love and tolerance with those who try the patience of others.
She had to write a letter to the bishop, and in it she had to explain who her sponsor is and why she chose me, and she had to request the sacrament, and explain why she wanted it. She gave me a copy of this letter, and I'm still carrying it around, and still a bit teary.
Let's just say that if I can be half of the woman this girl believes me to be, I will be more blessed than words can say. She describes in her letter a woman I wish to be, and STRIVE to be, but that I'm not yet. The fact that she sees me trying gives me hope! I don't want to let her down by telling her that I fail daily. That I try so hard to be those things, and I fall short. I'm not sure if she wants to know that, like her, I sometimes feel like the closer I try to get to God the more obstacles I find in my way. I mess up all the time, but I don't want to mess this up.
So I'll keep praying. I'll keep muddling along, and knowing God loves me, though for the life of me, I still don't understand what He sees in me. I pray he sees what she sees. I pray he makes me into the woman Dawn thinks I am.
It's huge.
I haven't the slightest reservation in the LEAST vouching for this young lady. If anyone were ever called to be a disciple of Christ, this one certainly is! She's an amazing young woman that I believe is called to sainthood. She lives her life guided by the principles she has been raised with, and God has uniquely prepared her to have a deep patience, love and tolerance with those who try the patience of others.
She had to write a letter to the bishop, and in it she had to explain who her sponsor is and why she chose me, and she had to request the sacrament, and explain why she wanted it. She gave me a copy of this letter, and I'm still carrying it around, and still a bit teary.
Let's just say that if I can be half of the woman this girl believes me to be, I will be more blessed than words can say. She describes in her letter a woman I wish to be, and STRIVE to be, but that I'm not yet. The fact that she sees me trying gives me hope! I don't want to let her down by telling her that I fail daily. That I try so hard to be those things, and I fall short. I'm not sure if she wants to know that, like her, I sometimes feel like the closer I try to get to God the more obstacles I find in my way. I mess up all the time, but I don't want to mess this up.
So I'll keep praying. I'll keep muddling along, and knowing God loves me, though for the life of me, I still don't understand what He sees in me. I pray he sees what she sees. I pray he makes me into the woman Dawn thinks I am.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Avoiding the Sorrowful
I like praying the rosary. Actually, that's only partly true. I like praying with the rosary. I have a CD of Immaculee Illibagiza (the Rwandan Genocide survivor) praying the rosary, and I love to listen to it and pray along in my car. Her soft African accent warms my heart, and makes me think of how beautiful her homeland must be in person. I'd love to go there someday, and see the lush green land with my own eyes. It could happen.
So I mentioned that I like to pray with the rosary, because for me (and probably thousands of others) praying the rosary is like taking a bus. I like buses. Some of them are quite decorative, or have clever sayings on the sides. Some are simple "cheese wagons" like the ones that drive the kids to school. Anyway, I take the bus to get somewhere. The bus is not my destination, but a pleasant transportation device to get me where I truly want to be. In this case, my rosary praying is the same way. My destination is not 10 Hail Marys. The 5 mysteries are just bus stops to let me know where I am on the journey, and to remind me where I'm heading. My destination is with God, whatever that looks like on any given day.
There are 4 sets of 5 mysteries when praying the rosary, and I usually pray only one set at a time.
The Joyful mysteries are my favorites: The Annunciation (when Gabriel told Mary what was up), The Visitation (When Mary visited Elizabeth), The Birth of Jesus, The presentation of Baby Jesus at the Temple, and Finding young Jesus in the Temple (after his folks had already traveled on for several days. I'd have been furious!) There are also 5 Luminous Mysteries, 5 Glorious Mysteries, and the ones I avoid...
The Five Sorrowful Mysteries
So I mentioned that I like to pray with the rosary, because for me (and probably thousands of others) praying the rosary is like taking a bus. I like buses. Some of them are quite decorative, or have clever sayings on the sides. Some are simple "cheese wagons" like the ones that drive the kids to school. Anyway, I take the bus to get somewhere. The bus is not my destination, but a pleasant transportation device to get me where I truly want to be. In this case, my rosary praying is the same way. My destination is not 10 Hail Marys. The 5 mysteries are just bus stops to let me know where I am on the journey, and to remind me where I'm heading. My destination is with God, whatever that looks like on any given day.
There are 4 sets of 5 mysteries when praying the rosary, and I usually pray only one set at a time.
The Joyful mysteries are my favorites: The Annunciation (when Gabriel told Mary what was up), The Visitation (When Mary visited Elizabeth), The Birth of Jesus, The presentation of Baby Jesus at the Temple, and Finding young Jesus in the Temple (after his folks had already traveled on for several days. I'd have been furious!) There are also 5 Luminous Mysteries, 5 Glorious Mysteries, and the ones I avoid...
The Five Sorrowful Mysteries
- The Agony in the Garden
- The Scourging at the Pillar
- The Crowning with Thorns
- The Carrying of the Cross
- The Crucifixion and Death of Our Lord
It's just not possible to properly celebrate Easter, or the joy of salvation without acknowledging these sorrowful events. Life is full of sorrow, and without sorrow, we would never feel joy, but right now I'm not ready. I'm afraid I'll get bogged down into my own crosses and crownings. I've woven a pretty sizable crown of thorns to wear on my own head, and every piercing thorn is a reminder of the times I've stubbornly shouted "No, thank you, I can do it myself!" to God. I earned that scourging, not Him, and the guilt of it is almost too much to bear.
The sorrowful mysteries also carry the greatest blessings, however, and I need to think of them. Each drop of blood was given, not taken. Each lash of the whip was received, not given. He GAVE his life, no one TOOK it. It was always HIS to give, and He gave it to me. He gave it FOR me.
Because He LOVES me.
And the bus--I mean, the rosary-- takes me there. To the place where I am beloved and with the one who loves me into being!
I'd encourage you to get on your bus and ride to that place.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The power went out.
It really did. We got a real wet sloppy snowstorm last night that took down some power lines and wiped out our power for awhile. Normally this isn't really much cause for alarm, but at about 30 degrees outside, with a foot of new wet heavy snow, the house was getting colder by the minute. Sylvia climbed in my bed and snuggled. Then we got up and put on layers of sweats, brewed tea in my new tea kettle, and enjoyed the adventure of life without electricity.
It came back on about 10:30 or so. Heat filled our chilly house, and life returned to normal. However, when I was thinking I'd blog about the power going out, a whole different thought came to mind.
Remember the story about when Jesus was walking down the street with his disciples, and there were people all around, pressing in on all sides, and the woman with the "bleeding problem" touched the hem of his garment? Jesus turned around and said, "Who touched me?" Why?
Because the Power went out.
The power went out from the Son of God, and he instantly knew it. It changed that lady. It healed her, and emboldened her to speak up and say "it was I, Lord." Can you imagine?
What if the Power went out like that today? The house would be aglow in the warm love of our Creator, and even if the lights came back on, we would never return to "Normal". When have you felt His power go out? Think back to a time when you spent a few minutes in the dark, quietness of His Love. Spend a few minutes there.
It came back on about 10:30 or so. Heat filled our chilly house, and life returned to normal. However, when I was thinking I'd blog about the power going out, a whole different thought came to mind.
Remember the story about when Jesus was walking down the street with his disciples, and there were people all around, pressing in on all sides, and the woman with the "bleeding problem" touched the hem of his garment? Jesus turned around and said, "Who touched me?" Why?
Because the Power went out.
The power went out from the Son of God, and he instantly knew it. It changed that lady. It healed her, and emboldened her to speak up and say "it was I, Lord." Can you imagine?
What if the Power went out like that today? The house would be aglow in the warm love of our Creator, and even if the lights came back on, we would never return to "Normal". When have you felt His power go out? Think back to a time when you spent a few minutes in the dark, quietness of His Love. Spend a few minutes there.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
LISTENING LIKE A 5 YEAR OLD!
LISTEN
That's what the Father said from the cloud when Peter was babbling on about setting up a tent for Moses and one for Elijah. He said,
This is my Chosen Son. Listen to Him.
I'm trying so hard to listen, but I'm babbling like Peter. I never thought about it like this until now, but when it comes to listening to God, I'm like the kids in my Pre-Kindergarten (Young Fives) class. I have something that I think is really important to say, and God is doing the same thing I do every day in class, curbing, redirecting, correcting, and I'm totally oblivious.
Here's a sample of a typical Young Fives interaction:
Okay, who can raise their hand and tell m..
I HAVE A CAT! MRS. SWAGER, I HAVE A CAT.
It's not your turn, who can raise their hand and te...
EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU...
I HAVE A CAT!
Please don't interrupt. Who can tell me what letter this is?
EXCUSE ME! IT'S A B! I DON'T HAVE A B IN MY NAME. I HAVE A ...
You are right, this is a B. What sound does it...
I HAVE A CAT! AND IT SCRATCHED ME!
We're talking about the letter B right now, we'll talk about cats later. What sound does...
EXCUSE ME! CAT DOES NOT HAVE A B! EXCUSE ME! MY NAME DOES NOT START WITH B! B IS NOT MY LETTER!
Please listen! This letter is B and the sound is /b/. (The catgirl is up and walking around the room now.)
Take your finger out of your nose and go wash your hands, please! (This is the 4th time Mr. "Excuse me" has been asked to remove his finger.)
Mrs. A-wogger, I know a word that starts with B! Moon! Moon starts with a B! No, wait, that's not a B.
EXCUSE ME! I DON'T HAVE A CAT.
You get the idea, right? Except When it's God and I it looks more like this:
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN...
Hi God, it's me Amy. I'm nervous about my kids again. They're all growing up so fast, and some of them are in the Army, and it makes me nervous, but I trust that you are going to take care of them and I just...
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN TO H...
I know I need to listen to Him, but I was thinking maybe I could write a letter to each of my godkids and then make a cake or some cookies. I have to get something out to thaw for dinner tomorrow, and it needs to have a lot of veggies since Lydia and Harriett gave up meat for lent...
LISTEN TO HIM!
I am really listening to what you're saying, but I'm really worried about my girlfriend whose Father-in-law just died, and I don't know what to do to help her...
LISTEN! IT'S MY TURN, PLEASE DON'T INTERRUPT, I WANT YOU TO BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD...
I have a cat, Lord. I have a cat. Excuse me, but I have no idea what's really important. What I know is that I am a bad listener, I have a cat, my name does not contain a B, I have low tolerance for nose-picking, and I really REALLY want to be the student you'd like me to be...if I was only developmentally ready.
LISTEN!
That's what I'm trying to do. I'm glad God is an infinitely better and more patient teacher than I am!
That's what the Father said from the cloud when Peter was babbling on about setting up a tent for Moses and one for Elijah. He said,
This is my Chosen Son. Listen to Him.
I'm trying so hard to listen, but I'm babbling like Peter. I never thought about it like this until now, but when it comes to listening to God, I'm like the kids in my Pre-Kindergarten (Young Fives) class. I have something that I think is really important to say, and God is doing the same thing I do every day in class, curbing, redirecting, correcting, and I'm totally oblivious.
Here's a sample of a typical Young Fives interaction:
Okay, who can raise their hand and tell m..
I HAVE A CAT! MRS. SWAGER, I HAVE A CAT.
It's not your turn, who can raise their hand and te...
EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU...
I HAVE A CAT!
Please don't interrupt. Who can tell me what letter this is?
EXCUSE ME! IT'S A B! I DON'T HAVE A B IN MY NAME. I HAVE A ...
You are right, this is a B. What sound does it...
I HAVE A CAT! AND IT SCRATCHED ME!
We're talking about the letter B right now, we'll talk about cats later. What sound does...
EXCUSE ME! CAT DOES NOT HAVE A B! EXCUSE ME! MY NAME DOES NOT START WITH B! B IS NOT MY LETTER!
Please listen! This letter is B and the sound is /b/. (The catgirl is up and walking around the room now.)
Take your finger out of your nose and go wash your hands, please! (This is the 4th time Mr. "Excuse me" has been asked to remove his finger.)
Mrs. A-wogger, I know a word that starts with B! Moon! Moon starts with a B! No, wait, that's not a B.
EXCUSE ME! I DON'T HAVE A CAT.
You get the idea, right? Except When it's God and I it looks more like this:
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN...
Hi God, it's me Amy. I'm nervous about my kids again. They're all growing up so fast, and some of them are in the Army, and it makes me nervous, but I trust that you are going to take care of them and I just...
THIS IS MY CHOSEN SON, LISTEN TO H...
I know I need to listen to Him, but I was thinking maybe I could write a letter to each of my godkids and then make a cake or some cookies. I have to get something out to thaw for dinner tomorrow, and it needs to have a lot of veggies since Lydia and Harriett gave up meat for lent...
LISTEN TO HIM!
I am really listening to what you're saying, but I'm really worried about my girlfriend whose Father-in-law just died, and I don't know what to do to help her...
LISTEN! IT'S MY TURN, PLEASE DON'T INTERRUPT, I WANT YOU TO BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD...
I have a cat, Lord. I have a cat. Excuse me, but I have no idea what's really important. What I know is that I am a bad listener, I have a cat, my name does not contain a B, I have low tolerance for nose-picking, and I really REALLY want to be the student you'd like me to be...if I was only developmentally ready.
LISTEN!
That's what I'm trying to do. I'm glad God is an infinitely better and more patient teacher than I am!
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Pots, part one.
Picture yourself as an artist who fashions clay pots.
You've spent a good deal of time making a huge assortment of unique pots.
Some are short and stout, perfect to plant one of those gorgeous mini-gardens that fancy people have at the end of their driveways. Some are tall and slender like Grecian urns, with stories etched into the sides of them. Each pot was designed in the mind of the artist to carry out a specific task. Some are very decorative while some are more pragmatic. Some will spend their entire existence being used for a common purpose, while some will be gilded with gold and reserved for only special occasions.
Now you've spent all this time and energy creating each one in the image you had in your mind. You gave some imperfections and traits that you knew would serve their purpose, others you created to be...well, shall we say you were going through your "Art Nouveau" period. But they all began as your idea.
Hidden within each pot is a secret. A treasure exists in its form or function, or within its design that makes it more than just a pot. This secret makes it dear to the one who fashioned it. It is a memory of the time they spent together as clay and potter, being made into something...else.
You would like each pot to know its value. From the least, little jar that cracked in the fire of the kiln, to the greatest fountain that holds precious water for those in the dessert, they all hold the secret, and you want them to know it. You want them to REMEMBER it, and hold it dear.
So you climb onto the wheel, and allow yourself to become surrounded with clay and spun into a pot yourself...
You've spent a good deal of time making a huge assortment of unique pots.
Some are short and stout, perfect to plant one of those gorgeous mini-gardens that fancy people have at the end of their driveways. Some are tall and slender like Grecian urns, with stories etched into the sides of them. Each pot was designed in the mind of the artist to carry out a specific task. Some are very decorative while some are more pragmatic. Some will spend their entire existence being used for a common purpose, while some will be gilded with gold and reserved for only special occasions.
Now you've spent all this time and energy creating each one in the image you had in your mind. You gave some imperfections and traits that you knew would serve their purpose, others you created to be...well, shall we say you were going through your "Art Nouveau" period. But they all began as your idea.
Hidden within each pot is a secret. A treasure exists in its form or function, or within its design that makes it more than just a pot. This secret makes it dear to the one who fashioned it. It is a memory of the time they spent together as clay and potter, being made into something...else.
You would like each pot to know its value. From the least, little jar that cracked in the fire of the kiln, to the greatest fountain that holds precious water for those in the dessert, they all hold the secret, and you want them to know it. You want them to REMEMBER it, and hold it dear.
So you climb onto the wheel, and allow yourself to become surrounded with clay and spun into a pot yourself...
Thursday, February 14, 2013
The Dirt Blessing
The 'Dirt Blessing'
Two years ago I waited in the hospital in Alabama for my granddaughter to make her entry into the world. She arrived as scheduled, and promptly made us wait to get to hold her. Her lungs didn't inflate well when she was first born, which reminded us all of a great lesson...we are not in control.
Yesterday she received ashes on her forehead for Ash Wednesday. I should say, she and a good deal of the earth's population received these ashes as a reminder of that great lesson also. We are still not in control. We get to make choices and decisions, but the truth is exactly what the priest or deacon says as he traces the cross of Christ on our foreheads "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return."
Jordan told me Evie was all excited that she got a "dirt blessing". She's right, it looks like dirt. It's actually the burnt remains of the palms from last year's Palm Sunday Mass. That was the one where we were all excited by the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem and the people were SO excited that he was there and laid palm fronds on the road before him as he rode in on the colt of an ass. Just before my sins nailed him to a cross. Mine, yours, all of ours, because he didn't have any of his own.
Evie's right! It is a dirt blessing. We started as dirt and we'll end that way. The important part is what we do while we are MORE than dirt.
For that brief moment of time between when our lungs inflate with the breath of God until we give back our last breath of God when our time here is over, we are more than dirt.
I have been taught that the breath of God contains within it some of His divinity, which is in each of us. So maybe our job while we're here is to give it away. Give your divinity to every person you meet by acknowledging theirs. Give away the stuff that really matters. Give time. Give Love. Give kindness and gentleness. Give forgiveness and acceptance and find the beauty that this world is searching for and can't seem to see. Share your vision while your eyes are still able to see. Share your laughter while your mind is still able to see the humor in life. Share your song as long as your voice holds out. Then just love.
Evie's a big girl now with her very own dirt blessing, and even though she's only been with us for 2 short years, it seems like she's always been.
This year, for Lent, use your days wisely. Be a blessing, even if you're a dirty one.
Yesterday she received ashes on her forehead for Ash Wednesday. I should say, she and a good deal of the earth's population received these ashes as a reminder of that great lesson also. We are still not in control. We get to make choices and decisions, but the truth is exactly what the priest or deacon says as he traces the cross of Christ on our foreheads "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return."
Jordan told me Evie was all excited that she got a "dirt blessing". She's right, it looks like dirt. It's actually the burnt remains of the palms from last year's Palm Sunday Mass. That was the one where we were all excited by the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem and the people were SO excited that he was there and laid palm fronds on the road before him as he rode in on the colt of an ass. Just before my sins nailed him to a cross. Mine, yours, all of ours, because he didn't have any of his own.
Evie's right! It is a dirt blessing. We started as dirt and we'll end that way. The important part is what we do while we are MORE than dirt.
For that brief moment of time between when our lungs inflate with the breath of God until we give back our last breath of God when our time here is over, we are more than dirt.
I have been taught that the breath of God contains within it some of His divinity, which is in each of us. So maybe our job while we're here is to give it away. Give your divinity to every person you meet by acknowledging theirs. Give away the stuff that really matters. Give time. Give Love. Give kindness and gentleness. Give forgiveness and acceptance and find the beauty that this world is searching for and can't seem to see. Share your vision while your eyes are still able to see. Share your laughter while your mind is still able to see the humor in life. Share your song as long as your voice holds out. Then just love.
Evie's a big girl now with her very own dirt blessing, and even though she's only been with us for 2 short years, it seems like she's always been.
This year, for Lent, use your days wisely. Be a blessing, even if you're a dirty one.
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