I WISH YOU A HALLMARK CHRISTMAS...

I've gone and done it, y'all. After two years of burying mamas and cancer scares and trying to fix people only God can fix... I've morphed into a festively addle-brained Alice and fallen headfirst into the Hallmark Christmas Channel hole. Landed smack dab in Cheezy Holiday Wonderland... the place where starry-eyed romantics and quixotic old women go to binge-watch movies about finding the perfect Christmas tree AND true love. 

I'm not even ashamed. At least not anymore. 

I fell into the hole innocently enough. One night, after a particularly depressing news day, I stumbled upon a Hallmark Christmas movie while channel surfing. Within two hours, I was hooked. As my addiction grew and grew, I found new and inventive ways to watch in secret, not willing to fess up and face the ridicule of the Dickman. 

But like any other addict... I overindulged and got caught. I was forced out of the Sappy Christmas Movie Closet. 

It happened last Saturday, while Dickie was supposed to be running errands. There I was - spellbound and overwrought with worry that Jacqueline wouldn't reunite with her estranged Dad before Christmas.  I didn't even notice when the Dickman walked into the room.

“Wanna go get some breakfast?” He asked cheerily. I wiped my snotty nose on my robe and said, “I... I... can't. It's not a good time.” He glanced at the TV then whipped his head back around to me. “Wait a minute... is this what I think it is? Are you really watching one of those Hallmark girly shows? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” 

I didn't even know how to answer. I wasn't sure what was happening to his wife. 

The Dickman sat down to wait for me with a smirky grin on his face.  Five minutes later, Hallmark had him by the Christmas balls. 

“So, when is this lady gonna find out that her Dad really is a good guy?? I mean, he's helping her save Christmas for the WHOLE town - can't she see that?!” He exclaimed. 

By the end of the show he was trying to hide his sniffling. As I wiped my own leaky eyes I  teased in a singsong voice, “Look who's crying...” He belligerently blubbered. “I'm not crying – you're crying!”

What in the wide wide world of winter wonderlands are you doing to us, Hallmark? What is this magical holiday spell that you cast?? 

I've thought about it a lot, trying to figure out the special sauce that goes into the formula. The formula, itself, is nothing but predictable... Christmas cookie cutter plot lines and recurrent themes that go something like this: 

Big city career girl (usually a lawyer) named Holly or Angel returns to her small town before Christmas just in time to save the family farm or bakery or Christmas-themed business and inevitably reunites with her high school boyfriend named Nick or Chris who is now the town handy man or hunky widower or secretly... a prince. And before you know it they find themselves falling in love over a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of gingerbread cookies and they run outside and have a snowball fight and end up falling together in the snow and they almost kiss but decide to make snow angels instead and somehow his hair never gets wet and her mascara never runs and then a protagonist shows up in the form of a beautiful but shallow ex-girlfriend or a skinny jean-wearing metrosexual ex-boyfriend and the budding romance is nipped until they miraculously find each other across the room at the local Christmas pageant and realize that OH MY GOSH it was all a big misunderstanding and she truly deeply loves him! He's always been The One! They're SOUL MATES! And look, WHAT A SURPRISE! There's mistletoe hanging RIGHT OVER THEIR PERFECT HEADS. So they seal it with a chaste (no tongue) but loving kiss and They All Live Happily Ever After.      

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. 

It doesn't even matter that only six or seven actors are passed around amongst a bajillion Hallmark Christmas movies... it doesn't feel incestuous-y at all. The only thing that matters is that within two short hours, everything gets tied up with a big red bow and Love Always Wins. Is it real life? No, Virginia, it is not. In real life, there is no way to fit five winter coats into one little suitcase. In real life, there are no perfect Christmas dinners because our family is more like Cousin Eddie with the metal plate in his head. In real life, when bows come untied, sometimes they stay that way. 

So don't mind me while I check my logic under the mistletoe, bury my head in the fake snow and escape this chaotic and troubled world for a few hours. The sweetness overload is totally worth the rise in my insulin levels. And all I want to do after watching one of these movies is dress up in red and eat fruitcake and go caroling. Or open a Christmas tree farm and drive a sleigh pulled by a horse named Bobtail.  With bells that ring.

It's pure magic, y'all. 

Who couldn't use a little Christmas Magic... complete with sappy background music, bottomless cups of frothy hot chocolate and a love that rescues you in the nick of time?

THE MASTER GARDENER

God plopped Adam down in the middle of a bountiful Garden with plans of turning him into a gardener. “This is gonna be easy-peasy, Adam” God said. “All you have to do is take care of these two trees. One will give you life, the other will bring a curse.”

You know how the story goes.  Like a coupla knuckleheads, Adam and Eve chose the cursed tree. Why? Because it wasn't enough for them to be “like” God... they wanted to actually BE God. 

A boneheaded move that got their shamefully naked butts kicked out of The Garden. 

As time passed, the original sin multiplied. People grew more and more evil, carelessly squandering chances of mercy and redemption. God felt like he was watching ALL the Shakespearean plays on an endless loop.

Finally fed up, God realized that only His Son could save us. And by us, I mean you and me. Humanity. All the little children of the world.

So God gave us Baby Jesus, all wrapped up in swaddles. He didn't send Him here to change the world, though the world changed because He was here.  God sent Jesus to change hearts and cultivate souls. And He was really good at it. So much so that He became a threat to the status quo.

Knowing his days were literally numbered, Jesus went to a Garden to pray. But He got kicked out of that Garden and was taken away to be jailed, tortured and nailed to a cross.

Then, as Bob Goff says, “Darkness fell. His friends scattered. All hope seemed lost. But heaven just started counting to three." And when Mary Magdalene went to anoint His lifeless body, she found an empty tomb. She was so shocked that she asked the tall stranger standing next to her if He had seen anything. She didn't recognize Him as Jesus.  She thought He was... wait for it... the Gardener. (John 20:1-18) 

God is just cool like that.

He placed a Tree of Life in the original Garden with a really crappy gardener.  Humanity Fallen.

He allowed Jesus to be taken from a Garden and crucified on a cross-shaped tree. Humanity Forgiven. 

Can you guess what's gonna happen next?  You don't have to guess.  God tells us.

Heaven will come down and there will be a New Garden, complete with it's very own Tree of Life. Humanity Fortified.  

For Eternity. 

Then the angel showed me the river of the Water of Life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the Tree of Life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. AND THE LEAVES OF THE TREE ARE FOR THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. (Revelation 22:1-2) 

There it is – in the very last chapter of Revelation. After scaring the actual hell out of us, John ends Revelation with an awesome description of the New Heaven and Earth and... WOW! Not only do we get streets paved with gold, we get a Fruit of the Month Tree! With magic leaves!! 

God's Garden comes full circle. Perfection Glorified. Eden is restored and the Tree of Life is replanted  smack dab in the middle of a heavenly paradise of perpetuity. 

Now, I don't pretend to understand everything in Revelation, but I know one thing for sure: this earth will pass away. All the war and brokenness, disease and dying? Gone! One-ply toilet paper and clingy plastic wrap? Gone! Pesky mosquitoes and flatulence? Gone and gone! Every single bit of ugliness will be gone. God will vanquish sin and darkness from this world and usher a cleansing, purifying, sentient light into the Garden. 

The light of heaven is our future... and we should plan for it like there's no tomorrow. Instead of  fighting over political elections, we should claim the victory He has already promised. Instead of worrying about sagging skin and bemoaning a neck that has just given up, we should get excited about the perfect body that is to come! And when you pray?  Go right on ahead and boldly thank God for answering that prayer. Because where we are going, the battle is over.  Not only has it been fought, it's been WON. Claim your dang victory! Slap that crown on your head and plant your feet on the finish line! 

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. (2 Timothy 4:7-8) 

"All who have longed for His appearing..." There's our hope. Prepare for it. Reach for it. Long for it. Don't stay stuck in the past or get lost in the present - our hope is for the future. Stop jousting with windmills and start claiming the promises that await you. Stop punching paper tigers and turning clay-footed mortals into heroes. Direct your energy towards the hope that is promised for the healing of our nations. 

The Bible begins with a Tree of Life placed in a perfect garden, tended by imperfect gardeners. It ends with a Tree of Life in an even more perfect garden, and this time it is tended by the Master Gardener, one who is able to sustain a tree full of Healing Leaves. 

I see no reason to wait for that promise, do you?  Lord knows our nation could use a bit of healing.  WE can be the Healing Leaves – He will give us that power if we only ask and believe...

ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN.

CHANGE YOUR FOCUS...

I snapped this picture from my upstairs window today.

It's  just been one of Those Days, y'all. Cold and drizzly and overcast.  Earlier in the evening we were under a tornado watch. Tornado.Watch.

It's October, for Pete's sake!

But I really don't mind Days Like This. In fact, I kinda love them. Days Like This don't happen that often in Texas... there's plenty of sunshiny days on the High Plains. 

Way more than our frigid neighbors 3000 miles to the northeast-ish. 

We recently went on a cruise to Alaska. Everybody warned us we would love it, but... WOW! Mere words did not prepare me for the sensory assault that blasted forth from our 49th state. The scenic beauty was so breathtaking that it literally made my chest hurt.

Alaska is ridiculously beautiful. So much so, that about halfway through our trip, I began daydreaming about moving to one of the quaint towns we visited along the Inside Passage. I had it all figured out:  we would buy a cozy little cottage close to the mooses (meeses?) but not-so-close to the bears... I would fill my closet full of  flannel shirts and my drawers with CuddlDuds and if I ran out of money, I'd find me a couple o' lumberjacks in need of a Physical Therapist. Or – even better – I could put the Dickman's superior marketing skills to use selling *gummy bears* to all the retired tourists with wonky joints or whatnot. The possibilities were endless!

Until I was reminded that for several months of the year, there are only 3-7 hours of sunshine each day.

Womp.  Womp.  A little bit of darkness goes a looooooong way...

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September marked six months since my plaque radiation surgery, which meant I could finally get some new glasses! My vision had changed greatly since that pesky little tumor had reared its ugly head. Slowly but surely, the vision in my right eye has improved from 20/1200 to - wait for it - 20/50!!!  Since my favorite optometrist was still in New Mexico holding my grandbabies hostage, I made an appointment with my second favorite Eye Guy.   I couldn't wait!

After going through several indecisive minutes of,  “Which is better... one or two?  One... or two?...

Q:  How many optometrists does it take to change a light bulb?  

         A:  Is it one or two?  One... or two?? 

...My second favorite optometrist was finally able to show me how much better I would see with my new prescription. Though the acuity of my vision will continue to improve, there is an area of permanent loss to my lower right field of vision.  And I see red as yellow-ish.  But hey... as long as a red-dressed midget doesn't try to sneak up on my right, I'm good! 

Because even though my faulty cones (or is it rods?) tell my brain the stoplight is yellow... I can still depend on it to be red.  Which means I should definitely stop, instead of go faster.

And you know what else? Even if I had been completely blind when the Dickman took me to Alaska, all he had to do was describe the mountains or the eagle in flight or that glimpse of the whale's tail flipping in the brilliant blue water.  And even though I would have missed the splendor of the majesty... I still would know that I was surrounded by beauty. 

Because it's what I would've expected to see... what my heart wanted to see. What's more, those loooooooong days of darkness wouldn't have bothered me. If I had never known what sunshine looked like, the endless days of darkness would not have felt so cold and... hopeless. 

And isn't that just the perfect metaphor for These Days? 

Some Days, even when the sun is shining brightly, it's hard to see the warmth. Even Those Days that are filled with light can seem dark and cold and... hopeless. 

It doesn't have to be that way, you know. 

We only need to focus. Our blindness comes from fixing our eyes on the things that are seen, rather than things unseen. Things like Goodness & Mercy, Faith & Hope. And of course, the Greatest of These... 

Love. 

Every moment can be a gift from God, if we'll just change our focus.

GET UP

The world is a scary place, right now. 

We feel the collective loss of humanity all around us through natural – and unnatural causes. Suicide and drug abuse is epidemic. Mother nature is thoroughly pissed off. 

I know many young mothers who are anxious and afraid to raise their babies in a society filled with grifters & goons masked as leaders & politicians, rampant evil unmasked and unfettered. 

I am not... unaware. 

In fact, I was once an anxious young mother, myself. I remember my stomach tying in knots as I watched the attempted assassination of President Reagan while I held my five-month old baby boy on my lap. I wondered into what kind of madness I had delivered him. 

Almost 40 decades later, I am no longer anxious. 

That baby boy grew into a wonderful, caring man who has made this world a better place. As has his younger brother. 

As will your child, if you claim the promise embodied in those sweet little nuggets from God: the hope of a brighter tomorrow. 

But brighter tomorrows do not come without a fight. Roundhouse gut kicks and jaw shattering sucker punch kind of fights. 

So you learn. You learn to take those punches and roll with them. Except when you can't. When the punches come so fast and so hard that you can't catch your breath, you can only lie flat on the mat and watch stars spin around your head while the ref begins a slow count to ten... 

Those are the times you will be tempted to close your eyes and never move again. Ever. Those are the times when rising from the mat becomes a choice. Your choice. 

Just know that if you choose to stay down, the consequences will affect each of us like ripples of water from a drop of rain. We will be left with empty years of unfulfilled promise... love unwrapped... hearts bereft of inspiration. 

I hope you will always choose to do the HARD THING. I hope you will choose to GET UP, wipe the sweat off your forehead and the snot from your nose (yes, you got the snot beat out of you), get up and get back to your corner. 

That's where your people are: IN YOUR CORNER. They are there, waiting for you. They have band-aids to stop the bleeding and ice to help the swelling. They will help you decide what to do NEXT. 

Not 40 years down the road, but RIGHT NOW. That's all you need to decide. THIS MOMENT. And soon – in a flash, really - those moments turn into hours and days and months and decades. Decades that you look back on with wonder that you survived. But you did. You survived Every.Dang.Thing. 

Even though you have scars on your chin and knobs on your knuckles... even though your ears are shaped like cauliflower and they won't stop ringing, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're still here. 

And you've learned The Secret: You are not in control. You never were. 

All you own are your choices. Kindness. Love. Hate. Division. You are free to choose, though bound by the consequences of your choices. 

If you never learn The Secret, the consequences will be devastating... and not just for you. We will feel your pain in our hearts. 

I am heartbroken for every troubled teenager who chooses destruction and changes the course of their life. 

And that friend... the one who was once the life of the party, but is now a tortured alcoholic / addict? My heart hurts for them. 

Bad choices are universally painful, while those who choose wisely encircle us with inspiration. 

Like the beautiful lady with cancer who chooses to keep dancing... 

Or that precious soul who works with disadvantaged kids while her own son sits in prison... 

The amazing grandpa who has been wheelchair bound for years, but refuses to be disabled. 

They got up from the mat and chose to make a difference for themselves. For all of us. 

You WILL get knocked to the mat. And God will STILL be in control. 

He'll help you get up, get you back to your corner. He'll fill that corner with people who love & sustain you, who only want the best for you... black eyes and all. 

GET UP.

Pricey Plots & Clouds Of Glory

JUST IN CASE YOU MISSED IT... the past several days of news coverage have been filled with memorials and funerals celebrating the lives of two American icons: Aretha Franklin and John McCain. 

As fate would have it, they were given back-to-back send offs that were as remarkably different as the honorees, themselves. For five days, we watched a somber, flag-draped coffin carry a war hero across the country in a procession steeped with military tradition and honor while simultaneously, the Queen of Soul received her own four day 'home-going'... complete with killer (pardon the pun) music, a 14 kt. gold-plated casket and three (count 'em) THREE wardrobe changes. 

Two extraordinary people who impacted the world in greatly divergent ways, both culturally and politically. And though their souls have “slipped the surly bonds”, their earthly bodies, well... they ended up in the same place: six feet underneath the ground. 

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One of the most interesting places I visited during my trip to Israel was the Mount of Olives. This famous “hill facing Jerusalem” (1 Kings 11:7) played a prophetic role throughout the Bible, including Jesus' last footprint on earth before He ascended to Heaven. 

Many believe it is where He will return. 

As I looked all the way across the Kidron Valley, my eyes were drawn to the double arches in the wall of Jerusalem, to the sealed up portal of the East Gate, also known as the Golden Gate. This is the gate through which the Jews believe their Messiah will enter Jerusalem to rebuild the Temple and usher in the Messianic Age. Muslims agree with Christians that Jesus will reign in final judgment during His Second Coming.  But while the Qur'an alludes to the return of Jesus as a messenger of God, Christians believe Jesus is the Son of God.

From where I was standing and all the way across the Kidron Valley, I saw hundreds and hundreds of tombs awaiting That Day. Directly below me on the Mount of Olives was the world's largest Jewish cemetery. I learned that those burial plots can cost upwards to a bone-rattling (pardon the pun) $50,000 dollars. Do you know why? Because not only is it considered a great honor for Jews to be buried close to the Temple Mount, but in doing so, their hope is that they will be the FIRST of the first when the Messiah comes. "For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout... and the dead in Christ shall rise first." (1 Thessalonians 4:16) 

I was awed by the history of this place... and in wonderment of the future. 

Revelation is a murky mess of manuscript, y'all.  No matter what your conclusions are regarding the Second Coming of Christ, I am doubtful that any of us have all the details figured out.  Along with a hopeful “BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY!”, I do believe all Christians can agree on these two facts: 

1) He is coming! And He's coming out of the EAST. (Matthew 24:27) 

2) When He comes, WE will meet Him in the clouds. (1 Thessalonians 4:17) 

But... why East? 

And wouldn't you like to know who “We” is??

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THE EAST 

Genesis 2:8 tells us that God planted a garden in the EAST, in Eden. A perfectly heavenly garden which He planted for Adam and Eve. 

But Eve screwed it up ---- not only for herself and Adam, but for ALL humanity --- when she took a bite of that Apple (makes you wonder what she wouldn't do for a Klondike bar, huh?). Eve and Adam disobeyed God and He kicked them out of The Garden, sending them further away to a land East of Eden. And to make sure they never came back, He placed a Cherubim (not the cute kind) with a big ol' flaming sword at the East end of the Garden. (Genesis 3:24) 

Because of sin, they were separated from paradise by a Cherubim. God separated the unholy from the holy. 

Fast forward about 20 generations to Moses and his Israelites, just a'wandering in the wilderness. They roamed around, around, around, around, around. 

Clearly, they were directionally challenged. It took them over 40 years to wander a little over 200 miles into the Promised Land! They had no idea that the earth was a sphere, spinning on its axis. Completely clueless about the North and South Poles.

But God knew. He gave them specific and detailed instructions for the tabernacle and later, the temple. He demanded that it be laid out in an East to West continuum, with the Ark of the Covenant at the westernmost end of the Holy of Holies. Why East to West? As explained by Jonathan Cahn in The Book of Mysteries, North ends at the North Pole. South ends at the South pole. But East and West have no beginning or end– they are infinite. This inspired design allowed His followers to understand just how much God loved them – infinitely and forever.  He accepted their sacrifices and removed their sins “as far as the east is from the west.” (Psalm 103:12) It's no coincidence that the Hebrew word for East is 'kedem', which also means... everlasting. 

But wait! There's more... 

Do you remember what happened in the Temple the moment Jesus died on the cross? The veil which separated the Holy Place from the Most Holy Place was torn in two, from top to bottom. This was the curtain that separated man from God, skillfully and intricately designed according to the law, with Cherubim woven into the fabric. (Exodus 26:31). Only the High Priest could go behind the curtain to offer sacrifices to God. 

Jesus, as our High Priest, blasted right through that veil on His way to His Father in Paradise. “But Christ came as High Priest of the good things to come, with the greater and more perfect tabernacle not made with hands, that is, not of this creation. Not with the blood of goats and calves, but with His own blood He entered the Most Holy Place once – for ALL – having obtained eternal redemption." (Hebrews 9:11-12). 

Herein lies the significance: Adam lost paradise and was driven TO the East. When Jesus returns, He will come FROM the East and take us back to Paradise.

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WHO IS 'WE'? 

The Bible pulls no punches about WHO will meet Jesus in the clouds... “Who may ascend into the hill of the Lord? And who may stand in his holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart.” (Psalm 24:3-4) 

Uh Oh. 

Clean hands, I can manage. But a pure heart? I'm pretty sure that disqualifies, well... everyone. In fact,  Jesus affirms it in bold red letters. Luke 18:19 says, “No one is good, except God alone.” 

But wait... does this mean that fancy funerals or strategically placed burial plots won't help us get to Heaven? 

'Fraid so, Fred. 

See, God really doesn't care how groovy your grave is or if you had 100 pink Cadillacs in your funeral procession with star-studded eulogies that lasted for days. And days. And days... 

He shakes His Holy Head in wonder at our pomp and circumstance. 

And surely He must think we're knuckleheads for going to all the trouble, when He made it so simple for us over 2000 years ago. 

All He asks is that we love Him with all our heart and all our soul and all our mind and all our strength (Mark 12:30). Oh yeah, and love our neighbors as ourselves. If we can do that – love like Jesus loves – every dang thing will work out just fine. He will cover us with a GRACE that is big enough and bold enough to break down any barrier that might separate us from Paradise. 

All that we've got is all that it takes to rest sweetly in the hope that we WILL meet Jesus in those Clouds of Glory... faithful and full of the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead.  

THE PASSWORD IS LOVE

I don't know about you, but I find the Book of Judges to be a bit horrifying. It's filled with gory stories such as Ehud burying his double-edged sword ALL the way into King Eglon's big ol' belly... Jael hammering a dude's head to the floor... Samson eating honey from a rotting lion's carcass... just to name a few. Chapter after chapter details the sad story of the Israelites, a scattered bunch of knuckleheads who were stuck in a never-ending cycle of sin and redemption. 

It is no small testimony to God's patience during this period that He sent twelve different judges to help save their sorry butts. And what did His chosen people do? They went through those judges like a menopausal woman goes through a box of Thin Mints. A judge would rescue them, then he would die, the Israelites would screw up again, God would clobber them and they would beg for forgiveness until God sent them a new judge. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Kinda like the movie “Groundhog Day”, except bloodier. 

Number 8 of those 12 judges was Jephthah of Gilead --- mighty warrior, son of a hooker. Gilead was located east of the Jordan River. Through a series of events, Jephthah's followers found themselves in a civil war against their fellow Israelites, a group of Ephraimites who lived west of the Jordan River.

After the Gileadites defeated them soundly, Jephthah's men came up with a password to keep any rogue Ephraimites from escaping back across the river to their homeland. Though both tribes spoke the same language, apparently they had developed different accents, as noted in Judges 12:5-6. 

Jephthah captured the shallow crossings of the Jordan River, and whenever a fugitive from Ephraim tried to go back across, the men of Gilead would challenge him. “Are you a member of the tribe of Ephraim?” they would ask. If the man said, “No, I’m not,” they would tell him to say “Shibboleth.” If he was from Ephraim, he would say “Sibboleth,” because people from Ephraim cannot pronounce the word correctly. Then they would take him and kill him at the shallow crossings of the Jordan. In all, 42,000 Ephraimites were killed at that time. 

Can you believe it??  FORTY-TWO-THOUSAND men were killed for not being able to pronounce 'sh' correctly. 

In high school, I had a friend who couldn't say his 'R's. He called me 'Wobin', a cute little nickname that stuck with some of my friends. But I've never wanted to kill him. Heck, I'm a Texan; I'm used to everybody else talking funny. Even though I sometimes make fun of them, I wouldn't dream of judging someone for having a different accent than me. Would I...? 

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Our trip to Israel unintentionally coincided with the holy season of Ramadan. Hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from all over Israel made their way to Jerusalem to pray at the Temple Mount. The very first day of our visit to Old Jerusalem, we happened to enter the Jewish Quarters just as hundreds of Muslims were exiting from communal prayers.

There we were, a bunch of American tourists swimming upstream in a river of Muslims. It was tense and somewhat overwhelming. Suffice it to say, I now know exactly how a salmon feels. 

As we made our way through the throng, some of them looked upon us with curiosity, a few glared at us angrily, but mostly, they just ignored us. The Jewish shopkeepers we passed along the way shook their heads at us incredulously. One of them even asked if we knew what we were doing. Jostling along, I felt a hand grab onto my shoulder. Thinking it was someone from our group, I glanced back and was surprised to see the beautiful face of a young Jewish woman who had decided to swim upstream with us. I smiled at her and said, “Hang on!”. She smiled back and asked in a heavy accent, “Did you mean to come here today or was it mistake?” I said, “Yes...? We planned to come, we just didn't plan on Ramadan. But, yes... we want to be here.” 

“You picked bad time to come... it is not always like this.” 

“Are you afraid?” I asked. 

“Me...? Oh, no. I am not afraid.” 

“Should we be afraid?” 

“No. You should not be afraid of Muslims. Most are good people. It is not a person's beliefs that make them evil. It is their heart.” 

Finally, the narrow street opened up into the plaza. My sweet Jewish friend bid me goodbye and told me to enjoy my visit. I wanted to say so much more to her than a simple 'goodbye'. Impulsively, I reached out to hug her and whispered into her ear, “God bless”.

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That scene replays over and over in my head. To me, it's symbolic of the division in God's world. Tribalism has quickly become a way of life, an accepted cultural norm. Jews vs. Muslims. Whites vs. Blacks. Liberals vs. Conservatives. We go around collecting shibboleths to distinguish our group from their group, our heroes from their villains, our facts from their opinions, our righteousness from their evil. Piling up prejudice in place of passwords just so that we can be right rather than nice. 

We need to stop. Stop embracing the things that separate us. Stop questioning who belongs to what group. 

Start focusing instead on the questions that really matter: 

Who belongs to God? 

Who does GOD say that you are? 

He never once said we should be known for our opinions. He's never encouraged us to lead others to Him through our political parties or tribes. And if there was a password for heaven, somebody would've leaked it already, so toss the shibboleths away. 

All we need, all we've ever needed, is a heart like Jesus. 

Then, and only then, will they know us by our love...

THESE STONES...

Since returning from the Holy Land, my Bible reading has taken on a whole nuther dimension. Compare it to drinking sweet tea out of a bathtub with a straw versus pouring a gallon of it down your throat. Sipping the Word versus Chug-A-Lugging the Word. In the same manner, my thirst for understanding and knowledge has increased to overflowing. 

So many wonders clicked into place during my Holy Land pilgrimage. Yet, for every insight gained, my curiosity was piqued even more. Hardly anything was as I expected it to be. Some of the traditional sites have become so commercialized that the spiritual essence is sadly diluted, though the historical significance remains. 

Even so, Israel is a wonder. A humbling, overwhelming wonder. Every day – at some point – I was moved to tears as I walked in the footsteps of Jesus. 

One of those places in particular was Mount Tabor – the believed site of the Mount of Transfiguration. [Side Note: I almost lost my religion on the way up the mountain, packed into a van while enduring ten butt-clenching minutes of hairpin turns. My brother felt it necessary to frequently remind me that cussing was frowned upon in the Holy Land. Through every torturous switchback, I somehow managed to transform outbursts of “Holy Sh**!!” into “Holy Shekel!” When we finally made it to the top, the driver and I were equally eager to bid adieu.] 

But, Oh.My.Lord.  What a view! A breathtakingly beautiful Catholic Church rests regally at the very top of the mountain. It was designed by an Italian architect and consists of three chapels or 'tabernacles' to honor Moses, Jesus and Elijah. (Matthew 17:1-8) 

As I entered the Elijah Chapel, I felt a change... a shifting within my soul. My heart begin to beat faster and my eyes filled with tears. I was so surprised by my reaction that I questioned my sis-in-law to see if she felt it, too. She suggested it might be indigestion from the torturous mountain drive, but we both knew it was something more. Something... sacred. I couldn't help but wonder why - surrounded by all these ancient wisps of Jesus - why was I so moved by Elijah? 

A few days later, I found myself standing in the Jordan River, reflecting on the baptism of Jesus. Our guide had taken us to the place referred to in the Bible as Bethabara, which means “Place of Crossing”. Tears stung my sunburned cheeks as I envisioned Jesus being baptized in these very waters. I could imagine the heavens opening  as the Son rose up out of the river... the Holy Spirit appearing in the form of a dove... and a proud Father's voice from the clouds saying: 

 "This is my Son, whom I love; 

with him I am well pleased." 

(Matthew 3:17, NIV) 

A beautiful, tangible reunification of the Trinity.

🕂🕂🕂

Last night, my Bible took me back to the Jordan River. And the heavens opened up, once again. 

I was reading of how Joshua led the Israelites across the Jordan and into the Promised Land. How God held back the waters of the raging river while His Chosen walked across a dry riverbed. How 12 stones were taken from the riverbed to build a memorial in Gilgal, as commanded by God.

And then, a simple little verse jumped out at me. One I had never noticed before. 

Joshua also set up another pile of twelve stones in the middle of the Jordan, at the place where the priests who carried the Ark of the Covenant were standing. 

And they are there to this day. 

(Joshua 4:9, NLT)

Joshua, seemingly without any prodding from God, took it upon himself to build a second memorial of 12 stones. Why? 

My spidey senses started tingling, so I did what any self-respecting wannabe Biblical Scholar would do: I mixed a healthy dose of prayer with Google and dove right in. 

The deeper I delved, the more I began to realize a potential purpose behind the punishment of God forbidding Moses to enter the Promised Land. Moses represented The Law.  Moses delivered The Law.  Moses was the embodiment of The Law. Symbolically, Moses could not be the one to deliver the Israelites into the Promised Land, because The Law, alone, cannot deliver us. 

But Joshua could. Moses had changed Hosea's name to Joshua, which means “The Lord's Salvation”.  In many ways, his life paralleled the life of our Savior.

I believe Joshua placed those 12 stones in the bottom of the Jordan River for two reasons:

1. To symbolize the 12 tribes and the end of the wilderness wanderings, thereby effectively memorializing the leadership and ministry of Moses and demarking the old generation from the new.
2. To prophetically mark the site of subsequent miracles for Elijah and Jesus. 

(Wait a minute... there's Elijah, again. What is up with that guy??)

Elijah was not your run-of-the-mill prophet. Nope. Elijah was a Bold, In-Your-Face, Bonafide Miracle Working Prophet, mentioned more times in the Bible than any other prophet.  Just as Moses was The Law, Elijah was The Prophet.  He came to prepare the way for Christ, and he was so beloved by God that he didn't even have to die. Instead, he was escorted up to heaven in a whirlwind and a freaking chariot of fire! And just where do you think God sent Elijah to catch his VIP ride to heaven? Directly to the river Jordan, to Bethabara... the place marked by Joshua's stones. 

(Are you starting to pick up what I'm laying down here?) 

The very river in which John the Baptist stood almost 800 years later, when he was approached by a group of Sadducees and Pharisees and the following conversation occurred: 

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of THESE stones God can raise up children for Abraham. 

(Matthew 3:7-9, NIV) 

(Hmmmmm... I wonder WHICH stones John the B is referring to? Could it be those SAME 12 stones which Joshua placed in memory of the children of Abraham?)

So, let's go back to where we started.  My own scripted series of hairpin turns brings us right back to the top of  Mount Tabor and the story of the Transfiguration.

...Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone.  There he was transfigured before them.  His clothes became dazzling white, whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them.  And there appeared before them Elijah and Moses, who were talking with Jesus. 

 (Mark 9:2-4) 

Can you imagine how blown away Peter was when he recognized Moses and Elijah? Don't you know his eyes were popping as he saw the two of them casually chatting with Jesus in all their radiant glory? As Peter nervously offered to build three tabernacles for them to hang out in, God covered them all in a cloud and said... 

“This is my Son, whom I love; 

with him I am well pleased. 

Listen to him!” 

(Mark 9:7)

...which effectively scared the crap out of Peter who fell to the ground. When he looked up again, POOF! Moses and Elijah were gone. Clearly God wanted to make a point to Peter and the other two disciples:  Jesus was now the Law and the Prophet.  And the Savior.

Man, don't you wish you coulda been a fly on that mountain while those three were talking? Is it possible that Jesus was thanking Moses for delivering the Law of God to Israel? Might the Messiah have been recounting the wonderful works of the Prophet Elijah to his very face? 

Perhaps they even swapped stories of that special place where their lives intersected in such a profound way... where the ministries of Moses & Elijah both symbolically and literally came to an end, and where Jesus' ministry began...

There, beneath the waters of the Jordan at Bethabara.

“Don't misunderstand why I have come. I did not come to abolish the law of Moses or the writings of the prophets.  No, I came to accomplish their purpose."

(Matthew 5:17, NLT)

ONE-EYED GOD WINKS

The morning we returned from our cruise, I checked in to the cancer center for a PET scan. 

Sitting in the waiting room, I observed the comings and goings of precious souls in various stages of cancer. Some were in wheelchairs, many had brightly-colored scarves covering their hairless heads, most looked gaunt and weary.  Yet every single person who looked my way offered a smile which I gratefully returned, along with a prayer. 

I didn't consider myself to be “one of them”.  I didn't feel like a cancer patient. Still,  I was honored to be in the company of  mighty warriors who never volunteered for such duty. 

I couldn't really tell you the precise moment that clarity struck, or as I like to say, sh*t got real. Somewhere between the waiting room and the act of being slid in and out of the PET scanner like an indecisive pizza pie, I accepted the reality that cancer would change my life in a defining way. 

And once again I heard, “Breathe in Jesus... breathe out peace.” 

As I became accustomed to the noise of the machine, I noticed music playing softly in the background. It was a Christian song that I had heard before, but really did not know. (I don't often listen to contemporary Christian music – I'm an old-time gospel kind of gal.)  Even though I couldn't hear all the words, the beautiful melody calmed me.   Then, just as the noisy scanner clicked off, I heard the final chorus of the song loud and clear: 

It is well, it is well... with my soul. 

My face broke out in a smile as I tried to keep my eyes from leaking. Those nine little words at the end of that song were a God Wink to me. 

[God Wink (noun) An event or personal experience, often identified as coincidence, so astonishing that it is seen as a sign of divine intervention, especially when perceived as the answer to a prayer.]

Last year, when my brothers and I were planning Mom's funeral, I was adamant about including “It Is Well” in her celebration services. I wasn't sure why, but I knew it had to be. 

Several months later, my cousin sent me a CD she had recorded from old reel-to-reel tapes of our family singing gospel music. It was a treasure of unspeakable worth. My Daddy's big bass voice blending with his Dad and family, along with my Mom's beautiful alto, simply flooded my heart with precious memories. But the best part was hearing their noisy chatter and jovial banter between songs. My Mom's voice – wilting violet that she was – came through loud and clear. In her twangy Texas brawl she drawled, “Paaaaauuuuul, I wanna sing that song that we sang in church... It is Well With My Soul. I loooooove that song – I want it sang at my funeral! 

And three decades later, my soul remembered and her wish was fulfilled. 

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Yesterday, I was visiting with my sister/friend – my 'ride or die' chick. We've been together from the cradle. From skinned knees to age spots... baby lotion to Retin-A... diapers to Depends (she's gonna kill me for that one). 

My friend was telling me how worried she was about my health, fearful of not having me in her life. “Robin, the entire time you were in surgery, all I did was pray and sing this song over you..." 

 

As she played the song, the words touched me deeply. We listened together in silent tears, our old familiar hearts exchanging words too hard to speak. And as I heard the last chorus I realized... 

This was the very song God had sent me during my PET scan. 

So many God Winks. So much peace in the knowledge that God is walking beside me each step of the way. Not a whisper of need to understand His purpose, only inadequacy in expressing gratitude for my blessings... for His healing.  Always with the understanding that 'Even If' He did not heal me, my hope is forever in Him. 

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Approximately half of Ocular Melanoma patients have a specific genetic make-up indicating a high risk of developing cancer mets (primarily to the liver). For this particular cancer, DNA testing is a very accurate prognosticator. 

This morning, I received the results of my biopsy. They were everything we prayed for --- I'm in the other half.

My doctor gave me an “Excellent Prognosis” which means this: Melanoma is a tricky little turd and there's always a possibility that years down the road, it might show up, again. It's also likely that I could die tomorrow from eating 14 servings of desserts in one setting. That's exactly how the King of Sweden died in 1771 and I'm pretty sure he's my Spirit Animal. 

But cancer..?  Nope.  Not today.

P.S.  GET YOUR EYES DILATED!!!

The 'C' Word

I'm radioactive, y'all. 

Two days ago, I underwent surgery to sew a disc filled with radioactive seeds to the back of my right eye. 

I have eye cancer. (The medical term is Ocular Melanoma but don't Google it... it'll scare the crap out of you.) 

I'm one of the lucky ones – mine is very small and treatable. The radiation and some other opthal-magic tricks should stop the melanoma in its tracks. 

But even with a good prognosis, there's not a great way to tell people you have cancer. Just the mention of that 'C' word freaks everybody out and they start talking reeeeaaaal slow, treating me like I'm gonna break. 

I'm not gonna break. Or even crack. 

I have laid it at God's feet – where everything in my life belongs – and I am golden. Glowing like a glowworm. 

If I had my druthers, I would have kept this between me and God... wouldn't have told anybody, even Dickie. But apparently, leaving the hospital after eye surgery without a driver is frowned upon in this establishment.

And then there's the fact that God just keeps pecking away at me, reminding me that He can use this to His glory; reminding me of my purpose... why I'm here. 

Clearly, my purpose is to overshare the details of my life on my blog and Facebook. 

********************************************

About seven weeks ago, my eye became suddenly blurry. The optometrist immediately referred me to an ophthalmologist. My appointment just happened to be at the same time the Dickman was scheduled for an upper and lower GI. We gave Jacob the dubious task of accompanying his Dad to The Butt Scope. (Key to this story is understanding just how much my husband loses his ever-loving mind on sedation.) 

After the scope, the nurse took Jacob back to recovery where he overheard his Dad earnestly trying to convert the sweet Hindu doctor to Christianity and also gunning for all the nurses to get a pay raise.  All Jacob could do was apologize and clamp his hand over his Dad's big mouth. As quickly as possible, he loaded him in the pickup and brought him to me. 

After a battery of tests, I was waiting to meet with the ophthalmologist.  I looked up just in time to catch a dopey-looking Dickman lumbering towards me with Jacob following closely behind, sending apologetic looks over his Dad's shoulder. 

“He's been a handful, huh?” I asked JP.

“Let's just say, I will never show my face in that office again, mmmkay?” replied my long suffering son. 

I told Dickie he could stay with me, but only if he kept his mouth shut. 

He just giggled. 

The doctor called us back to his office to give me the news. I heard the words, “Ocular Melanoma”, and before the first finger of fear could even began to creep up my spine - clear as a bell - a little voice in my head said, “Just breathe. Breathe in Jesus, Breathe out peace.” 

And I did.

The Dickman, however, was a few beats behind. I explained to my doctor that he was 'a wee bit loopy' from his buttscope. The doc looked at him in concern and asked, “Did everything go well?” 

“Oh, yeah,” replied Dickie with a goofy grin, “The doctor said I was a perfect butthole.” 

Which (pardon the pun) brings us full circle...

Dickie sent this picture of me eating ice cream after surgery to my entire family. I told him I couldn't believe he shared such an awful picture of me. He said, “It's not bad... that's exactly how you look when you're tired and hungry.”

(The worst part of the surgery was that they wouldn't let me wear ANY makeup. Also they refused to give me a boob job, no matter how nicely I asked.) 

But seriously, I'm doing great. In fact, I got up this morning, put my sneakers on and ran three miles. I'm kidding. I ate four pieces of french toast covered in syrup and a Twix bar.  I'll think about eating healthier tomorrow. (Again, I'm kidding.)

The radiation disc will be removed in a couple of days and then, well... then I'll get on with living this wonderful life I've been given more of.  

I plan on loving deeper and speaking sweeter... breathing in Jesus, breathing out peace. 

P.S.  If you're reading this and are not getting your eyes dilated yearly, DO IT NOW.   

P.S.S.  You know all those other things in life you've always wanted to do? You should do them, too. Now.