STORMS AND RAINBOWS

The bells jingled softly as we entered the jewelry store. A pretty middle-aged woman came up to us with a bright smile. 

"Hi! Can I help you?”

“Well, I'm not sure...” I replied. “I have a friend who lost her baby through miscarriage and I'd like to get her a gift. But I'm not sure if I should give her something in remembrance of the baby in heaven, or in celebration of the Rainbow Baby we are praying for.”

The sales clerk's face flooded with compassion. “Speaking as a mother, I think she might prefer something to honor her grief of the child she lost. I mean, speaking as a mother... who has lost a child.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” My husband and I replied.

“Thank you. It's... I just... after losing my son, a friend gave me a pair of angel wings, and they mean so much to me. Come, let me show you.”

As we walked across the store, Dickie asked, “How long?”

“Pardon me?”

“How long ago did you lose your son?”

“It's been four years.”

“Wow.  Four years without your boy... my heart hurts for you.” I said.

She stopped in front of a display cabinet in the back of the store and began showing us lovely charms with angels and wings.

“We almost lost our son.” Dickie said, softly.

We both looked back at him in surprise. Her face immediately filled with concern.

“Our son... we have a son who struggled with addiction. Drugs almost took him away from us” he said.

Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at Dickie and said, “That's exactly what happened. My son died of a drug overdose.”

I could no longer speak, but stood in tearful silence as I felt heavenly cords gently wrapping the three of us together in a sacred connection.

My sweet husband put his hands on her shoulders, looked into her sad eyes and said, “It wasn't your fault, you know.”

She nodded.“I do know. I mean... I think I know. Most days, I believe it.”

I said, “We were good at blaming ourselves, too. But even during his recovery, our son told us that we didn't cause his addiction and we couldn't cure it. It's simply a horrible disease made deadly by the wrong choices.”

She smiled through her tears, grabbed my hand and said, “Thank you. Thank you for that – I needed to hear those words today.”

I told her we were honored she had shared her story with us.

We all took a moment to wipe away the tears, oblivious to the other customers around us.

Then she began to tell us about a special sign from God she received shortly after the death of her son. She was having a particularly difficult day and had been driving around, trying to stop crying long enough to buy groceries. Finally able to collect herself, she noticed a group of teenagers selling items just outside the store entrance. They tried to get her attention as she walked by, but she waved them away and continued inside.

On her way out of the store – against her will - something made her stop at the group she had previously passed. She walked up to one of the teens and said, “Okay. What are you raising money for? What is this 'Teen Challenge of Texas'?” The young girl explained that they were an organization dedicated to helping teens recover from drug addiction. She couldn't believe it. She shook her head in wonder and irony as she reached into her purse for a donation. The kids thanked her and she turned to go. “But ma'am!” they called to her... “You forgot your stone”. She turned back and saw the girl pointing to the end of the table where there was an array of small, smooth stones painted with various Bible verses. “Would you like to pick out a Scripture Stone?” She shook her head and said, “No, it doesn't matter. Just pick out one for me.”

The girl handed her a stone. Painted brightly across the stone was Luke 23:43.

Not recognizing the scripture, she put the stone in her pocket and drove home. Later that afternoon, she remembered it, pulled the stone from her pocket and slowly rubbed her fingers across the scripture. She picked up her Bible and turned to Luke 23:43. As she read the words of Jesus, a sense of peace and wonder settled over her troubled soul...

“Verily I say unto thee, today thou shalt be with me in paradise.”

This time, her tears were not those of sadness, but of gratitude. God, in all His wisdom, had sent her the very message her heart had been crying out for... the assurance that her son was safe with Jesus.

“What a beautiful story.” I managed to say. “God loves you so much that He wanted you to know you will see your son again.  He is in your future.”

She smiled and replied, “Yes, I truly believe that. He was a good boy.”

We hugged each other – not with the quick embrace of strangers, but with a deep connection forged by the Spirit at work within us. We knew our encounter had been no mere coincidence.

As Dickie and I we were walking out the door she called to us, “Please... will you tell your son about mine?”

We assured her that we would, and that we would never forget her, either.

A few days later, I sat down with my son and told him of our Divine Encounter. I told him but for the grace of God, I could have been the grieving mother and she could've been the one telling us how well her son is doing.

JP replied, “But Mom, you were a grieving mother.  The son you told her about did die. And I thank God that part of me died."

He continued, "Mom, I don't know why I'm still here. It's not because God loves us more. It's not because that lady didn't pray as hard for her son as you did for me. It's nothing we deserved or can make sense of.  There is a verse that says, 'It rains on the good and the evil.' (Matthew 5:45).  We don't have to understand, we just need to be grateful for today. I'm grateful that He gave me a chance to make up for the years of lost sleep and worry that I put my family through. I am lucky!”

“No, not luck. You are nothing less than a blessing.” I assured him.

He smiled back at me with that beautific smile of his... the one that has melted me since the day I first held him in my arms. It tugged at my heartstrings, and made me sorrowful for all the Mamas missing the light of their child's radiant smile.

I seldom think of those dark days.  Sleepless nights when I begged God to heal my son... to change his heart... to rescue him and keep him from harming others. As the years passed and the storm raged on, I found myself praying words no parent should ever pray. “If he can't overcome this, God... please, take my boy safely home with you.”

Even during the times when I almost lost him, God sustained me with hope that I would see my son again in heaven.

As my man-child patted me on the back and walked away, I was swamped with the fullness of God's redemption; overwhelmed by His perfect grace.

I had gone into a jewelry shop searching for a special gift to give a Rainbow Mom - a precious friend who had been given another chance to create a miracle with God. 

I left the shop in humble realization that out of the stormy darkness of desperate days, the God of Miracles had given me another chance, as well.  

It's never too late to be a Rainbow Mom...

http://teenchallengetx.org/

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...