"If my house had to be perfect
to invite you in,
We'd be alone all the time,
what a bore; what a sin!
Welcome, come in,
we're glad you're here,
Whether you came
from far or near.
A meal, a visit,
an overnight stay.
You're part of the family,
come what may.
Dust, dirty dishes,
no gleam on the silver,
This isn't a showplace,
it's home, we live here.
So take off your shoes,
put up your feet,
I'll make the coffee,
just have a seat.
(Poem written by a dear friend of mine, who wishes to remain anonymous)
When I was growing up in the country, people would just drop in at any time during the day to visit. No one seemed to care if the house was in order or not. Most of our neighbors were farm people, and it was generally understood that cooking and baking food for the men workers took top priority, over cleaning, in the chores of the household. They had to keep those men fit and full of energy for their hard field work!
We were not farm people at that time and my mother (and me!) faithfully cleaned our house every Saturday or thereabouts for Sunday, the Lord's day, and more frequently for expected company. She did never once missed the deeper cleaning chores of spring cleaning. In fact, my grandmother even washed all her woodwork weekly! My grandmother and mother enjoyed a clean house, and so do I!
But when a neighbor or friend dropped in, I don't remember ever hearing my mom apologize for the state of semi-disorganization it was in at that particular time. People knew that houses were to live in . . . to do projects in . . . to relax and play in. . .
When I moved to the Minneapolis area in 1985, I was struck by the difference of viewpoint regarding hospitality. Suddenly, it seemed as though the main priority was the appearance of one's house. I delighted in decorating my new home and tried to keep it clean, but quickly learned to feel embarrassed and apologetic when someone dropped in unexpectedly and my home was not spotless. I found wonderful, gracious friends who didn't seem to mind if my house was not up to par but my newfound attitude seriously affected my view of the practice of hospitality. I do appreciate the modern custom of calling first when convenient (that is, if you want to find me fully dressed!) Some days, I have words on my mind that need to get down on paper immediately before they fly away forever, so I've been known to begin my day at the computer in my furry lavender bathrobe with my hair undone. So you can keep calling ahead whenever possible! :) But if I had to keep my house in ship shape presentation at all times, I would never accomplish anything else.
My husband, on the other hand, still invites people to "drop in"any time. He is very comfortable with that. I truly enjoy having people over, but have been known to struggle with "panic attacks" involving furious activity at the prospect that leave him bewildered. Can anyone relate??? I do hope so!!!
I've been wondering about God's view on the particular practice of hospitality. So I decided to delve into God's Word to see what He had to say about it.
Here are a few passages I found:
In Romans 12:13, "practicing hospitality" is listed as one of the gifts of the Spirit.
In 1 Timothy 3:2, where Paul is listing the qualifications for "overseers"(deacons, elders, etc.) of the church, he states that "an overseer must be . . . hospitable." This is also affirmed in Titus 1:8.
In 1 Peter 4:9, all Christians are admonished to "Be hospitable to one another without complaint." "Without complaint?" Hmmm . . . without fear of embarrassment?
During Old Testament times, before Jesus came to earth, hospitality was considered so vital that it was a regular practice to invite traveling strangers into one's home. It was viewed as shameful to allow a stranger passing through town to spend the night in the town square with no invitation for a place to sleep.
In the New Testament, we see that Jesus was often at the home of Mary and Martha, possibility to seek a respite from the crowds, or simply to enjoy the companionship of dear friends.
Breaking bread together as Christians was a valued costume. Hearts and minds were often opened and made vulnerable over a meal, or simply coffee or tea. That is still true today.
Hebrews 13:2 reads, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it." Now isn't that an intriguing thought!?! Although, I do admit in this day and culture, safety issues must unfortunately be considered. I never unlock the door to a strangers when my husband is not available! Although we always need to be open to God's leading in a particular situation.
Anyway, it seems to me that God still places a high value on the practice of hospitality and expect us to make good use of it today.
So what does this all mean to me . . . and you?
I enjoy decorating my house and appreciate it more when things are freshly clean and organized. But I need to get over the panicky feeling of hearing company is coming and I'm not prepared or don't foresee the time to do so.
But in spite of my occasional lapses into frantic activity, I love to have people visit us! I love to open up our "Stai Bed and Breakfast" for treasured family and friends! My own feelings regarding the state of my house are just that . . my own feelings. Of pride, perhaps . . . not good . . . although I do want to honor my guests with comfortable, clean surroundings. That is truly a heart desire of mine.
One day, many years ago, when our family had moved to a Minneapolis suburb, we were looking for a church. It was a Saturday morning. Our kids were occupied elsewhere, so my husband and I were home alone. Now Saturday tends to be the day I do my weekly cleaning. So my house was still awaiting attention in this area . . . with a husband, dogs, and three kids, need I say more??? Gary (my husband) was sick, so he was still in his pajamas, with hair uncombed. And our washing machine chose that day to refuse to function and carry out it's regular duties. So Gary was in the basement working on it. I was in my cleaning grubbies with a bandana scarf tied over my hair, planning to clean first and wash up later. For some reason, Gary had hauled his huge, oversize shop vacuum cleaner up to the entrance hall of our split level home, where it stood imposingly by the front door. I had just begun to sweep that same hall, gathering the dirt together in one prominent spot, when the doorbell rang. Gary came up the basement stairs as I threw the front door open to find the pastor of a church we had recently visited standing there with a friendly smile on his face . . . properly dressed in Sunday clothes, of course!
Utterly humiliated, I immediately started apologizing and explaining, "I'm so sorry, Gary is sick and our washer broke down, I'm cleaning, we didn't expect you (which I could have assumed was obvious!) . . . "
He just looked around at us and calmed remarked, "That's all right. This is how you live."
I had all I could do to restrain my hands from gripping his shoulders, shaking him and responding, "NO! This is NOT how we live! This is an extraordinarily BAD DAY!" Since Gary was sick, the pastor didn't stay long, and I don't think we returned to his church. The dear man meant well, but his unannounced visit was more than I could handle that day!
In my opinion, the Hospitality Poem (above) fits well with God's point of view. He must have intended us to invite people into our homes not to share perfection (which isn't the case anyway), but to share our lives, to relate as real people living honestly before each other, to extend the warmth of understanding and companionship, and help to draw others closer to Jesus, the One who truly and perfectly loves.
So Lord, please forgive me for my pride and help me to handle the unexpected more graciously. And also would You please help me manage my home a bit more effectively so I can appreciate Your daily surprises as a loving child of Yours would be expected to do?
Thanks for listening, friends and strangers! May we all be gracious to one another and to each other's homes!
Tune in next week for some of my personal Hospitality Bloopers! And we'll finish this series the following week with Hospitality Hints from Friends!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
KEY #H1: THE DAY I BURNED MY "JOY OF HOUSEKEEPING" BOOK
Welcome to my four week series on Hospitality! I'd like to begin with a little story that I wrote when my two oldest children were little. I shared this recently at a women's retreat and I think it fits nicely here as one example of the frustration I have encountered trying to live up to the hospitality standard I have set for myself. More on that next week . . . today we will just share a laugh at my expense! :)
"THE DAY I BURNED MY 'JOY OF HOUSEKEEPING' BOOK"
The day started normally enough. It was the middle of winter. I lived in the country and had two adorable children, my five-year-old daughter E, and her younger brother, K, a year-and-a-half old toddler. Blizzard after blizzard had dumped their frigid loads of snow outside our home, so I had been forced to remain inside with my two children day after day for what seemed like forever. And since we lived quite a ways from town, my social life had plummeted to below zero along with the outside temperatures. And yes, I was well into a heavy onset of Cabin Fever.
My normally adorable children were losing some of their charm, the wood stove was roaring and, nearly every time I turned around, K had popped another wood chip into his mouth.
The one bright spot in my day was the fact that we were expecting company that evening. I had offered to host a church committee meeting and was eagerly anticipating the welcome social interlude.
Of course, I needed some quality time to get my house presentable, so I took play dough out of the cupboard with which to occupy E and K. With both children contentedly playing at the kitchen table, I grabbed my rag and vacuum cleaner and attacked the dust and dirt.
"Mommy!" A bone chilling scream interrupted me ten minutes later. Rushing into the kitchen, I found E extremely upset. "K got play dough in my eye!" she yelled.
Sure enough. There was a tiny blue spot on the white part of her eyeball.
"How on earth did he do that?" I tried to assess the situation. "Does it hurt?"
She shook her head and peered up at me solemnly.
K finished rolling his little blue worms and trotted off innocently to find more wood chips.
I gingerly removed the blue speck with a clean handkerchief and helped E put the play dough away.
After removing another wood chip from K's mouth, I settled the children in the living room playing with their Fisher Price little people set. Since the kids' bedroom was carpeted, I usually let them play in the small section of hard floor by the front entry door so the little people wouldn't tip over easily. The small, detailed village has a theater, post office, dentist office, fire station, bank, school, just about everything a proper little village needs.
Their contentment lasted about five minutes this time until E began to squeal, "Mommy, K is knocking my people over!"
"Oh, look out, Little People!" I yelled, getting into the sprit of the game. "The Baby Monster is coming!"
K, the cooperative Baby Monster, grinned gleefully and lumbered further into their midst.
"Look out!" E echoed, clapping her hands with delight. "The Baby Monster is coming!"
Congratulating myself on the burst of creative thinking, I returned to my Vacuuming Monster. I generally didn't encourage my kids to play "monsters," but this seemed an acceptable time to make an exception.
Crash! My head jerked around to see hundreds of glass silvers cascade through the air and land precisely in the middle of the little play village. The Baby Monster had knocked the lamp off of the end table near the door.
Fortunately unhurt, my two little darlings stepped back and eyed the tragic scene in amazement.
"Mommy, look what K did!" E pointed her chubby finger at the accused. Tears rolled out of K's eyes. "No, me! No, me!" he protested.
I quickly hugged both kids, thankful there were no injuries. Then I turned my attention to the carastrophic disaster. Miraculously, all the little people survived the explosion, although the little ambulance was extremely busy the rest of the afternoon.
So was I. Separating all the little figures from all the minute slivers of glass took a considerable amount of time. I fancied I could hear my vauum cleaner calling impatiently in the background and my dust rag sobbing uncontrollably.
At 4:00, I finally dumped the final pieces of glass in the garbage and tucked the last little person into his storage box. Hands on my hips, I surveyed my unpresentable house and heaved a huge sigh of despondency. Churning emotions of revenge and rebellion mingled deliciously in my tormented mind.
That was the moment I grabbed my "Joy of Housekeeping" manual that had no advice whatsoever about removing play dough from a child's eye or how to cope with a little village disaster, strode triumphantly to the wood stove and threw it into the blazing fire where it belonged.
Satisfied with my moment of revenge, I grabbed the mop and frantically tackled the kitchen floor with renewed energy.
Two hours later, after much feverish activity, my house sparkled and the telephone rang.
The committee meeting had been cancelled due to another blizzard on the way.
Hope you enjoyed the story! I blogged it while sitting here in the lovely, warm Hospitality Room in the Land of Abundant Living. According to the Bible, God places a high value on the practice of hospitality, so next week, we'll check into that and also begin to talk about ways of looking at and approaching hospitality. Later on, we'll check out some tips from contributors!
"THE DAY I BURNED MY 'JOY OF HOUSEKEEPING' BOOK"
The day started normally enough. It was the middle of winter. I lived in the country and had two adorable children, my five-year-old daughter E, and her younger brother, K, a year-and-a-half old toddler. Blizzard after blizzard had dumped their frigid loads of snow outside our home, so I had been forced to remain inside with my two children day after day for what seemed like forever. And since we lived quite a ways from town, my social life had plummeted to below zero along with the outside temperatures. And yes, I was well into a heavy onset of Cabin Fever.
My normally adorable children were losing some of their charm, the wood stove was roaring and, nearly every time I turned around, K had popped another wood chip into his mouth.
The one bright spot in my day was the fact that we were expecting company that evening. I had offered to host a church committee meeting and was eagerly anticipating the welcome social interlude.
Of course, I needed some quality time to get my house presentable, so I took play dough out of the cupboard with which to occupy E and K. With both children contentedly playing at the kitchen table, I grabbed my rag and vacuum cleaner and attacked the dust and dirt.
"Mommy!" A bone chilling scream interrupted me ten minutes later. Rushing into the kitchen, I found E extremely upset. "K got play dough in my eye!" she yelled.
Sure enough. There was a tiny blue spot on the white part of her eyeball.
"How on earth did he do that?" I tried to assess the situation. "Does it hurt?"
She shook her head and peered up at me solemnly.
K finished rolling his little blue worms and trotted off innocently to find more wood chips.
I gingerly removed the blue speck with a clean handkerchief and helped E put the play dough away.
After removing another wood chip from K's mouth, I settled the children in the living room playing with their Fisher Price little people set. Since the kids' bedroom was carpeted, I usually let them play in the small section of hard floor by the front entry door so the little people wouldn't tip over easily. The small, detailed village has a theater, post office, dentist office, fire station, bank, school, just about everything a proper little village needs.
Their contentment lasted about five minutes this time until E began to squeal, "Mommy, K is knocking my people over!"
"Oh, look out, Little People!" I yelled, getting into the sprit of the game. "The Baby Monster is coming!"
K, the cooperative Baby Monster, grinned gleefully and lumbered further into their midst.
"Look out!" E echoed, clapping her hands with delight. "The Baby Monster is coming!"
Congratulating myself on the burst of creative thinking, I returned to my Vacuuming Monster. I generally didn't encourage my kids to play "monsters," but this seemed an acceptable time to make an exception.
Crash! My head jerked around to see hundreds of glass silvers cascade through the air and land precisely in the middle of the little play village. The Baby Monster had knocked the lamp off of the end table near the door.
Fortunately unhurt, my two little darlings stepped back and eyed the tragic scene in amazement.
"Mommy, look what K did!" E pointed her chubby finger at the accused. Tears rolled out of K's eyes. "No, me! No, me!" he protested.
I quickly hugged both kids, thankful there were no injuries. Then I turned my attention to the carastrophic disaster. Miraculously, all the little people survived the explosion, although the little ambulance was extremely busy the rest of the afternoon.
So was I. Separating all the little figures from all the minute slivers of glass took a considerable amount of time. I fancied I could hear my vauum cleaner calling impatiently in the background and my dust rag sobbing uncontrollably.
At 4:00, I finally dumped the final pieces of glass in the garbage and tucked the last little person into his storage box. Hands on my hips, I surveyed my unpresentable house and heaved a huge sigh of despondency. Churning emotions of revenge and rebellion mingled deliciously in my tormented mind.
That was the moment I grabbed my "Joy of Housekeeping" manual that had no advice whatsoever about removing play dough from a child's eye or how to cope with a little village disaster, strode triumphantly to the wood stove and threw it into the blazing fire where it belonged.
Satisfied with my moment of revenge, I grabbed the mop and frantically tackled the kitchen floor with renewed energy.
Two hours later, after much feverish activity, my house sparkled and the telephone rang.
The committee meeting had been cancelled due to another blizzard on the way.
Hope you enjoyed the story! I blogged it while sitting here in the lovely, warm Hospitality Room in the Land of Abundant Living. According to the Bible, God places a high value on the practice of hospitality, so next week, we'll check into that and also begin to talk about ways of looking at and approaching hospitality. Later on, we'll check out some tips from contributors!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
KEY #M1: THE RED FIRE ENGINE
Sometimes I catch myself worrying . . . about the future of our country and how it could affect the lives of our children. Or about the possibility of unforeseen tragedy . . accidents . . . diseases . . . unexpected poverty.
Or, on the other hand, I may harbor guilty thoughts, knowing that I have so much in the way of relationship and material blessings while others around the world are needy and hungry. Feeling ashamed to enjoy the things I possess. Wondering if I should give it all away. . .
Can you identify at all with those thoughts?
When I get in a mood like that, I remind myself of an illustration God put in my mind a while ago.
Suppose . . . just for a moment . . . that I decide to give my precious grandson, Big C, a bright, red, shiny, new toy fire engine. I imagine myself wrapping the gift carefully in colorful paper with red, blue and yellow balloons. My thoughts jump ahead to images of him playing contentedly with the new truck for hours at a time, racing the vehicle to imaginery fires, sharing it with his younger brother, little c, maybe even going to sleep with it on the floor next to his bed.
On his birthday, I hand Big C the package with as much excitement in my own heart as he must feel in his young heart. I watch eagerly as he tears the wrapping off and see his eyes light up . . . no, his whole face light up . . . at the pleasurable sight.
"Thank you, Grandma!" He gives me a big hug and immediately runs off to play with his new toy, little c following closely behind.
I sit contentedly, recording the moment in my mind's journal, when Big C suddenly appears, standing quietly before me, puts down the truck, and with dejected shoulders, turns to walk away.
"Wait a minute, Big C," I call him back. He turns and looks at me despondently, tears running down his cheeks. "What is wrong, sweetie? Did your fire engine break?"
"Oh, no, Grandma," he answers. "I love the truck. It's the nicest one I've ever had!"
"Then why did you stop playing with it?"
"I'm afraid."
"Afraid?" Puzzlement clouds my face. "Why?"
"Well," he hesitates, then spills out his fears. "Maybe someday I will lose it or break it. Or somebody will take it away from me and then I won't have it any more.
"Or I'm thinking maybe I should give it to Jason, the boy down the street who doesn't have a firetruck. If I don't play with it, I won't miss it so much when he gets it."
"Come here," I pat the seat next to me. He sits, and I wrap my arm around him. "None of us knows what will happen tomorrow or the next day. But I chose that fire truck especially for you, and I want you to enjoy it! I am happy when you are generous and share and give to others. It pleased me when you gave some of your allowance money to the poor children downtown. But this gift was intended just for you, and it will give me happiness to see how much you enjoy it. Please don't worry about what could happen to it, or feel guilty that you got it instead of Jason, and have fun with it today."
"OK, Grandma," he smiles again, reaches for the truck and says, "I'm going to bring it over to Jason's house and let him play fireman with me!"
Obviously, God doesn't want me to put material things above my desire for Him and I believe He is delighted when I give to others and share my possessions. But I also know He doesn't want me to worry that people or things will be taken away from me! God wants me to rest in Him and enjoy the wonderful gifts He gives me now.
Maybe in the future, I'll have less, but I can't let an unknown future spoil a known present. The pleasant things God gives us truly are special gifts from Him, chosen for His beloved children, to be relished with joy and thanksgiving! And the greater truth is that all I really need to be joyful is Him!
"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice." Philippians 4:4 This statement was written by the apostle Paul when he was in prison, which only affirms that all we need is Jesus to live in a state of joy!
Job said "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." Job 2:21
Whatever God does is always for the best because He has proven His love for me when He let His Son, Jesus, died in my place on the cross.
So when I sigh with appreciation for my beautiful back yard view, pause to smell the fragrance of a lilac bloom or laugh with my family and friends, I believe that gives God pleasure. Pleasure that I show appreciation for His gifts and I am trusting Him to choose and provide for my needs and happiness, allowing Him to hold my future and the future of my loved ones in His capable and loving hands.
So Father God, please forgive me once again for giving into fears. Help me to relax and enjoy each wonderful day you have chosen just for me and leave the future up to You.
If you are new to this blog, please feel free to sign up at the box on the right side to have my weekly blogs delivered right to your inbox, and receive a free e-book of Joshua's Story, the true tale of the miracle birth of my youngest son.
You may also want to check out my web site for books I have authored or speaking possibilities at www.rosejournal.com I would love to speak for your church or women's group!
Hope to see you next week for our new Hospitality series!
Or, on the other hand, I may harbor guilty thoughts, knowing that I have so much in the way of relationship and material blessings while others around the world are needy and hungry. Feeling ashamed to enjoy the things I possess. Wondering if I should give it all away. . .
Can you identify at all with those thoughts?
When I get in a mood like that, I remind myself of an illustration God put in my mind a while ago.
Suppose . . . just for a moment . . . that I decide to give my precious grandson, Big C, a bright, red, shiny, new toy fire engine. I imagine myself wrapping the gift carefully in colorful paper with red, blue and yellow balloons. My thoughts jump ahead to images of him playing contentedly with the new truck for hours at a time, racing the vehicle to imaginery fires, sharing it with his younger brother, little c, maybe even going to sleep with it on the floor next to his bed.
On his birthday, I hand Big C the package with as much excitement in my own heart as he must feel in his young heart. I watch eagerly as he tears the wrapping off and see his eyes light up . . . no, his whole face light up . . . at the pleasurable sight.
"Thank you, Grandma!" He gives me a big hug and immediately runs off to play with his new toy, little c following closely behind.
I sit contentedly, recording the moment in my mind's journal, when Big C suddenly appears, standing quietly before me, puts down the truck, and with dejected shoulders, turns to walk away.
"Wait a minute, Big C," I call him back. He turns and looks at me despondently, tears running down his cheeks. "What is wrong, sweetie? Did your fire engine break?"
"Oh, no, Grandma," he answers. "I love the truck. It's the nicest one I've ever had!"
"Then why did you stop playing with it?"
"I'm afraid."
"Afraid?" Puzzlement clouds my face. "Why?"
"Well," he hesitates, then spills out his fears. "Maybe someday I will lose it or break it. Or somebody will take it away from me and then I won't have it any more.
"Or I'm thinking maybe I should give it to Jason, the boy down the street who doesn't have a firetruck. If I don't play with it, I won't miss it so much when he gets it."
"Come here," I pat the seat next to me. He sits, and I wrap my arm around him. "None of us knows what will happen tomorrow or the next day. But I chose that fire truck especially for you, and I want you to enjoy it! I am happy when you are generous and share and give to others. It pleased me when you gave some of your allowance money to the poor children downtown. But this gift was intended just for you, and it will give me happiness to see how much you enjoy it. Please don't worry about what could happen to it, or feel guilty that you got it instead of Jason, and have fun with it today."
"OK, Grandma," he smiles again, reaches for the truck and says, "I'm going to bring it over to Jason's house and let him play fireman with me!"
Obviously, God doesn't want me to put material things above my desire for Him and I believe He is delighted when I give to others and share my possessions. But I also know He doesn't want me to worry that people or things will be taken away from me! God wants me to rest in Him and enjoy the wonderful gifts He gives me now.
Maybe in the future, I'll have less, but I can't let an unknown future spoil a known present. The pleasant things God gives us truly are special gifts from Him, chosen for His beloved children, to be relished with joy and thanksgiving! And the greater truth is that all I really need to be joyful is Him!
"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice." Philippians 4:4 This statement was written by the apostle Paul when he was in prison, which only affirms that all we need is Jesus to live in a state of joy!
Job said "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." Job 2:21
Whatever God does is always for the best because He has proven His love for me when He let His Son, Jesus, died in my place on the cross.
So when I sigh with appreciation for my beautiful back yard view, pause to smell the fragrance of a lilac bloom or laugh with my family and friends, I believe that gives God pleasure. Pleasure that I show appreciation for His gifts and I am trusting Him to choose and provide for my needs and happiness, allowing Him to hold my future and the future of my loved ones in His capable and loving hands.
So Father God, please forgive me once again for giving into fears. Help me to relax and enjoy each wonderful day you have chosen just for me and leave the future up to You.
If you are new to this blog, please feel free to sign up at the box on the right side to have my weekly blogs delivered right to your inbox, and receive a free e-book of Joshua's Story, the true tale of the miracle birth of my youngest son.
You may also want to check out my web site for books I have authored or speaking possibilities at www.rosejournal.com I would love to speak for your church or women's group!
Hope to see you next week for our new Hospitality series!
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
KEY #E1: EASTER THROUGH GOD'S EYES
SEEING EASTER . . . THROUGH GOD'S EYES . . . (another writing from my Library Stacks)
It was the night before Easter. I had spent the entire day in semi-frantic preparations for the holiday. My house sparkled, clean and shiny like a new toy. A chocolate cheesecake was cooling in the fridge along with brightly-colored eggs decorated by my youngest son, Joshua.
At ten years, Joshua is a budding artist. He delights in using colors to create unique designs for the eggs. He writes the name of a family member or relative on each one.
Sometimes we talk about names. Joshua feels honored to have his special name. He knows that "Jesus" is the Greek form of the Hebrew word, "Joshua," which means "the Lord saves."
When I dragged my weary limbs into bed that night and snuggled under the covers, I realized my mind needed redirecting. Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on Christ and His resurrection, on the joy that comes with knowing Jesus as my Lord and Savior.
Drowsiness threatened to overtake when, unexpectedly, a horrifying image flashed into my mind.
It was a picture of Joshua. His gentle, innocent face was covered with blood, rivulets of blood streaming down endlessly.
My eyes snapped open. "Lord," I silently cried out in the oppressive darkness, "take this away. I don't want a nightmare. I can't look at this. I want to think about Easter!"
Then I knew. I knew that God was showing me the true image of Easter, through His eyes. The image of His beloved Son, Jesus, whose holy and innocent face was covered with blood, rivulets of blood flowing down endlessly.
This was no brief vision to God. No nightmare. This was Reality. The God of all creation made Himself look upon the agony and torment of His Son, the One who would pay the penalty of sin for the whole world.
I know that I would not be willing to give my son to die for anybody. Yet God willingly chose to give His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for me . . . and for you.
"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16
It was the night before Easter. I had spent the entire day in semi-frantic preparations for the holiday. My house sparkled, clean and shiny like a new toy. A chocolate cheesecake was cooling in the fridge along with brightly-colored eggs decorated by my youngest son, Joshua.
At ten years, Joshua is a budding artist. He delights in using colors to create unique designs for the eggs. He writes the name of a family member or relative on each one.
Sometimes we talk about names. Joshua feels honored to have his special name. He knows that "Jesus" is the Greek form of the Hebrew word, "Joshua," which means "the Lord saves."
When I dragged my weary limbs into bed that night and snuggled under the covers, I realized my mind needed redirecting. Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on Christ and His resurrection, on the joy that comes with knowing Jesus as my Lord and Savior.
Drowsiness threatened to overtake when, unexpectedly, a horrifying image flashed into my mind.
It was a picture of Joshua. His gentle, innocent face was covered with blood, rivulets of blood streaming down endlessly.
My eyes snapped open. "Lord," I silently cried out in the oppressive darkness, "take this away. I don't want a nightmare. I can't look at this. I want to think about Easter!"
Then I knew. I knew that God was showing me the true image of Easter, through His eyes. The image of His beloved Son, Jesus, whose holy and innocent face was covered with blood, rivulets of blood flowing down endlessly.
This was no brief vision to God. No nightmare. This was Reality. The God of all creation made Himself look upon the agony and torment of His Son, the One who would pay the penalty of sin for the whole world.
I know that I would not be willing to give my son to die for anybody. Yet God willingly chose to give His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for me . . . and for you.
"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16
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