Crazy love.....

I sit here late this evening and nothing is on television.  I am done working for the day therefore I sit, sipping my tea and flipping the channels.  Without hesitation, I stop on TBN to watch "The Passion of the Christ".  Mel Gibson directed and co-wrote The Passion and it was released in 2004.  It was so graphic that it resulted in an "R" rating.

The Passion depicts Christ's last 12 hours on earth.  Mel Gibson was standing at a window, contemplating jumping out of it.  He thought it would be easier than going on.  It was then that he was reminded of the Gospels and he stepped from the window and hit his knees crying out - "Help".  It was then that he knew he must make this movie.

I know there is controversy with this movie saying the violence is too much or that the blood and gore took away from the message.  I disagree.  I think this movie is anointed from start to finish.  I have watched it many times and cry each time I watch it.  Not just a tear or two but almost a weeping.  Too much violence?  The 'cat of nine tails' they used to scourge Jesus with was a strap of leather with 9 bands fingering from it and on the end of each of those 9 bands was shards of glass and rock.  When it would make contact with the body, it gripped the flesh and ripped it away.  Scripture says that he was beaten so severely that he was no longer even recognized as a human (Isaiah 52:14-15).  So was the movie brutal? Yes!  Then again, so was Christ's flogging and crucifixion.

But this blog is to not debate on what critics have or have not said - what do they know anyway (haha)?

As I watch the movie, my heart goes towards Mary, Jesus' mother.  I think we tend to forget that Jesus had an earthly mother.  She gave 33 years of HER life into raising him.  She gave birth to him, nursed him, watching him grow, fed him, played with him and taught him.  They had a special bond that only a mother and son can have.

She watched him dragged from the garden, persecuted and then beaten brutally.  As a mother of a son, I could not imagine her thoughts at that moment.  The movie was so beautifully done as the camera focused on not only Jesus but also the emotions his mother was going through.

After he was beaten and taken away, Mary lowered herself to the ground and began to mop up the blood with her cloth.  As a mother, I can understand this.  She was "busying" herself as to not deal with what she just saw and what the inevitable outcome was going to be.  She didn't know what else to do.....so she began to clean up her son's blood.

I think we forget that Jesus was a human man.  He felt the same emotions we did, felt pain and sorrow.  He didn't just magically take the beating and had no pain (although he 'could' have if that had been the will of his Father).  He felt every beating.  He felt every nail.  He. Felt. Everything.  He did it all for us.  Wow.  Mind blown.

As he continues down the road, bearing his cross, he falls.  This particular moment makes my heart break.  Mary watches as her son falls and has a flashback to when he was a toddler and falls on the ground.  He cries out and she rushes to his aide.  That is what mothers do.  They know the sound of their child's cry.  They know, just by the sound of the cry, whether that child is truly in pain.  When the mother knows, she rushes to make sure the child is okay.  That flashback helps us, the viewers, make the connection that she is truly his mother in every sense of the word.  And as Christ falls, she rushes to his aide, knowing the cry he lets out is one of true pain.  As a mother, she wants to fix it.  Only this time.....she cannot.

As the tired and beaten Christ makes his way down the road, he flashes back to merely a week prior.  He is riding the colt donkey into the city and the townspeople are waving palm fronds, excited for his arrival.  Those same people who welcomed him gladly, were now condemning him.  How quickly one's opinions of another can easily be swayed.  His heart must have been broken.

When he falls another time, the soldier says that he cannot go on any more and they grab a man from the crowd, Simon.  After much resistance, he helps Christ carry the cross for fear of punishment.  After a few moments, Christ falls yet again and the townspeople swarm in and start to kick and beat on the already fallen man.  Simon screams and yells at them to stop and says - "If you don't stop I won't carry that cross another step.  I don't care what you do to me."  And they all laugh.  Do we have that kind of spiritual courage?  When people are 'beating' up on our Christ do we yell "STOP, I don't care what you do to me......I will not let you beat up on him any more"?  

Jesus hangs on the cross for 6 hours.  Typically a death on the cross was quick due to blood loss or asphyxiation.  However, as he hung there he called out to his father, feeling forsaken but knowing he hasn't been forgotten (don't we feel that way sometimes?).   He looks down and makes sure that not only his mother is taken care of but his beloved John too.  Then he speaks up and asks God to "forgive them, they know not what they do".  He wasn't only speaking of the men there that day.  He was also speaking about us, you and me.  He was already speaking forgiveness over us before we were even a thought in our parents' heads.  On the cross, beaten and bleeding, just had NAILS put through his hands and feet....and his mind was on his mother, his beloved.....and us.

Then as he dies and they lower him down, Mary looks into the camera.  She is looking at us as if we are to blame.  Whenever something doesn't make sense, we try to make it make sense by casting blame somewhere.  As a mother, she was not only mournful but angry.  Yes, he had to die....but in a mother's heart, she probably hoped there was another way.

But.......we also see the 'devil' howl in pain.  Once Jesus took his last breath, the enemy knew the clock has started and his time was short.  He knew he was defeated.  After 3 days, Christ resurrects (there are over 500 different accounts of people seeing the resurrected Christ) and is sure to show himself to his mother and those closest to him before ascending into heaven with promises of a return.

As I said, this movie makes me cry.  However, I feel that watching it helps me realize exactly what he went through.  I have watched other movies depicting Jesus (Jesus of Nazareth was a household favorite growing up) but never have I felt such strong emotions watching one as I do this one.  Never have I seen one depict the brutality of the last few hours of Christ's life.  We need to see that.  We need to understand the price he paid for us.  He did that all for US.  He didn't do it for himself, his mother or even God himself.  He did it so we can live eternally with HIM.

That's some crazy love right there.

Think outside the box....

 
When I mention the "Great Commission" around Bible reading believers, they generally know what I mean.


"Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” - Matthew 28:19-20


It seems like a pretty cut and dried command, in my opinion.  "Go", "Make", "Teach" - those are all action words.  Jesus meant for us to be in continual motion.


I enjoy church.  I think those that say 'you don't need church' are missing the mark.  Church is like our spiritual supermarket.  If we didn't go to the supermarket and get food, we would starve.  Sure, we could survive on what we had around the house to sustain us for a little while but we would be malnourished.  The same goes for our spiritual health.  If we do not go to church and get 'fed' the Word, we will starve.  Yes, we can feed ourselves but not having other believers to pour into us will make us spiritually malnourished.


However, as much as I love going to church and meeting God there, it isn't what Jesus commanded us to do.  He didn't say - "Get up on Sundays and go to a building, worship me for 45 minutes, listen to a message for 30 minutes, then go to lunch.  In a week, rinse and repeat."  Jesus was a doer.  He was never in a place where he was at a stale-mate.  He was a mover and a shaker.  He was constantly looking for opportunities to not only help those around him but to be an example to those listening.


Perfect example is found in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 19.

Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy.  He wanted to see who Jesus was, but because he was short he could not see over the crowd.  So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way. When Jesus reached the spot, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” So he came down at once and welcomed him gladly. All the people saw this and began to mutter, “He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.” But Zacchaeus stood up and said to the Lord, “Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.” Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”


As the story begins, we see that that Jesus was just passing through Jericho, minding his business.  Enter Zacchaeus into the story.  Right off the get go, it states who he was "a chief tax collector and wealthy".  In Biblical times, tax collectors were viewed as the lowest low even though they were wealthy.  Their wealth came from other people's money, therefore they were not liked very well because they would beat on your door, demanding taxes and if you didn't have it, they would take your home, children, crops, livestock, etc.  They would connive and lie to get it.  Even so, Zacchaeus had heard about this Jesus and wanted to see him but was too short to see over the crowd.


At this point in time, Jesus' reputation had gotten around so wherever he went crowds would gather.  Even though it says Jesus was just passing through, a crowd had already gathered, waiting to see what Jesus was going to do or what miracle he might perform.   So, Zacchaeus saw Jesus coming his way, and he climbed up into a tree to see him.  The Bible says when Jesus got to the tree, "he looked up".  The man did not yell out to Jesus.  He did not drop a stick on his head.  He merely climbed up the tree and waited.  Jesus was the one who looked up.  He was the one who saw Zacchaeus and called out to him.


The people grew angry because Jesus was going to stay at this "sinner's" house.  However, once Zacchaeus experienced the acceptance of Jesus, he offered to turn his life around and make right what was wrong.  Jesus claimed that salvation came to this HOUSE (not just Zacchaeus himself but his house, meaning those inside it) and he clearly stated that the "Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost".


"Seek" and "Save", again - action words.


How often do we leave the comfort of our four walled church and look for those waiting for someone to meet them, to help them, and share the good news?  Jesus was merely passing by and he looked up at Zacchaeus.  He saw him perched in that tree.  Jesus had to look up and above where he was to see a person that was going down the wrong path and needed the realization that there was better.  

We live in communities where people are watching the churched.  They are seeing us get out of our vehicles on Sunday morning, laugh and fellowship in the parking lot on a Wednesday evening, eat and pray over our lunch.....they are sitting in that tree, watching us and waiting for us to lift our heads and take notice of them - to see them and say, "Come down and let me help you".  We don't have to throw the Bible at their heads to get them to come down, sometimes all we need to do is NOTICE them, to accept them for who they are and where they are at - to be seen with them even when society says they are worthless. - to show them love when they feel unloved. 

When Jesus reached out to Zacchaeus, his entire household was saved.  All because a short man couldn't see over the crowd and climbed a tree.


It is a simple concept that many of us have forgotten to grab a hold of.


"Go"
"Make"
"Teach"
"Seek"
"Save"

Church is an amazing thing.  God tells us to not forgo assembly.  It is important.  However, let's not forget that there is an entire world out there, lost and trying to get a glimpse of hope and some will even climb a tree to see it, waiting for us to take notice when we are just passing through. Church isn't merely inside 4 walls.  4 walls is a box and as Christ-followers.....we need to think outside the box.

Quiet nights create deafening silence....

I am a night owl. I always have been really.  I just enjoy the quiet, peaceful evenings.  Growing up in the country with no other homes around, I would open my windows and as the cool breeze ruffled the curtains it would carry the sounds of frogs and crickets.  To me, those sounds are comforting.  Now that I live in a town, I don't hear those sounds too often.  Granted, we have crickets and other wildlife but hearing them blow in on a cool summer's breeze is rare.

Even though, I still enjoy the evenings.  I have the house to myself, everyone is asleep - even the animals drift off into a peaceful slumber.  This is the time that my brain kicks into overdrive which explains why I never sleep.  My brain never shuts down and add a sprinkling of OCD into the mix and insomnia joins the party.  I go in spurts where I never sleep then I go into a season where I want to sleep my life away.  There is no happy medium.  My body just adjusts.  The longest my body refused to sleep was a few months ago where I slept 7 hours in 6 days.  Yes...SEVEN hours in SIX days.  I was cranky, groggy, slap-happy and just miserable.  I wanted to cry I was so exhausted. 

Then there are nights where I merely sit here and think of my past and my future.  I do not look at my past as something negative.  It happened.  Period.  The past is nothing that can be changed; we don't get any "do overs".  However, we don't have to be a victim of it either.  Our past is not who we are it is just a fact of what we have been through. 

I enjoy sharing my testimony and I am planning on sharing it this May at our B4B Youth Rally.  To be honest, at first I was a little intimidated when God told me to share it.  I have shared it with several youth groups but to a large audience that has youth and adults?  *gasp*

However, now I am so excited to share I could puke.  I have been criticized before, being told that I am glorifying my past.  People say that the past should be left there and not revisited while others say I am going for the 'shock' value. 

First off, without my past experiences, I would not be the person I am today.  Each moment in my life - the good and the bad - all lead up to my relationship with Jesus.  If I had not experienced the drug abuse, the self-mutilation or the sexual assaults....I would not be the same individual sitting behind this laptop.  Yes, some of the events resulted in poor choices and circumstance but each one was a stepping stone to the person I am today.  I am not glorifying my mistakes or my failures.  Those are merely facts that occurred in my life.  I do not glorify the sinful nature I fell into but glorify the Savior that brought me out of it! 

Lastly, I do go for the shock value sometimes.  This is true.  We live in a culture where nothing truly shocks or surprises us.  We are so desensitized that nothing out there makes us gasp in horror....it only makes us sigh with pity.  So if I can shock my audience, then maybe that will help them feel something other than being numb.  That way they can feel the tugging on their spirit that Jesus is in fact alive.

I do not hide who I used to be or any aspect of my family life.  I do not hide behind a mask and pretend that the person I am resulted in years of therapy.  I am who I am because when God got a hold of me one Sunday morning, unexpectedly, I was shocked out of my own spiritual numbness and brought forward to feel something once again.  I was so far gone that my toes hung over the edge of the cliff and one whispering breath from the enemy would have sent me over the edge.  No, therapy did not do this.  Sobering up did not do this.  A doctor did not do this.  A new drug did not do this. 

GOD DID THIS.

He took someone so far gone, someone who felt like nothing was worth the effort, someone who resented everything the church stood for, someone who self medicated to escape the world she lived in......and completely turned her around.  That day that I realized God was real and alive and wanted communion with ME, I never looked back.  My eyes remained forward.  I never touched another drug, never drank another beer, never let another razor touch my flesh, never again recited an incantation....

All it takes is one encounter with the living God.  One moment when you realize that there is more to this life.  That you don't have to walk around feeling as if you are alone and that no one cares.  You don't have to cry out in the darkness only to have it fall on deaf ears.  You don't have to slide the razor over your wrists wishing you had the courage to press a little harder.

You. Don't. Have. To......

God is waiting for you to take the step.  He created you, not by accident, but by divine purpose.  Your life has meaning.  Your life has purpose.  God knew you before you were conceived......as he looked down at the world one day, he told the heavenly hosts that he needed to create a human.  He needed to create one that was so powerful, one that was so awesome in power, one that was courageous that the demons tremble.  He would speak of the beauty he would instill in this human, the knowledge, the love, the passion.  He then breathed life into that person and so he/she was created in the womb.  While that person begins to grow and develop, unaware of the amazing potential that he/she possesses, God whispers into his/her spirit one word.....

World-Changer.

And that....is YOU.  

Cast aside the weight of the world and step up to what you are called to do.  All it takes is one willing servant to step up and say "Here I am, Lord.  Send me."

Skool sux

Homeschooling is on the rise.

I used to be an avid advocate of public school.  I envisioned homeschooling as something Amish families did at 5 in the morning before going out and milking the cows.  It has evolved quite a bit from my delusioned ideas.

Statistics show that homeschooling is growing at a steady rate of 15% annually.  Families are turning more towards online education.  So why the steady incline?   According to NCES (Nationwide Middle for Training Statistics) 80% of parents chose to home school their children due to dissatisfaction of the public school environment.

That is no shocker there.  I remember going to school and teachers genuinely cared if I excelled or not.  I had one teacher that made a few snide comments occasionally but he still took the time to make sure I understood the lessons and if I didn't he took the time to help.  I had many teachers that had such a heart for teaching that they were emotionally connected to their students.  They would cry with them in their sorrows and share their laughter in their joys.  They wanted to see their students excel beyond their imagination.

"I could care less about your life outside of this school."


"You are a poor role model and you will never get a job."

"Are you retarded?"

These are the words spoken by various teachers throughout the years to my daughter.  This is not just one teacher, one school.  They were from three separate teachers, from two different schools.  Does this sound encouraging?  Does this sound like someone who wants my child to excel to her fullest potential?

We send our children to a building with various adults and many other children for 7 hours a day and a minimum of 12 years.  Those years are pivotal in a child's development - emotionally as well as academically.  Yet we send them with the best intentions, trusting that they are getting the education that they deserve.  My, have times changed!

I tried homeschooling when my daughter was in 6th grade.  There was an incident that was quite traumatic for her and I will spare the details as to not embarrass her.  It was enough that I pulled her immediately.  We were told the principal would like to speak to us to address the matter because of his concern.  When we got there we were told "he was gone".  When we told the secretary we were there to see about pulling our daughter from school they said "get her stuff and take her".  When we explained she wanted to finish out the day to say good-by to her friends, we were told, "she doesn't need to be here, grab her art of the wall and take her now."   They didn't even ask why or show any concern what so ever.

So I home schooled her the remainder of that year and then the first semester of her 7th grade year until we moved.  At that point, we decided to enroll her into the new school district, hoping location would make the difference.  At first, all was well....but then the bullying and the pressure started.  Work was given that she didn't understand and that wasn't explained to her.....teachers acted like it was a 'bother' when she would ask for any extra help.  She would sign up to volunteer or participate in things and be excluded, so on and so forth. This continued and I would sit her down and tell her to fight through it and do the best she could.  Her grades began to suffer.

Education is vital in my world.  Intelligence is something no one can take from you.  Therefore, when I saw her grades suffering, I knew something was up.  She would turn in assignments and the teacher would say she didn't.  Then when I would email and threaten to come in there, the assignment would show up in a matter of moments.  This happened numerous times.  My daughter would come home in sour moods and talk about how cruel some of the other students were - if not to her, to others.  She would show me the text messages and the emails of the girls that do those things just to be spiteful.  Words that made my daughter devalue herself.  Whether the words were intended to be that way or whether my daughter is being "overly dramatic" (another term teachers like to use), is not the issue.  The issue is no matter if the situations are as harsh as she makes them out to be, in her mind they are just that bad.  In her mind, they are creating a world that she begs to not be part of. 

This past incident wasn't a severely traumatic thing - just some more cyber bullying but nothing that most girls don't do - being catty, as my mom would say.  I suppose it was the straw that broke the camel's back.  So I thought long and hard about it.  I just want her to be happy.  Isn't that any parent's dream?  - their child to be happy and to succeed far greater than they had?

So why would I want to send her to a place that eats her alive then spits her out?  I was always worried about social skills with her because she enjoys having friends and hanging out with others and being home schooled would make that difficult.  Then I thought - why would I want to send her somewhere that creates an environment where she is an outsider looking in?  The beauty is - I. Don't. Have. To.

Homeschooling today is so much different than it used to be.  Everything can be done online and many are accredited.  A recent law states that colleges cannot discriminate on where a student receives their diploma which benefits homeschoolers.  

So, with that being said, my daughter will officially be pulled out of school tomorrow and begin her homeschooling journey.  My son, on the other hand, prefers to go to public school.  That is his choice.  He does well and doesn't seem to have any major issues and if he does, they don't effect him as much as they effect her. 

I guess I am a little sad.  Not sad that she is going to be home schooled but sad that the school system seems to be declining.  To most (not all), it is merely a job to sustain a living....the heart is no longer in it.  The love of children and education is no longer as much of a factor as the paycheck (which is ridiculous in itself).  Those endearing teachers that would hug you when you missed school, checked up on you if you were sick, would stop the bullying instead of turning the other way.....they are all dead and gone.

No.  I am not sad.  I am mournful.  Mournful of what once was but is now long dead.

The extinction of a dying breed.....

I am a bookworm. 

My dad instilled at a young age on the importance of books. He always said a reader never lacked knowledge.  He read - a lot.  My mom would take a mesh sports bag (like football players use to carry their equipment) to our rinky-dink library and look through the books and pick out enough to pack the bag (usually 15-20).  She would them take them home, he would choose the ones he would read and she would take the rest back.  She did this at least once a week.  So my dad would always have a book nearby and he was such a fast reader!  The 10 or so books he would keep from the stock pile my mom chose for him - he would have done in a matter of days.  The library soon knew us by name and would hold back or order books she thought Dad would enjoy.

I remember when my brother read the book "Pet Semetary" and told my dad that it was a good read.  The next morning, Dad said - "You're right, it was a good read."  He had read it in a couple of hours.  He was a speed-reader (then again, the more you do something the better you become at it).  He could look down the middle of a page and see the entire page.  I can read at a pretty good pace but him reading was unreal.

So, yes books have always been a thing in our home. So when I had kids, I wanted so desperately for them to be readers.  I bought them books and read to them and tried everything to get them to enjoy a good book.  My son won't read unless it is required of him.  This saddened me for some time.  He doesn't want to READ?!  The horror!

Then I came to the realization that he just isn't a reader and I am okay with that.  My daughter, on the other hand, is.  Thank you, Jesus.  I don't know if I could bear the thought of them both not wanting to read.  She has her own small library of books and it warms my heart when she asks for a Barnes and Nobles gift card for Christmas or her birthday.

However, I fear that books are on their way towards extinction.  I see everyone with their phones out, reading.  Or I see Ipads, Ipods, Nooks, Kindles, etc. in every one's hands as they download and read the latest top seller.  I want to snap them in half.  Okay, maybe not that extreme but come one!

I had someone ask me not that long ago if I would enjoy a Kindle or some type of electronic book.  "It would be easier, you can take it everywhere and it takes up less space."

NO!  I don't want one, thank you very much.  I ENJOY books and hello - I can take them anywhere just like your little gadget you got there. 

I enjoy the smell of books.  I enjoy holding them in my hands, feeling the cover as the spine crackles when I open it.  I enjoy the feel of the pages as I slowly turn to enjoy the anticipation of the next page.  I always wanted a house with the large libraries you see in the movies - walls and walls of books, large leather chairs, a cherry desk with books strewn about, rich carpets, fireplace and expensive art of people I don't know. 

That is probably never going to happen however, I have convinced Matt into letting me transform our current living room into a small library and I couldn't be more thrilled.  It took compromise - I let him make the downstairs into a theater room, therefore I am making the upstairs into a library.  It's coming along nicely and am excited as I continually add to my collection.

Books - ahhhh, my love for them supersedes many other loves.  I always wonder if it is in the genetic make-up or if it was just a learned behavior taken from my dad and seeing him with a book.  It was normal in our household where Iphones and Ipads are normal for this generation.

It's sad really.  Books are slowly becoming a dying breed.  When you can't find a book anywhere (like trying to find a cassette or a vinyl), come to my house.  You will always find one here.

Maybe the Mayans weren't too far off....?

Eschatology.

I like big words.  I like words that cause people look at me with a furrowed brow as if reading my face is going to magically give them the definition.  Okay, and since I value intelligence and hold it at a high standard, I may or may not enjoy knowing something that others don't.  There I said it.

Anyway, back to the big, gnarly word.  Eschatology is the study of 'end times'.  The word, broken up, actually means 'last study'.

I have always  been fascinated with the final book in the Bible, Revelation.  Ok, first off....let me correct all of you - it is Revelation - NOT Revelations.  Now that we have that taken care of, let's continue.  *ahem*  As I said, I have always enjoyed it.  My dad was a fanatic with end of times prophecy as well.  Perhaps that is where I get my passion for it.

There are many theories as to the end times and Jesus' return, therefore, you may be skeptical on my interpretation.  Tough.  Ok, that was somewhat harsh but my back kind of hurts, it's late and I may be a tad cranky.  What I meant to type was - that's okay, but I am going to give you my take on some of it.

No, I am not going to break down the entire book or even really touch on much of it at all.  That would take forever - I am currently breaking down the book for our youth group and it's a 12 week study so you can imagine how long I would have to blog about it.  Perhaps someday, but not any time soon.

Anyway, crazy things are going on in the world.  More so than ever before.  Nothing in society shocks us.  We are desensitized to everything and most everything is acceptable.  If you aren't accepting you are labeled "judgmental", "critical", "close-minded", "religious nut", and so on.  I would prefer to think of myself as wholesome and striving for holiness, but hey, what-ev.

The crazy thing is when Jesus left the disciples and ascended into heaven, He told them to keep an eye out.  He said he would return.  That very moment...that very second that Jesus was no longer in sight....humanity anticipated his return.

And he gave us signs to watch for.

Christians around the globe have a twitch deep in their spirit.  They have a gnawing sensation that something big is coming, something monumental.  I keep hearing it everywhere I go.

It's like this - the honey bee is a fascinating creature.  It really is.  Once the bee finds a patch of flowers it enjoys, it will continue to feed from them for it's entire life span.  It is called flower consistency.  Now bees can live a surprisingly long time under the right conditions - up to 4 years (mind blown, right?).  So, they build their nest and feed off the tasty flowers and then hibernate in the winter.  Once Spring lazily approaches, the bees start to stir.  They start to move about.  They are anticipating something.  They know it won't be long before their favorite flower blooms again.  They feel it inside their spirit.  Their internal instincts know that something is coming but being a bee, they can't rationalize what it is.  They just know it's going to be big - monumental.  Then *BAM* the flowers bloom and the bees are happy.

If God puts that kind of expectancy in a small honey bee for a flower.....how much more is He going to put in us for the return of our King?  That twitch, that feeling that something big is about to happen....it isn't a coincidence. 

The signs are there.  Whether you believe in God, whether you believe in His coming.....whether you are in denial or think you have all the time in the world...it doesn't change the fact that He is coming back.

"For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first.  After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever" (1 Thessalonians 4:16-17)

As God looks down on the earth He created - the complex animals He created from nothing, man He created in His image, woman He created from man, the trees, the fish, the birds, from the largest elephant to the most delicate spider's web - it amazes me how amazing this world, and everything in it, is.....as He looks down, Jesus is whispering - "Just a little more time, Father.  Give them just a little more time."   But soon, God is going to say enough and gather His bride (us, the church = believers) home.

We may not know the day nor the hour, but He promised us signs....and they are there. 

"But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days.  People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people" 2 Timothy 3:1-5 

Kind of sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Read the book of Matthew (chapter 24) - Jesus gives us specific things to look for such as  "Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me."   We are lucky to have freedom to worship God here because there are MANY countries you can be put to death for owning merely a few torn out pages of the Bible.

"And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come."  Jesus wants everyone to have a chance to be with Him in heaven - the end will not come until the Gospel has reached all nations.  He promises that. With television and missionaries, how far are we from this reality? 

“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him."  Do not wait until it is too late.  If we knew the day and hour Jesus was coming, we would be buck wild until the hour before and then we would be on our knees (come on, don't sit there and lie and say you wouldn't!).  Just like if a man knows a thief is coming, he is going to keep watch.  No, he will come when we least expect it therefore we must ALWAYS be anticipating that this hour is the hour.

There is so much more.  I could get lost in it all and get carried away but will leave you with that to chew on. Let me just add.....what comes after Jesus' return is not a pretty picture.  Jesus takes up his bride and the holy spirit.  Imagine a world where there was no tugging of "Jiminy Cricket" to tell us right from wrong.  However, the book of Revelation isn't meant to scare you - it is a warning and a book of God's mercy. How you ask?  God is pouring out his mercy after rapturing the church - he is giving humanity a time, a short time, to turn back to Him.  A last ditch effort, so to speak.  However, it is also showing God's power and wrath on those that refused His name.  Let's just say that I will strive and do my best to not be here when that all goes down.

I dunno about you - but water to blood and earthquakes that sink mountains isn't my idea of a good time.

Hear my laughter; see my tears

Isn't it funny how one small thing can trigger a wave of emotions?  A smell.  A touch.  A sound.  It is crazy how the mind works.

Today marks the anniversary of my dad's death.  He died 19 years ago today. I have blogged about my dad quite often and as you may have read, we didn't have a great relationship while he was on this earth.  Once I hit about 11 or 12, he didn't really want anything to do with me.  We barely talked and if he did have something to say, it was words of correction or instruction.  He may have given me words of encouragement, but had he....I sure don't remember.  Again, funny how the mind works.  Negativity bullies the positive and shoves it into a dark hole never to be remembered. 

So as I was sitting here today, I wanted to post on Face book a song my dad enjoyed, one of many.  I just wanted to post it to share a piece of who he was with my friends.  I looked on YouTube for some and nothing really stood out or I couldn't find what I was looking for.  Then I clicked on a Hank Williams Sr. song and the wave of emotion hit me like a tsunami.  It came out of nowhere.  I was fine all day, usually am since it has been so long, but hearing that song just caused all sorts of pain, and I wanted nothing more on this earth than to see my dad's face.  It doesn't matter how old I am, or what sort of relationship we had or even how long it has been - the ache of the sorrow of missing him never truly disappears.

So instead of dwelling on the sorrow or the pain or even the negativity, I wanted to share what I remember about dad that was positive, memories that bring a smile to my face....so here goes -

He liked fried egg sandwiches and hated tacos.  He loved chicken and dumplings and Little Debbie snack cakes (oatmeal pies in particular).  He had a sweet tooth but enjoyed an occasional cheese puff now and again.  He always wore shoes unless he was in bed and he always wore a white undershirt.  Whether it was winter or summer, he always wore the undershirt and a long sleeved flannel - and sometimes his old brown sweater.  He always smelled and mint tobacco (he gave up smoking but took to chewing Renegade tobacco).  He would always doze in his chair but by some act of God, would always be wide awake when you reached for the remote.  Then he would deny he was every asleep in the first place.  He always walked down our lane to the mailbox, every day and would pick up the trash and can along side the road about half a mile in either direction.  He and my mom never fought in front of me.  They raised their voices at each other one day and I swore they were going to get a divorce (haha).  He was a genius, I am sure.  He read at an unnatural speed and retained everything he read.  He loved Jeopardy and I would keep score when we watched it because I wanted nothing more than to beat him, which never happened.  I miss hearing the *tick tick tick* of his typewriting coming from the tiny room he called his office.  I miss hearing the ball game on the radio as he escaped to go listen to it and keep stats (not sure why he did that but my son does the exact same thing).  I still laugh at the fact that whenever I belched at the table, he would get so utterly disgusted and throw down his fork and say "For heaven's sake - unhinge your jaw like a snake why dontcha?".   I miss hearing him say "dadburnit".   I  miss the hot summer days in the garden (that he did entirely by manual labor) and the all day job of butchering chickens (ok, I don't miss that all too much).   I miss the sound of the ball game on the TV echoing through the house and dad talking to the players as if they could hear him.  I miss how he called my mom "Reet" (her name is Rita) and all us kids he called by a shortened version of our name (Tracy-Trace, Jeffery-Jeff, Robin-Rob, Billie-Bill and Misty-Miss).  I miss how he would go outside on toss the baseball with me.  I miss his voice.

I miss him.

But God is good.  God gave me a son that reminds me so much of my dad, it's scary.  His build is the same, his obsession with sports (when I don't ever, or ever have, had a sports game on in my home), his intelligence, his fascination with numbers and stats, his soft voice and gentle spirit and there are times where my son will do a mannerism or an expression that takes my breath away because it is my dad looking back at me. 

Then there are times when I just can't grasp the memories.  I can't remember what he looked like so I would stare at his pictures for a long time trying to remember, trying to grasp a tiny piece of him.  Then God would send him to me in a dream.  Granted, I know it isn't my dad in that dream but the dream is so real that I wake up thanking God for sending it to me.

I cannot wait to get to heaven. 

Therefore, in light of this day....I am going to post my favorite short story my dad wrote.  It is taken from his book "Hear My Laughter; See My Tears".  It was hard to choose just one. My dad had written a book of short stories, all based on true incidents of him growing up in the coal mines of Kentucky.  Enjoy.


Autumn always comes to the mountains of Eastern Kentucky on cat's feet, setting off silent explosions of brilliant colors that subtly change nature's face to one of breath-taking beauty.  As soft as a baby's sigh as it falls into untroubled slumber, autumn paints the hillsides with an artist's palette of vibrant colors and one can almost hear the fading heartbeats of summer.  In no other part of the world does autumn take on a more Tinkerbell-ish character of a playful sprite than in the rugged mountains of Eastern Kentucky.  It sprinkles wondrous magic dust over a part of the world that often cries so loudly for beauty.  It rumps up and down hillsides and deep into valleys so lonesome they cause tears to flood the eyes of sentimentalists.


It was in the midst of God's shower of colors that PeeWee Tallions and I decided to hop a "coal-drag" home from school and save our shoe leather.  It wasn't a spur of the moment impulse, mind you.  The idea of latching onto the side ladder of a slow moving coal car had been discussed hundreds of times during our evening treks from school to home.  Every time we'd almost talk ourselves into giving it a try, however, the fear of having to drag a wooden leg around for the next sixty or seventy years like old "Peg" Walker, and the discouraging images of getting our hides tanned if our folks ever found out always diverted our 12 year old bravados into safer conversations complete with bragging and ludicrous lies.


"Let's do'er today,' PeeWee said as we walked alongside the railroad tracks toward home one mid-October evening.


"Nah, its getting' kinda dark, and we might miss the ladder and fall under the trains wheels," I answered, hoping the last in a long line of excuses would serve to deter him.


"Ya turnin' yella, ain't ya?" he said, accusing me with his flashing brown eyes.


"I ain't yella!" I snapped, hoping to start a conversation about courage instead of having to prove it.


"Then, by dog, let's do'er.  If ya don't, ya gotta be yella-dog chicken," he said, sticking out his chin.


"Okay, okay but I'm only gonna do it this one time.  If my dad finds out about it, he'll give me a double dose of willer-switch tea," I said.


"Ya think mine won't?"


"Yeah, but my dad's bigger than yours."

"That don't mean nuthin'.  Anybody'll tell ya that Italian men are the hardest whuppers inna world," PeeWee countered.  He always had to come out on top of every comparative conversation.  I guess that was because he was only five feet tall, skinny as a hat pin and needed verbal victories to make him feel bigger.


"Wait!" he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a halt.  "Do ya hear it?"


"What?"

"The coal-drag.  It's comin'....hear it?"

I did but said I didn't.


"By dog, ya're 'bout as deef as a brick, ya know that?  Open ya big ears and listen.  Ya hear it now?"  he asked, highly annoyed.


I couldn't deny it again. Not far around the bend of the mountain behind us, the "chomp-chomp" chugging of a laboring locomotive grew louder and louder.  In a matter of seconds, it's shiny cow-catcher and belching smoke stack came into full view.  It was moving toward us at a pace a little faster than a brisk walk.


We stood knee-deep in dusty weeds alongside the tracks and waved at the striped hatted engineer like a couple of morons.  The burly man waved back and gave us a grin that split his coal-blackened face.


We stood side by side, counting the loaded cars as they crawled by.  When the twentieth car was almost upon us, PeeWee gigged me in the ribs with his elbow and yelled, "Let's do'er!"


It was alot easier than I imagined it would be.  PeeWee latched onto the front ladder and I grabbed the rear one.  Nothing to it, and it was great fun!  We were riding home at a nice, leisurely speed and all we had to do when we neared our homes was jump off and walk the remaining short distance.  Nobody'd ever be any the wiser.


As the coal-drag chugged along, however, it seemed to me that we were picking up speed.  Hoping it was my imagination, I looked down and discovered that my worst fears were confirmed.  The cross ties were slipping by at a much faster clip.  We'd sped up considerably.  No doubt about it.


"PeeWee, we're pickin' up speed!  Let's jump off!" I yelled.


"If ya do, ya're a yella-dog chicken!"  He yelled back.


The steel wheels were now clicking with a steady rhythm and the chilly wind whipped my thin jacket like a flag in a gale.  I looked down again and noted that the cross ties were now little more than a black blur.  The trees alongside the tracks dashed toward us at lightning speed.  We were now traveling much too fast to even think about jumping off and our houses were less than a half a mile ahead.


Now PeeWee was looking back at me out of frightened eyes and shaking his head from side to side.  I assumed that he was telling me not to jump.  He needn't have worried.  Jumping wouldn't have left us with enough bones intact to spin a yo-yo.  We were stuck to the side of that car until the train slowed...whenever and wherever that might be.  Both of us looked longingly as the train sped past our houses down in the bottom below the tracks.  I didn't know about PeeWee but I hoped my dad hadn't been looking out the kitchen window and spotted us hanging onto the side of the coal car like a couple of cockroaches stuck to the side of a wedding cake.


A mile or so beyond our houses and heading toward Hazard, I pointed upward indicating to PeeWee that we should climb up and sit atop the loaded car.  My hands were growing stiff, making it difficult to hang onto the ladder rung.  He nodded agreement and we inched our way up the ladders.  Crawling on our hands and knees across the sharp-edged coal, we went to the middle of the car and sat up.  After looking into each other's tightly-drawn and frightened faces for a couple of minutes, PeeWee's lower lip began to tremble and tears clouded his eyes.


"Don't ya dare start that PeeWee.  It's too late to bawl now," I said, my own voice stiff and choked.


"How we gonna get off'en this thing?  It jus' keeps goin' faster an' faster," he whined.


"We ain't 'til it slows down," I said.

"When will that be?  Lordy, we might wind up in Mexico or even Louisville."

"Ain't nuthin' we can do about it."

"But I'm cold."

"And what makes you think I ain't?"

It was bitter cold atop that gondola.  Darkness had all but fallen, bringing with it colder temperatures.  Frigid wind lashed at our thinly clad bodies and numbed our hands and faces.  PeeWee slammed both his hands between his legs in an effort to warm them and gave up trying to control his tears.  I, on the other hand, figured that the only thing that could possibly save us was a miracle, so I tried my hand at praying.


Seven miles down the line, the lights of Hazard appeared like dancing fireflies off in the distance ahead of us.  PeeWee and I were hoping for the same thing.


"Do ya reckon this thing'll stop in Hazard?" he asked, looking at me from behind a coal-blackened face made streaky by his wiping tears away.


"Maybe....let's hope so," I muttered and went back to praying.  Sure enough, the train began to slow down just outside of Hazard.  Just a little more and we'd be able to hope off.


"Come on.  Let's get back down the ladder so we'll be able to jump off if it slows down more," I said.


We scampered down the ladder like squirrels and waited for the train to slow down even more.  Very slowly, it did.


"Okay....jump!" I yelled to PeeWee.  He released his grip and leaped backwards, turning a complete backward somersault and rolling like a ball when he hit the ground.


Naturally, I followed suit but I didn't jump the way PeeWee had.  Instead, I lowered my feet until they hit the cinders along side the tracks and turned loose of the ladder rung.  In order to keep my balance, I had to run faster than I thought my legs could ever carry me.  As it turned out, they didn't carry me very far.  My feet got tangled and I took a tongue-biting belly-whopper upon the white bedrock alongside the tracks.  As I skidded forward on my belly, tiny red and white dots exploded before my eyes and I felt sizable portions of my skin covering my knees and elbows being sacrificed to all the gods of stupidity.  Finally, after an eternity of skidding across bedrock and razor-sharp cinders, I came to a grinding halt.


With every bone in my body aching, I crawled to my feet.  Even though I was able to stand, I was still certain that both my poor kneecaps were shattered.  They weren't, or course.  There just wasn't enough skin left on them to cover a golf ball.  Bleeding kneecaps and hands smarting from the cinder cuts notwithstanding, I made my way back to where PeeWee was sitting on the brown grass a few feet from the tracks.  Incredibly, he was laughing his head off!

"What's so funny?"  I asked, thinking that maybe he'd hit his head and would be a certified idiot for the rest of his life.


"By dog, we did'er, didn't we?  We rode that rascal," he laughed.


"And, by dog, I oughta kill ya for talkin' me into it.  What we done was stupid, an' we're gonna get our jackets warmed when we get home," I said, irritated by his goofy laughter.

"It was fun though, wudn't it?"


"Yeah, you'se havin' so much fun, it moved ya to tears," I deliberately badgered.


"I wudn't cryin'.  The wind was blowin' in my face and makin' my eyes water," he shrugged.


"And I'm gonna black'em if ya don't stop that lyin'.  Get up, we gotta walk back home," I said.


It was after midnight when PeeWee and I finally made it back to our houses.  My mother and father were sitting in the living room.  Dad in his rocking chair with pipe going and Mama crocheting a mile a minute.  Mama's mouth dropped like a trap door when I walked in, her expression a mixture of relief, shock and anger.  Dad just looked angry.


"Wouldja look what the cat drug in," he said in his quiet, firm voice.


I guess I did look a sight.  I was covered in coal dust, my jacket and pants were shredded at the knees and elbows and blotches of dried blood covered my clothes.  Getting hit by a coal truck couldn't have caused much more damage.


Mama laid her crocheting down and walked across the room to get a closer look at me.  "Are ya hurtin', son?" she asked.


"Skinned up a mite, an' I'm a little sore," I told her.


"Looks like ya been sortin' wildcats an' didn't get the job done," Dad said.  "Now what happened to ya? Let's hear it."


"Me an' PeeWee hopped a coal-drag," I said and proceeded to tell him the whole story.  PeeWee had suggested we tell everybody we'd been kidnapped and tortured by gangsters, but I wasn't about to allow him to get me any deeper in trouble than I already was.  I decided to tell the truth and take my medicine.


"Good lord, doncha know ya coulda got killed?" Dad said.


"I know it was stupid, Dad.  Ya want me to fetch the switch?"

"I don't think so," he answered.


Hope sprang upward inside me.  "Ain't ya gonna whup me?"

"Lord knows I oughta, but I ain't.  Looks to me like ya've learned a lesson an' been punished enough for your ignorance. I don't suspect a whuppin' would add much to what ya've already been through.  I'll tell ya this much, though.  If ya ever so much as think about pullin' such a stunt again, ya'd better give ya little heart to Jesus cause ya little behind is gonna belong to me.  Now clean ya'self up and go on to bed," he said.


After I'd washed off the coal dust and dried blood and was safely in my bed, I offered up thanks for having been saved twice in one night.  I figured God must like me an awful lot.

*Excerpt from Hear My Laughter, See My Tears
-Robert G. Back 1986