Worth Celebrating

This Sunday - Easter Sunday - is no more or less holy than any other day in my life. Jesus died for all our days - for our ability to wake up on any given Tuesday in June, or Friday in December, or Monday in May filled with God's Spirit.

Nonetheless, Easter is a special time of remembering and rejoicing! For me, it is important to recall what happened in Jesus' life during that holy week some 2000 years ago. To identify with Him in His passion and in His pain, as well as in His triumph.

I find it equally important to reflect on what's happened in my life since I grasped the utter importance of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection for me. Paul writes:

"You can readily recall, can't you, how at one time the more you did just what you felt like doing—not caring about others, not caring about God—the worse your life became and the less freedom you had? And how much different is it now as you live in God's freedom, your lives healed and expansive in holiness?"

~ Romans 6:19 (MSG)

Yes, Paul, I can recall. I remember it with a shudder. Followed by waves of thankfulness rippling through my soul. I am now, in Christ, redeemed. I am cleansed and set free. I'm more knowledgeable of Truth, and its source. I am less critical; less cynical. I am more trusting, and more trust worthy. I am less dominated by unruly emotions, more centered in the unchanging foundation of the world. I can overcome temptation. I can access strength beyond my own. I can love. Really, truly, love. And I have joy.

All this propels me to celebrate the goodness of life in Christ this week. Not to just put on a flowery dress and attend church on Sunday, but to c-e-l-e-b-r-a-t-e with mindfulness and gratefulness. I purpose not to let a single blessing of life in Christ, or the smallest gift from my Father's hand slip by me unnoticed or unacknowledged  this week. I will drink in the scriptures and let them wash through my thoughts. I will pull my family close and love them through their imperfections and mine. And when I say grace before a meal, I will remember the Bread of Christ, broken for me some 2000 years ago.

I invite you to join me.

Thankful for the sacrifice God made through Christ to bring you and me to Himself.

Easter Tradition

I started an Easter tradition a few years ago: Each Easter week I watch the gospel of Mathew on DVD from The Visual Bible series. It's a dramatization of the book of Matthew using dialogue taken word-for-word from the NIV.

It is like the Bible - in this case, Jesus - come to life.

It's long, nearly 5 hours long. So I don't typically manage to watch it all in one sitting, even though I usually want to. I've tried to watch the whole thing at once in order to absorb the whole story. Taking in the whole picture at once gives me a coherent view that often goes missing when I zero in on portions of scripture for daily reading or study. Just like looking at a picture of the whole earth from space brings a different understanding of something I walk, touch and see every day.

Plus, the first few hours of this video is so soothing. Rick and my dad have both fallen asleep watching it with me. Not out of boredom or exhaustion, but just because it has a tranquil effect. Not so much towards the end of the story, when Jesus is falsely accused, imprisoned, hung and buried. But before and after that somehow quietly uplifts my soul in a way that makes it rest easy.

The thing I love most about this dramatization is the attitude and facial expressions of Jesus. He is a joyful Jesus - a laughing God. I see a Savior that reaches out and tousles a disciple's hair as he delivers teaching designed to correct his misunderstandings - our misunderstandings. Familiar lines of scripture take on new shades of meaning for me while watching the actor and listening to the scriptures. Shades that wade into the purples and greens of friendship and life.

With just a brief stop in a blood red that faded to black before astonishingly turning gloriously white.

I am thankful Easter is here - a time when I'm reminded eternal life amazingly flows in me because of this laughing, loving, teaching, dying, rising God I serve. 

Spring in France, or Italy

Spring Break has officially arrived in my town, only my husband has to go to work today.  It's a special Saturday for high school seniors considering coming to the university in the fall. Rick will teach a shortened class for them today on communication and popular culture.
 

I don't have to teach today - I'll be reading.  Yesterday afternoon the kids and I visited the public library.  I put several books on reserve, browsed the shelves, and came out with:

• Bella Tuscany by Frances Mayes (a memoir)
• Encore Provence: New Adventures in the South of France by Peter Mayle
• The Time Paradox by Philip Zimbardo (non-fiction)

So you can see, I'll be spending my Spring Break time traveling between France and Italy.

Thinking about picking up a fiction book to start as well.  I just finished a preview copy of Marybeth Whalen's The Mailbox, which releases this summer.  I enjoyed it and think it will make great beach reading. As always, I'm all ears for any good reads you've found recently.

Shiny People Affect My Thoughts

Sitting in the overstuffed chair at Barnes and Nobel I feel undersized. My feet don’t quite touch the floor with my back against the cushion. So I pull my legs up and fold them beneath me, making a bird’s nest of my lap. I pour my attention onto the pages of my selected book. People walk past me – surely, it’s a busy Sunday afternoon – but I don’t notice. I’m enamored with the words before me. I’m following in the footsteps of the author, from my perch in the enormous chair.

Twenty some minutes go by before I look up and stretch. The bookstore café sits in my sight line, just two dozen feet before me. People are milling about. None of them in particular stand out. Until I spot the woman, coiffed like a porcelain doll. Ready to be someone’s bright-eyed treasure. She’s attractive, put together, and carries herself with that certain air long time southern residents with a good bit of money seem to possess.

I stop scanning the café and watch only her. That is until a dark-haired man in a suit enters a few minutes later and heads to the tail of the coffee line. His suit is out of place for this time and space. But I suspect he could still stand out in a pair of kaki Dockers.

I watch him awhile, inching his way towards the counter, waiting his turn to order an espresso. Then I return my gaze to the woman, now seated at her table with her trendy bag, cell phone, coffee cup and papers, likely doing something important. Or at least doing something well. I notice my pulse has slightly increased. And when I inventory my thoughts, I find them discussing how to be as attractive and commanding as these two.

That's ironic, given that a few paragraphs back in the book, I’d paused at the author’s line, “When did looking good become your god?”