So Teach Us to Number Our Days

One day, several months after our ninth baby Zac was born, I managed to get my four oldest kids close to tears after starting what seemed to be a happy conversation.

"Do you know that Mr. Friend was the ninth of ten children in his family?  He's just like baby Zac!  They lived right there in that house where he lives now.  They had even numbers, too–five boys and five girls, pretty close to our family."

Oh, everyone thought that was wonderful.  We all looked at Zac and made him laugh.  We thought about 87-year-old Mr. Friend being a happy baby with lots of big brothers and sisters. And they remembered happy and funny stories, too, that he has told us about his growing up time.

We talked about that for a while, and then 6-year-old Ben asked "But, if he's got all those brothers and sisters, why does he live alone?"

"Well, he never got married and he loved farming, so he lived with his mother and father all his life and helped them farm until they died a long time ago, and his brothers and sisters all got married and moved to homes of their own.  He ran that farm by himself for over thirty years.  And now eight of them have died and he has one brother still living, but he (we've met him) hasn't been feeling well lately and can't come over to visit anymore."

Ben took this in matter-of-factly and went on his way, but I looked up to see my older four children standing there wide-eyed and silent.  They were feeling it in their gut for the first time that eventually they too will grow up, their lives will unfold and they will be separated by time and place and circumstance and some way or another all of them would die.  And Mom and Dad, too!

Lydia broke the silence.  "But . . . that's so . . . sad!"

And there they were. Four children aged 15, 11, 10 and 8, near tears, looking at me and me looking back at them. Thinking.

It's rare that I sit across the table from my old friend in that quiet house, that tidy house, that bachelor's house, where he lives alone– and not try to imagine that space filled with five young men and five young women talking and laughing while they eat their meals. Their mother sitting to the side and watching her growing and grown children, catching most of their words while she turns to comment in Swedish to her husband.  In my mind the empty barn is filled again with sixty dairy cows and fifty, or sixty or one-hundred chickens and a dozen pigs are over in the yard. The diesel tractors parked in his garage are gently replaced by three teams of horses–the six of them the only animals with names on the farm. Except for the dogs, of course.

My friend grows young before my eyes as I hear stories from his youth–jumping from wood beam to wood beam on the lawn while his older brothers and father and friends built that big red barn in 1929 when he was 7-years-old. Or later, strong from daily work, when he could carry ten-gallon-pails of water in each hand to the pig pen fifty yards away from the pump. Or back further when he was a small boy, and his sister fell through the soggy land shelf by the stream in the wild area and they thought she'd drown–but they got her out safe and sound after all. Or when they'd all try to look busy doing something all the time (or at least keep out of sight) lest their dad would find some job for them to do, even the youngest set to work in the yard digging dandelions to get out every root. Or when four brothers were called up to serve in World War II, but the local draft board decided that my friend should stay at home and help their father farm, so our country would have enough to eat during the war.

Can you imagine the joy around that table the first time they ate together after all four brothers came back home alive from that war?

He tells me where they slept when they were all still living at home–here, there and everywhere in the house depending on the hunting season or the harvest and who needed to get up at 3:00am and who could sleep in until 5:00 or even 6:00.

I look at all the neatly placed cookware on the shelves, and pretty plates set up above, and the place where the pipe went through the wall when they used an old cook stove and wonder if his mother could ever imagine a time when that house would be still, and quiet, and tidy, and chores all finally, finally done and the house–now home to just one aged son–would nearly echo with the lack of busyness.  A dish or two a day now washed in that sink, and one glass used all day long. And though the laundry is no longer done by hand, the machine is only needed once a week or so.

Five sons and five daughters and a man and a wife once occupied these rooms where my friend has lived every day of his life and where he continues to live since he retired from farming but not from life. Just my friend and one older brother are left from that generation that built that house and farm.  But a patient  stream of nieces, nephews, neighbors and friends pull in and out of the yard through all his days.

And as I think these things, I remember that I really should not talk so long–for my own kids are back in our house around the curve in the road. A house not quiet, or tidy and with many chores still needing to be done! This is my time to go home and live it. I look over at the ninth child born to his house, while I hold the ninth child born to my house in my lap. Old, sparkling, blue-eyes are bringing laughter into young, blue-eyes from across the table top. Laughing myself, I rise to go.

It's hard to imagine a moment, let alone day after day when my house could ever be quiet, tidy and chores all finally, finally done.

Yet, it is a certain thing that this life is fleeting. Kevin helped me realize this from the start. When we were first left alone with minutes-old, firstborn Grace in the hospital, we were both looking at her sleeping in my arms with tears in our eyes. Then he quietly said, with his hand on her head, "Tomorrow she will be burying us." It was jarring. At first I couldn't even fit that into that moment, couldn't understand his words.  But I keep that in mind now that the days seem long, and the years seem short.  And as much as I want my children to grow up in the shelter and safe harbor of a happy and loving home, much more do I want their foundation and source of joy and security to rest upon unshakable and eternal realities so that when their life unfolds with its joys and trials and inevitable loss they will rest upon our sure hope in God.

O Lord, teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:12)

                                  ~Sara~

This is our 9th baby Zac and my dear friend Mr. Irwin Falk (a.k.a. Mr. Friend) on one of our many visits to his home, a short-walk country next-door to ours. Zac was born in the summer of 2009. Zac is less than one-year-old in this picture. Irwin was 87-years-old. Irwin was the 9th of 10 in his family and lived in this home his entire life.

In loving memory: Irwin Falk  (September 27, 1922-August 3, 2019) 

So Teach Us to Number Our Days was included in the Chapel column of The Old Schoolhouse ® Magazine, Summer 2011. My writing agreement stipulated that I had to remove this article from my blog until six months after publication. I'm happy to be able to share it here again with friends and family. 

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls."  1 Peter 1:3-9

Irrepressible light on Good Friday...

Recently, I was thinking about the meaning of communion and the symbolism of His body broken for me, and His blood poured out for me, and unexpectedly I had an upwelling of love for our Lord Jesus and His sacrifice for us. It was wonderful for affections for Him to break through the mundane superficiality of my life and the experience was received as a gift. I knew there was nothing in me that had changed. He had opened my heart and I was grateful. Heading into Holy Week and Easter weekend I was hoping that by my own observance of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and then the joyful Resurrection Sunday that I could somehow recapture those feelings I had a few weeks ago, and also, somehow think deeply and dig deeply into my heart to get the whole picture of what He has done for us, for me. Instead–I've been sleep deprived, busy, irritable and distracted and I'm flying up to Easter with only surface attention to the passing days. How like God to give me a gift when it is obviously not of my own work and then let me see what happens when I try to "make" my own experience!

When I was in the middle of my deeper affections a few weeks ago, I found myself reading through the Passion Week scriptures and really noticing the experience of the women who were closest to Jesus. Oh, what love! What darkness they experienced to the core of their being! And finally, what joy! They followed Him to the cross; they watched the horror unfold; they clung together; they watched their last hope fade; they watched Him suffer on the cross; they stayed until He died from crucifixion; they watched as His death was confirmed with a spear thrust to the side; they stayed to see Him taken down; they followed to see Him laid in the tomb; they left to prepare spices and ointment as darkness fell; they observed the Sabbath and left the tomb alone for agonizing hours as He lay alone, His body unprepared; they came again to anoint His body as soon as they could possibly call it dawn; they arrived to find an empty tomb; they were greatly distressed; they received the good news and explanation of the resurrection from angels; one stayed and heard the Lord Himself speak her name; they returned to the disciples to share the news of the angels and with the report of seeing Him alive... only to be received as women speaking idle talk.

But–their story was confirmed–He appeared again, and again, and again.

They loved, they feared, they followed, they watched, they were devastated, they were confused, they grieved, they cared, they waited, they went to care for his body–all dark, dark days. I try to imagine the darkness of their grief, but it is well beyond my experience. Then they were the first to hear the good news from angels, to find the empty tomb on the third day . . . just as He promised. Mary, lingering and thinking that her grief had been compounded by enemies stealing her Lord's body, is instead called by name by the resurrected Jesus. Her joy is well beyond what I can imagine.

Thinking through my impossible plan to try to feel my way through the weekend really experiencing the dark leading up to Easter, and then the joy–I find that I'm never able to get to that place of grief because the joy and light keep poking in. I'm too tired to concentrate on keeping them out and feel the darkness. I know He is alive! I can't forget the Good News because it is the strength and joy of my life. I don't feel separated from my Lord during Good Friday. I am, at times, overwhelmed with what He has done to atone for sin, once for all. But death could not keep Him in the grave. His sacrifice is perfect and He conquered death for Love and His Glory. At the same time He is here with me on my superficial, tired days, leading me and carrying me and taking me where I need to be step-by-step and giving me the gifts of feeling His presence and feeling deep affection for Him when it is best for me.

Let us remember His suffering.  Let us believe in Him and receive His salvation. Let us be transformed into His bride. And if in our weakness, poor affections and pale imagination we can't grieve properly on this Good Friday for our Lord's dark day or for our sins, let us rejoice that we live on this side of Easter and that what He has accomplished is not dependent on what we do at all.

Yes, let us rejoice this Easter and every day, for the Lord is Risen, Indeed!

                                                                               ~Sara~

ps.  I wrote this on Good Friday 2010, but it reflects so much of my feelings this year as well, I decided to repost.  We are weak . . . Rejoice!

The teaching of kindness is on her tongue

Proverbs 31...  the one about the excellent wife who is up before dawn, still burning lamp oil while prospering the house at night, and doing amazing things in business, real estate, household management, making fine clothing, helping the poor, and making the heart of her husband trust in her in every way... always makes me a bit nervous.  It helps to remember that she (probably) didn't do all these things every single day.  And also she had those maidens to help her.  I remember thinking when I had four kids, ages seven and under (and no older children), "That's it! I need some maidens around here! Where can I get some maidens?"

That chapter was part of my regular Bible reading today–so I opened the Bible to bookmark number 4, found Proverbs 31 waiting for me and began to read with a little sigh. I read all those things I just talked about and wondered if she was very likable (and yes, I know she is most likely a composite of a person, an ideal) or if she was the type of woman that other women stand back from with envious admiration mixed with a bit of fear of what she would think of them.

Then I came across a verse I don't remember ever seeing before. End of verse 25, and 26.

"...She laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue."

The type of woman I always want to spend more time with.

That also reminds me of some other verses that have stuck with me over the past few months. Verses that make me want to have this type of mouth and tongue.  I went back to find them in my journal . . . I have a little note with the prayer, O Lord, grant these to me! before a listing of these verses.

A gentle tongue is a tree of life. 
               ~Prov. 15:4


The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life. 
                ~Prov. 10:11


For with you is the fountain of life, in your light do we see light. 
                ~Psalm 36:9


The teaching of the wise is a fountain of life.  
                ~Prov. 13:44


The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life. 
                ~Prov. 14:27


Good sense is a fountain of life to him who has it. 
                ~Prov. 16:22

And reading through those again today, I remembered that I was thinking about these tree of life and fountain of life verses during Thanksgiving weekend. And I found that I had recorded in my journal an image that formed in my mind of the beauty of these verses. An image of gratefulness and thanksgiving dripping from our cupped hands, merely holding up and giving back to God a tiny portion of that very fountain of life that we have scooped up... that He is providing.

And I found a prayer that I had completely forgotten. A prayer I wrote for me and all of us as mothers... the type of mother we want to be, but how can we be? This trait of the Proverbs 31 woman that I admire the most is one we cannot gain except as a gift of His grace. A mother with wisdom, with the teaching of kindness on her tongue, a fountain of life and a tree of life for her children by the mercy of God...

"...with gratefulness and thanksgiving dripping from our cupped hands.  Our feet like roots standing in the stream of the fountain of life. Our arms outstretched against the winds that come, laden with fruit, laden with fruit. Our mouths speaking forth as a fountain of life. Grace held up in our cupped hands, overflowing and dripping back to the stream at our feet.  A fountain of life is a gentle teaching tongue ~ making brave the fearful, making beggars and ragtag children into heirs of the King. O Lord make our desire be for your fountain of life!  May we thrist for it as if death were near for lack of this fountain!  May we not drink to our death, but to Life in You.  By your Spirit, send us your gifts of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.  Let me laugh at the dawn after sleepless nights. Show my hands and feet and weak knees how to work. And for my children, I ask that their souls be filled with your Spirit - a teacher and helper in all things. Let not one be darkness to your light.  May they see light by your light. True. Piercing joy. Beauty seen and cherished. True beauty as in You. Loving Your glory and desiring to know You, know You, know You. O God, make me a faithful witness to these things ~ may I pour out my life to this task. Renew me though your everlasting living water, a fountain of life welling up and flowing out of my mouth in gentleness - a tree of life to those around me. Make this true of me and my Sisters, too. Show me what to shed and what to put on. In all gentleness, I beg.  Amen."  


                                 ~Sara~

You fill me with joy in Your presence

You make known to me the path of life;
     in your presence there is fullness of

        joy;
     at your right hand are pleasures

          forevermore.
                ~Psalm 16:11~

This is the memory verse I've been pondering this week.  It is one of my favorite verses–reminding me that it is in His presence that there is fullness of joy–even though in my tired flesh and amnesia of spirit, I try to pursue joy in other things again, and again, and again.

This is also one of the few verses that I memorized years ago that I can remember easily word for word.  Back then, it was a different version than the ESV that I have settled on as "my" version of choice for reading and memorizing.

I have a distinct memory of standing in my old, small, cozy kitchen in the house we lived in for seven years in downtown Minneapolis.  At that time, all of the kids were young and it was up to me to copy down the verses each week and I enjoyed decorating them with simple colored pencil designs and scrolling around the edges. Then I would tape them up in the kitchen or the kids' room where a few times a day I could read them over and try to work the memorizing into my day whenever I happened to look at it. This wasn't something that usually led to worship. It was more like brushing my teeth or checking the weather, by habit, to tell the truth. That day I was leaning back against a counter, looking over at the words I had written and taped up on a cabinet, and repeating them a few times. My highly systematic method for learning Bible verses...

But the Word of God is living and active ~ it does not return empty, and as I repeated this verse over and over by routine, I became aware that I was in tears, amazed by the truth in these words. God in his mercy had pierced through my distracted, fuzzy mind with the presence of His love right there with me in my kitchen with the piles of dishes.  Here are those words that went out of my flesh as plain English words and at the same time by the power of the Holy Spirit, rose up in my soul as the living Word of God–indeed filling me with Joy.

You have made known to me the 
       path of Life;

   You fill me with Joy 
          in Your Presence.

With Everlasting Pleasures 
          at Your Right Hand.
                    ~Psalm 16:11

Peter also echoes this verse, quoting it in his sermon as recorded in Acts (verse 2:28).  The Old Testament verses that are quoted in the writings of the Apostles of our Lord Christ Jesus always make me sit up and pay attention.

I thank you Lord that it is You who fills us with Joy in your Presence. For surely, we would not have Your joy any other way.
               
                        ~Sara~

The Word of Our God Will Stand Forever

The grass withers, the flower fades,
    but the Word of our God will stand forever.
              ~Isaiah 40:8~

Isaiah 40:8 has been a favorite scripture of mine for a long time.  When we began homeschooling thirteen years ago, this was the verse we chose to capture our vision of what would be most important to pass on to our children among all the many things I found exciting and beautiful to share with them.

On those long days when all the children were little–homeschooling the oldest one, with a pre-schooler, a toddler, and a baby–I would literally whisper this to myself....

   ...the laundry piles will fade, these dishes will be ground to dust ~ but the Word will not return empty...the Word we teach to our children will stand forever...

Over the years, when the light was just right, I would stand in amazement, struck with the beauty of a sunset over a field, the flowers dazzling in the light, the colors of the grass shifting and seeming to praise God with their dance and I would remember... The grass withers, the flower fades but the Word of our God will stand forever... and have a moment where awe struck deep in my soul.

Last Summer, the same day I really looked at the grass of the field, I discovered that Peter declares this Word to be the very Gospel of God...it was as if the light of the glory of the Gospel just pierced into my heart.

....love one another earnestly from a pure heart, since you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God; for 

“All flesh is like grass 

and all its glory like the flower of grass. 

The grass withers, 

and the flower falls, 

but the Word of the Lord remains forever.” 

And this Word is the Good News that was preached to you. 
                       ~1 Peter 1:22-25

This truth puts my life in perspective, sifts my priorities, and causes me to humbly and joyfully bow in worship.

So, what better verse to start off a year of recommitment to memorizing scripture.

Each week our church is encouraged to memorize a verse or passage of scripture.  This week has been the beginning of a new cycle of verses... a fresh start... and the verse for this first week of 2012 has been Isaiah 40:8 ~ which was especially nice for me as I have been stumbling in recent years with only half memorizing and then forgetting the verses and I already have this one memorized! So a bonus gift for me.

And another gift, is that my husband put this verse to song this week... and I love it.

I really, really, love it. I love it so much that I have spent hours figuring out how to use HTML formatting on this blog (which I assure you is not my gift) to share it right here with everyone! So here it is... (Now edited with an Official Link to the song! Aug 2014)

Listen Here!

May the Lord cause us all to cherish his Word this year and always.

                                                   ~Sara~


Memory Verse Resources: For those who are interested in the memory verse program that our church has designed and uses, information can be found here...Fighter Verse Program. A list of this year's suggested weekly verses can be found on this page on our church's website (our family prints that list, which includes the scripture texts, and we make our own resources out of it). For professionally designed curriculum resources related to the program, go here...  Fighter Verse Resources.  If you are interested in using songs to help you hide the Word of God in your heart, CDs from the Fighter Verse Song project that my husband has been involved in can also be found on that resource page.  The songs (some in the early production stage) can also be found for FREE, posted week by week, at the Fighter Verse Songs blog.  Blessings to all of you in 2012.

'Tis the Season...for Bible reading plans?

'Tis the the season for me to try to figure out what plan to use for Bible reading in 2012.

Earlier this year I wrote about discovering, using, and enjoying Professor Grant Horner's Ten Lists system.  He has Ten Lists which can be turned into ten bookmarks that have you reading one chapter from ten different places in the Bible each day.  It's sounds chaotic and overwhelming at first, but there were many things I liked about his system.

A few favorites...

•No dates, so no feeling behind. No guilt for missed days! Just find your place, read, and keep going.  

         I repeat...no guilt!

•Variety of Bible book genres each day. (Gospels, Poetry, History, Prophets, Epistles, etc.)

•The "lists" are all different lengths so the Bible readings line up differently with each other over time, speaking to me in new ways and showing new (and exciting) things about God and His redemptive plan that is revealed and woven all the way through all the books.

•The lists put books in different seasons over time, again because the lists are of varying lengths. 

     If, like me, you have tried many reading plans over the years 

        and are quite tired of reading Genesis in January, 

             it is a real treat to have a plan that varies seasonally! 

•Plus, I really did enjoy reading in ten places.  It captured my attention and, surprisingly, I didn't have any trouble following the flow of things even in so many places.

BUT... I totally failed at finding (making) the time to read ten chapters a day once Summer ended.  And that was even before I discovered I was pregnant and had extra fatigue and (all day) morning sickness for the first time in many years.  Every time I did pick up my Bible, I was very happy to find the faithful bookmarks sitting there waiting for me so my fuzzy brain knew where to read, but I hardly ever got through all ten bookmarks in one day. 

Often, though, I could manage half the lists and finish up the next day.

So that gave me an idea.  What if I made my own book marks, my own lists, and I was only reading five chapters a day and still no pressure if I miss a day from time to time (or more often)?  Something that takes 20-30 minutes a day?

Just. Keep. Moving. Instead of giving up and thinking I need to wait and start all over again with Genesis and Matthew in January!

So, 'tis the season for me to make a plan to be in the Word in some systematic way this upcoming year and I've decided to stick with the bookmark type plan. I'm quite a ways in and will keep my place where I've been reading, but I've modified it to Five Lists which I've made into Five Bookmarks.  I'm giving all credit to Professor Grant Horner, because all I've done is combine his lists in a way that seems good to me, and possible during this upcoming season of my life.

For those who might be interested, I'm going to share my lists here - along with my no-dates, you're-never-behind, Bookmarks Bible Reading Plan.

Sara’s Five Bookmarks • Read one chapter per day, per bookmark. (Or whatever you can manage - just keep moving the bookmarks at your own pace - one bookmark, two bookmarks, or five)

1. Gospels and Acts •  Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts ( 117 chapters) 

2. Books of Moses and Psalms • Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Psalms • (337 chapters)  (I recommend starting with Psalms if you are beginning this in January and you've tried many plans over the years - just to avoid reading Genesis again first, in the dead of winter)

3. Poetry and Prophets • Job, Ecclesiastes, Song of Solomon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Lamentations, Ezekiel, Daniel, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi  • (312 chapters) 

4. Wisdom and History • Proverbs, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 1 & 2 Samuel, 1 & 2 Kings, 1 & 2Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther • (280 chapters) 

5. New Testament Epistles • Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, 1 & 2 Thessalonians, 1 & 2 Timothy, Titus, Philemon, Hebrews, James, 1 & 2 Peter 1, 2 & 3 John, Jude, Revelation • (145 chapters) 

Email me at sara.junkdrawer@gmail.com if you'd like the actual Sara's Five Bookmarks .pdf  to print and cut out at home (with these instructions).

Note: One thing I have done this past year in using the bookmark system is make a tiny dot (.) at the end of each chapter when I finish it, so that if the bookmarks fall out (or are taken out, chewed, and ripped by a baby–as happened more than once to mine) or if I miss several days of reading, I can easily find my place and get going again. One of Professor Horner's strong suggestions is using the same Bible for reading all the time, and I like to read a paper (rather than digital) Bible so this (the tiny dot markings) works well for me.

My goal is NOT to get through these lists in one year, but just to read widely and consistently this year (and always) in the Bible.  Although if one did read these five bookmark lists consistently, one would get through all the Bible at least once, and the New Testament books at least twice ~ even skipping 28 days entirely. But, one of my own personal rules is "never try to catch up" just pick up and read where the bookmarks are, and abide in the Word that day by His grace.

I thought this a wise comment on Bible reading...

"I don’t want to master God’s Word. I want God, through his Word, to master me. And I’ve got a long way to go." ~Bob Kauflin, in his excellent and encouraging explanation of why and how he is using the Ten Lists plan. 

Most important to remember is that our Lord has called us to abide with Him, and yet nowhere in the Bible is there any requirement that anyone read through the Bible in one year or with any particular plan.  I do believe being in the Word brings joy, and allows us to abide in Him, and for this reason (among others) I desire a great hunger for the Word so that I may pursue it for love and joy, and not for duty.  


(For more tips on using the bookmark system...click here)

Lord, 

...In Your presence is fullness of joy. Psalm 16:11. 

         Please, grant us that gift. 

                                                                 ~Sara~

*Professor Grant Horner's Original Bible Reading System, and his thoughts on it can be found here.

For a "just the plan, please" explanation my no-dates, you're-never-behind Bookmarks Bible Reading Plan (Basically, Sara's Five Bookmarks plus Instructions) go here.

Email me at sara.junkdrawer@gmail.com for a pdf of Sara's Five Bookmarks with instructions.

These are the good old days. (Part 2)

(Continued from Part 1)

The Barn Removal Project.

Or as we've come to call it, the Barn Razing (as in completely destroy and remove all traces of existence).

When we moved to this house and property, seven years ago, there was an old barn standing on its last legs. A barn with a leaking wooden roof, rotten beams, and due to the (now wet) straw insulating the walls, rotten everything. When we had our inspection prior to buying this house, the inspector told us the barn was condemned and we should not let anyone go in it. As a matter of fact, I never did go in it. We put a barrier of snow fencing around it to keep the kids away. Our insurance company had no problem with having us sign an "exclusion" of that building and so over the past years we've let trees and grass and weeds grow up around and through that old barn while it slowly and then finally sank to its knees. Old steel siding folded in, then covered the fallen barn as if with a blanket for its last sleep. In the Summer, it was hidden by the wild of green. In the Winter, it was covered with snow. Other than glancing at it over in a corner of the now non-existent farm yard in a nostalgic sort of way, we never thought of it at all.

Until the letter came. The letter explaining that we had 30 days to remove (or rebuild!) the barn or our insurance would drop us. Really? What about that exclusion? Well, that was then and this is now. The barn must go.

This letter coincided with a letter from our insurance agent telling us that our insurance company had become difficult to work with in the rural areas, she would no longer be representing them . . . and would we like to switch to a new company, one that would save us hundreds of dollars in the process?  "Why, yes indeed.  How convenient!" we thought.  Then we discovered that the new, friendly company also required removal of the barn––in fact all companies were now in agreement that the potentially dangerous old building would need to be removed.  And soon. Within 30 days of our new policy's start date.  By the end of August.

We literally stood staring at that thing, completely hidden by overgrowth, wondering how on earth we could solve this problem. Our preference for an easy answer . . .  professional demo, sorting, removal, hauling and dumping was looking to cost many thousands of dollars. So that was not an option.  We heard lots of advice . . . "People love that old barnwood! They'll even remove it for you!" Or . . . "Dig a big hole and just shove it in there - that's what the old farmers do." Or . . . "Have the fire department burn it for practice! That's only $600-800." Or . .  "Wait until winter, push it all into a field and just burn the whole thing."  Dear Mr. Friend suggested shoving it just ten feet north of the property line (through a few trees) and then claim it was his problem!  All intriguing ideas, but things we couldn't well achieve on a shoe-string budget, no large equipment, nearby flammable buildings and trees, those pesky new environmental rules about burying things, and a 30-day timeline.|

Finally, we thought of one possibility. It seemed a bit too easy and so probably wouldn't work. Could we burn it gradually on a campfire sized fire, piece by piece, sorting and saving the good to give away, and burning the bad? Working on it all of August? With a five-dollar burn permit? At times we thought- "Yes! We can do it!" A minute later we thought of other details - "No! This is impossible!" After all, this was completely not on the agenda this year. How could we spend that much time on it, all of us working, even if it worked? Three weeks ago, just before the date we were set to begin, we were very discouraged. The type of discouragement that makes your eyes fly wide open in the middle of the night with anxiety, but also causes you to cry out to the Lord for help.  The type of discouragement you see in each other that makes you want to smile and be brave and say out loud "It's all going to be OK."

I started mentioning this "barn project" to friends and the response was always the same.  A surprising enthusiasm, encouragement to ask others to help, and even to think of it as a party. A definite intrigue with the idea of an old barn whether it was going up or coming down. A universal desire to be a part of such old-fashioned, hard, manual work. A desire for their kids to have a chance to do that sort of "real" work. An outpouring of love and offers from many, and genuine sadness on the part of those who had other plans and couldn't come help. After all, that barn was put together by hand (and we imagine with the help of friends and family), why not pull it apart piece by piece with the help of friends and family? It sounds like The Good Old Days.

So we asked for help. And help came.  Mr. Friend came with his backhoe and his skilled use of it, and what we would have done without him I don't know. He has come early (accommodating us by waiting until 6:30am, when he'd been up since 4:00), and late–when Kevin got home from his city job. Whenever the big machine and his expertise would be of assistance. Fathers and sons have come to help, moms and a kid or two, entire families, and men alone or in pairs.  One day of particular progress we had two adult men in the morning, rain in the afternoon, and then a family with six children came to help in the mud of the evening. All these friends along with our own work crew did remove that barn.  I expected it to take every bit of that 30 days.  I was expecting to be rushed in the end. But that's not what happened.


In just six days the major work was done––and we had even taken one day off for sheer exhaustion, and the good excuse of rain. We breathed a sigh of relief and scheduled one more work day and more help arrived, just at the right time, even after we turned a few away because we thought rain would ruin the day. Now, just the odds and ends of splintered wood and dirt remain. Sorted wood, still good for use, is sitting here and there, but the barn is gone. We can prove it with photos for our insurance file. We are so thankful for the answer to our prayers that came through our Brothers and Sisters and good hard (but doable) work for our family.  The type of answer that teaches us all (not just the children) that the Lord still moves mountains.

Which is what reminds me that these are The Good Old Days, the days the Lord has planned for us. I want to recognize it as we go along, and not just with hindsight of years to come or through the romantic lens that doesn't see the grit in these good days.  I want to see it all and still feel the goodness.  The days of family, friends, and children still at home. Of hard work, too, and impossible needs. The days full of challenges that answer our prayers that our children will be prepared for lives of their own. Lessons provided by floods, and vans breaking down, and mothers on crutches when the house guests arrive, and hard work on barns, and depending on Brothers and Sisters when we'd rather not be in need. Lessons from hearing mom and dad praying for something to work out, with a feeble sort of faith. Praying themselves because they know it's something we really need, something really important that we can't make happen on our own. And then seeing the answers come one after another. And after that, seeing the greater provision of the Lord's design in all of these things, better than any plan we would have made for this Summer––back when we thought coffee on the deck, family bike rides, and maybe building a tree house (to teach the kids how to work a bit) was the best plan. The plan that defines and meets our needs, burns away the chaff, and draws us closer to Him.

I've looked at that barn coming down, looked at the friends coming together to offer hours of hard work, looked at the pieces of old wood and the old-time nails, looked at beams of the barn made of unmilled logs, and thought of that time of tremendous hard work on this farm 100 years ago when that barn was new. Work without machines and nearly without rest.  Work without a hot shower at the end of the day. An exhausted sleep on a hot summer night without fans or A/C.  A tenacity to build from the ground up, with no guarantee of success, that we can hardly imagine. Building projects, hoping for a good crop, investing in animals and newfangled machines.  Thousands of days preparing meals and feeding animals and cleaning up and making do. Marriages and children. Gains and loss. Hard times and good times and daily chores. Times spent on knees in prayer and times asking friends for help.  Answers and help provided.

The Good Old Days.

Lord, let me lean into these days and live life to the full as it unfolds . . . with thankfulness, trusting in You for the plan.

                                          ~Sara~

ps.  Kevin just came home and said a friend of ours (that we haven't seen in months) offered us a load of oak firewood, already cut, that they really have no use of.  Could we use it? My eyes are glistening. More answers to prayer.  One concern of the barn project was that Kevin and the kids had no time to begin to work on cutting the free firewood available from Mr. Friend's land for this winter (which we use for the major source of heat for our home).  This friend, with no knowledge of our need, offers an answer to a prayer barely asked in passing. Whispered lest we ask for too much. I am thankful and amazed. (The "load" turned out to be THREE cords.)

These are the good old days. (Part 1)

At the beginning of May this year, we were looking forward to the Summer, just amazed at how wide open the days looked.  We had two greatly anticipated trips on the calendar.  Otherwise, it looked like a long lazy Summer was in store for our family.  We dreamed of family bike rides, coffee on the deck, reading outside on the big swing, painting sheds, and building a chicken coop, or perhaps a tree house, with all that extra time.

Turns out, the days the LORD had planned for us were not exactly what we had in mind.

Just after returning home from our first whirlwind trip (a wonderful family wedding weekend) we discovered our basement contained a lake.  Yes, with all the rain this year, our basement was now sitting IN the water table.  Eighteen inches of water surprised me when I went down to get something out of storage.  All of our plastic bins containing off season and hand me down clothes had floated and turned over and leaked (requiring drying outside on the old fashioned laundry lines while waiting for a wash and dry inside, fifteen extra loads of laundry in our big machines) and the bottom of our furnace, a dehumidifier, and a fan were underwater. Lots of shoes, old toys, and miscellaneous stuff (junk) ruined. That same day, our main breaker went out (as we turned it off to be safe in the water) and it needed to be replaced.  Without electricity, our well pump doesn't work, so no running water.  The hot water was out anyway, and we had visions of propane bubbling up through the water. Better women than myself could have cleaned up from this in a few days.  It took me, even with everyone helping, the better part of three weeks.



I was officially done with flood clean-up the day before we left for a two week road trip. That trip, too, was full of the unexpected.  A break-down on the Great Plains on a 100 degree day on a Sunday morning with no repairs in sight. A limping, unsteady 70 mile drive that (thankfully!) returned us safely to Grandmom's welcoming, air conditioned home. A drive in a borrowed car, five hours round trip, to get the only rental van available in the state of Kansas.  A nice beautiful new rental van that wouldn't haul our trailer. A four hour re-packing job to pare down our carefully selected originally packed items (plenty of room in that trailer) down to an amount that would fit inside the rental van with us (a sight to behold).  We left at least half our stuff in our trailer in Grandmom's driveway, ready to pick up, along with our repaired van, on our way back home.

Hearing the details of 'the-day-we-drove-eight-hours-and-went-nowhere' my mother (on the phone, waiting for us at our destination in beautiful Colorado) cheerfully commented "I hear a blog entry in all this!" It was hard to laugh along in the crabby, sweaty, tired atmosphere of that evening while we repacked in the hot and humid evening air.

We did have a great vacation. Interspersed with the beauty and excitement of that Mountain trip (which was given to us as a gift, including that rental van, by generous grandparents) were a few more misadventures.  We lost track of a child in Vail, CO, who was found by the nice local police before we even knew he had left the big Pirate Ship playground.  He, just six-years-old, mistakenly thought we had left him behind and had run for the car (far away in a parking garage) while the rest of us (five adults, two teens, eleven younger kids ) continued to enjoy the playground full of children and a stream nearby.

By the time we were packing up and commenting "Hey, where is Sam . . . has anyone seen Sam?" the above-mentioned nice police man came up and asked me, "Are you looking for a boy in a red shirt."

Me, cheerfully, "Why, Yes!"

His serious response, "We've had him for ten minutes."

Oh no!

Though they told us he'd been so upset he was unable to talk much, once they brought him back to us, right where we'd been all along, he settled down after a few minutes of being strongly held by Dad.  It turns out for this particular boy, believing you've been forgotten is quite traumatic, but finding out you just made a mistake about that and thus discovered you have an uncanny ability to make your way back through the winding streets of a village to the place where your parents parked the van, meeting nice people who help you out, and policemen who take you right back where you started is just an adventure. Of course, we are extremely thankful things turned out so well and I did have several panic attacks about the whole thing later that night.  And I'm giving up my nomination for Mother of the Year.

Did I mention I got thrown from a horse?  Yep, about a minute after I was taking deep breaths of cool mountain air, praising God for the truly awesome view, and thinking how peaceful and quiet it is to travel on horseback.  I didn't even have that moment where you think 'Oh, no! I'm falling!" Nope. One second I see the horse getting kicked by one of his horsey friends and without any time passing . . . my face is resting in dust and my only thought, "I'm on the ground," was accompanied by small explosions of pain in my shoulder, hip and knee. I didn't notice the cuts on my hands or broken fingernails at first. But, with 18 anxious members of my family watching and calling out in concern, and not wanting to miss or ruin that ride and campfire dinner adventure, I did get back up on that horse, and thankfully there were no serious injuries.  I was rewarded with one particularly impressive bruise on my hip, and a limp which eventually required crutches . . . the week we had four extra great kids stay with us for a much anticipated "Camp" week at our own house, beginning two days after we got home from vacation.

Fast forward a few more days through 4th of July back at Grandmom's (her basement flooded, too!) and past County Fair week (I guess I didn't have that on the calendar way back in May) which brings us to...

 . . . the BIG unexpected, impossible, and nearly overwhelming task that we did not once think we'd have to face this Summer–which we discovered we would have to accomplish one way or another before the end of August . . .  and my point for bringing up all this in the first place.


The part that makes me remember that these ARE the good old days.

But it's getting late, so I think I'd better leave that for a second entry.  I'll try to write it soon.

                                           ~Sara~

(Part 2 can be found here)

Lord, draw near...

Rev. John Ames, in Marilynne Robinson's Gilead:

"I mean only respect when I say that your mother has always struck me as someone with whom the Lord might have chosen to spend some part of His mortal time.  How odd it is to have to say that after all these centuries. There is an earned innocence, I believe, which is as much to be honored as the innocence of children. . . I can imagine Jesus befriending my grandfather, too, frying up some breakfast for him, talking things over with him, and in fact the old man did report several experiences of just that kind. I can't say the same for myself. I doubt I have the strength for it. This is something that has come to my mind from time to time over the years, and I don't really know what to make of it."

I finished reading Gilead yesterday, and I was blessed by this patient, lovely book.  It is full of beauty and truth and the complexity and pain of intergenerational relationships as times change–recognizing how the formative things for each generation (Civil and World Wars, poverty, times of plenty, various world events, educational ideas, influential writers, parenting styles) form varying ideals about how to live out a true and faithful Christian life. Well, that makes it sound dull and preachy and it is anything but that. Many, many things could be said and discussed about this book, but one line really stuck with me over the past few days and has been pressing on my heart as I've been busy and scattered and, yes, far from the loving and attentive mother I hope to be.

If you haven't already guessed, this is the line that echoes and makes me wonder:

". . . your mother has always struck me as someone with whom the Lord might have chosen to spend some part of His mortal time."

Like John Ames himself, I really don't know what to make of it  . . . but a great desire for becoming this sort of person wells up inside of me.

O Lord, draw near to me. May you make me into such a woman and wife and mother!

                                                      ~Sara~

Times of refreshing

Windows all open,
listening to that peaceful rain.

That smell, that sound, that cool breeze... 

These times of refreshing,
a gift in July.

I started a new and interesting Bible-Reading System (Professor Grant Horner's) which has me reading ten chapters a day, from ten different places in the Bible which sounds confusing (and a bit crazy) at first, but I have found it to be very interesting and attention holding. The thing that attracted me to the plan was that the emphasis is just on reading, reading, reading and only reading . . . not contemplation, study, cross referencing, etc. This was attractive as my mental concentration powers are truly at a low point, and as I'd been going about trying to read the Bible in my normal "small amounts and really pay attention" manner–my mind was wandering, my head was often nodding, and mostly I was losing the fight to just turn off the light, snuggle up with the baby, and go to sleep. When trying to shift my reading times to less sleepy times of the day, I'd find myself re-reading over and over to try to make sure I'd gotten it, and to be honest, I'd largely given up and had been very much out of the Bible reading habit for the past month or two (or more). By last week, I was feeling very distant from the Lord, as happens when starving from the Word, when I read about this system via a friend's timely suggestion.  So this read, read, read and fill up on the Word was attractive–like a huge glass of water when you are SO thirsty on a hot day–though I was still skeptical about "just" reading (and the good professor even encourages reading quickly... and no dawdling or back reading or looking up cross-references!) OK, then.

My thought after day one was... wow, you can't read ten chapters from ten books of the Bible and not see that every author is really telling the same story ~ how could these ten very different readings have such similar themes? I was reminded of connections I'd known but forgotten, and parts of my brain were startled awake. Like a sleepy enchantment finally being broken, I hear an urgent "Awake O sleeper! Rise up from the dead, and Christ will give you light!"(Ephesians 5:14). Yes! I want to be awake!

Well, I haven't yet gotten through 30 days (which the designer of this plan recommends for trying it out) but I have already benefited from being back in the Word, even just dipping my toes in–ten toes in ten places. One thing is that throughout the day, the Lord is using His Word to speak truth to me, reminding me of Him in many things throughout the day. Though my impression had been that my comprehension was terrible, in fact, His words are coming to mind as normal everyday things remind me of spiritual things.

Today it was the rain.  Cool rain in in the midst of hot summer. So refreshing in a way that causes me to breathe deeply, relax my shoulders, set down my laundry basket, and just sit down and listen to the sound of the rain outside the window.  It seemed like a picture to me of the type of refreshing we should have in the Lord. I thought about my friend and her family in a relentlessly hot place on this planet, no air conditioning in sight (95 degrees inside her house), obeying a call to share the good news with a people living in darkness. I longed to send some of this rain to her dry and weary land, this cool breeze, some measure of refreshment . . . and also refreshing in the Lord.  And I realized that phrase "that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord" was whispering to me from the reading a few days ago. 

May we all have refreshing this week, and most of all ~ times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord.

                                                  ~Sara~


Repent therefore, and turn again, that your sins may be blotted out that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord, and that he may send the Christ appointed for you, Jesus, whom heaven must receive until the time for restoring all the things about which God spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets long ago. ~Acts 3:19-21


Note/Update: Added 9-9-2011 - I do really like this reading plan, but I haven't been able to keep up with the amount of reading during the school year (or even every day in the Summer!).  I'm still doing it very slowly, rotating with the bookmarks but only a few chapters a day and skipping some days. I still like this as a goal...maybe someday. In the meantime, getting all over the Bible has been good for me, even at a very slow pace.


To see how I have adapted this plan with five bookmarks and a "no-dates, you're-never-behind, no-guilt!" approach.  Please visit The Bookmarks Bible Reading Plan.  Blessings! (January 2012)

The grass of the field

Ten years ago, I didn't know that grass could grow to wave above my head.

Five years ago, I hadn't noticed that the grass that grows wild around farm fields comes in various hues of browns, yellows, greens and purples and none are the color of a well tended lawn.  The colors are rich, both lighter and deeper than I'd expect, and shifting as they wave like water upon a rolling sea. The bigger fields look and sound like a distant ocean on a windy night.

A year ago, Kevin said to me, "I think you should write about grass."

Grass?  I really hadn't been looking at grass.

Earlier this week I escaped from the house, remembering that summer is walking its slow pace through the days no matter how pressured I am feeling to do and catch-up and accomplish. Walking along in the truck tracks around the big field, I had to think to breathe and coach myself to feel the evening sun on my face and look around and really notice. Because all of that beauty is there to remind me of reality. Of the God who created it all.  And I had to shut off the voices inside my head to listen; because the outside clamor had been left at home, and what I need most, always, is to be listening for His voice. Sometimes that is easier in a field.

The grass along along the field is so tall that when I walk along with my arms outstretched like a child making airplane wings, my fingers brush right through the purple, feathery heads of the grass. And right at eye level, I can see the delicate differences between the varieties of grass in that place – pollen hanging off each little bud in the cluster like miniature flowers.  So intricate. I was struck once again by how much there is to see that I never pay attention to, laughing a bit with the wonder of something revealed suddenly right in front of me. . . and there is so much more, secret and mysterious and hidden from our sight, that we can't yet see. Things saved for the eyes of the heart.

So I remembered that Kevin had encouraged me to consider the grass. Remembered that my Lord Jesus gently tells me to consider how God clothes the grass of the field and not be anxious. Remembered that my trust only needs to be childlike. Remembered that life is fleeting, like the glory of the flower of grass. Remembered that, unlike grass, the Word of the Lord stands forever – and that Peter tells us that Word is the good news that has been preached to us. Such a gospel! Who could have imagined?

And it became easier to breathe and enjoy the beauty of that grass waving in the evening breeze, even while it is teaching me its lessons.

                                                 ~Sara~




“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."  ~ Matthew 18:3


“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble."  ~ Matthew 6:25-34 



“All flesh is like grass

and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers,
and the flower falls,
but the word of the Lord remains forever.”

And this word is the good news that was preached to you.

~ 1 Peter 1:24-25 (quoting Isaiah 40:8)

The LORD is Risen, Indeed!

I am not a natural morning person, but this Easter morning I was awake in the darkness quietly nursing the baby while half-dozing, half-praying in bed. When I first noticed the light changing I knew it was nearing dawn. I remembered it was Easter and that soon Kevin and the three oldest kids would be needing to get up for choirs and orchestra and the early service at church. I looked at the gray pre-dawn light making a small patch of light on the wall and thought about the women who were up before dawn, to walk in the cold to the tomb where Jesus lay as soon as they could call it day, dreary with grief–and found the stone rolled away.  Then the joy that rose in their hearts as they and then the disciples first discovered that Jesus had risen from the dead and then encountered their glorious Risen Lord and remembered all that He had taught and promised.

Just before the early alarm sounded, the light patch on my wall exploded into a magnificent rose-orange color such that I knew there must be a beautiful sunrise this morning, a reminder to me of the Resurrection, an encouragement deep in my soul.  As Kevin stirred, I pointed out the light patch of amazing color to him and he got up and opened the drapes.

Yes!  A glorious dawn and encouragement to our souls . . .  awake and hear the good news!

Gather Christians, this Easter morning, rejoice and be glad!

The Lord is Risen, Indeed!

I felt strangely drawn to open my computer this morning.  I say strangely because I have a "rule" to never open my computer before church on a Sunday, and it seems strange to use my unexpected peaceful alone time in that way.  Yet, I had a question about the holy spirit on my mind and so decided to look it up on the Desiring God website. I never got past the front page of DG however because I found the following post about the The Overflow of Easter, an encouragement for my soul about the resurrection and it's achievements, and I'm so glad I read it before getting the children up and going, to get ready for church this morning. My Easter worship will be richer for thinking through this.  Then I decided to share the article here and so, here I am writing before the children even wake on a Sunday morning, even Easter.  A first for sure!

And now I am about to begin my day–thinking of Brothers and Sisters throughout the world all gathering together to rejoice in the good news. And thankful for the amazing light on my wall this morning that woke me up with unexpected ease in order to remember and shout to my own soul and the world ~  Yes! The LORD is Risen! The LORD is Risen! The LORD is Risen!

The LORD is Risen, Indeed!

                                                      ~Sara~

Irrepressible light

Recently, I was thinking about the meaning of communion and the symbolism of His body broken for me, and His blood poured out for me, and unexpectedly I had an upwelling of love for our Lord Jesus and His sacrifice for us. It was wonderful for affections for Him to break through the mundane superficiality of my life and the experience was received as a gift. I knew there was nothing in me that had changed. He had opened my heart and I was grateful. Heading into Holy Week and Easter weekend I was hoping that by my own observance of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and then the joyful Resurrection Sunday that I could somehow recapture those feelings I had a few weeks ago, and also, somehow think deeply and dig deeply into my heart to get the whole picture of what He has done for us, for me. Instead–I've been sleep deprived, busy, irritable and distracted and I'm flying up to Easter with only surface attention to the passing days. How like God to give me a gift when it is obviously not of my own work and then to let me see what happens when I try to "make" my own experience!

When I was in the middle of my deeper affections a few weeks ago, I found myself reading through the Passion Week scriptures and really noticing the experience of the women who were closest to Jesus. Oh, what love! What darkness they experienced to the core of their being! And finally, what joy! They followed Him to the cross; they watched the horror unfold; they clung together; they watched their last hope fade; they watched Him suffer on the cross; they stayed until He died from crucifixion; they watched as His death was confirmed with a spear thrust to the side; they stayed to see Him taken down; they followed to see Him laid in the tomb; they left to prepare spices and ointment as darkness fell; they observed the Sabbath and left the tomb alone for agonizing hours as He lay alone, His body unprepared; they came again to anoint His body as soon as they could possibly call it dawn; they arrived to find an empty tomb; they were greatly distressed; they received the good news and explanation of the resurrection from angels; one stayed and heard the Lord Himself speak her name; they returned to the disciples to share the news of the angels and with the report of seeing Him alive... only to be received as women speaking idle talk.

But–their story was confirmed–He appeared again, and again, and again.

They loved, they feared, they followed, they watched, they were devastated, they were confused, they grieved, they cared, they waited, they went to care for his body–all dark, dark days. I try to imagine the darkness of their grief, but it is well beyond my experience. Then they were the first to hear the good news from angels, to find the empty tomb on the third day . . . just as He promised. Mary, lingering and thinking that her grief had been compounded by enemies stealing her Lord's body, is instead called by name by the resurrected Jesus. Her joy is well beyond what I can imagine.

Thinking through my impossible plan to try to feel my way through the weekend really experiencing the dark leading up to Easter, and then the joy–I find that I'm never able to get to that place of grief because the joy and light keep poking in. I'm too tired to concentrate on keeping them out and feel the darkness. I know He is alive! I can't forget the Good News because it is the strength and joy of my life. I don't feel separated from my Lord during Good Friday. I am, at times, overwhelmed with what He has done to atone for sin, once for all. But death could not keep Him in the grave. His sacrifice is perfect and He conquered death for Love and His Glory. At the same time He is here with me on my superficial, tired days, leading me and carrying me and taking me where I need to be step-by-step and giving me the gifts of feeling His presence and feeling deep affection for Him when it is best for me.

Let us remember His suffering.  Let us believe in Him and receive His salvation. Let us be transformed into His bride. And if in our weakness, poor affections and pale imagination we can't grieve properly on this Good Friday for our Lord's dark day or for our sins, let us rejoice that we live on this side of Easter and that what He has accomplished is not dependent on what we do at all.

Yes, let us rejoice this Easter and every day, for the Lord is Risen, Indeed!

                                                                               ~Sara~

ps.  I wrote this on Good Friday 2010, but it reflects so much of my feelings this year as well, I decided to repost.  We are weak . . . Rejoice!