What was it like on a Friday in Jerusalem almost 2,000 years ago?
Did the scent of budding and blooming life mingle with the metallic tang of His blood?
Was the air filled with the songs of birds before the darkness enveloped the city?
Ironic - the Creator allowed His creation to use His raw materials to crucify Him.
He stayed on the cross, held by puny metal nails.
Did the angels hover by the throne of the Almighty, begging with their eyes, hoping for a sign or a word that would release them to help Him?
The earth quaked.
Did the doves mourn?
What was it like for the Light of the world to have been cut off from the blinding Light of His Father's face?
The source of Life's life slowly, painfully ebbed away with each pump of His strangled heart.
The Wonderful Counselor was alone. No one to share His grief, or hold His head or hand and whisper, "there, there."
He did this for a small handful of worthless creatures who would choose to love Him.
He died my death, that day on the cross.
Then came Sunday morning.........and the rising of the Son.
He called me out of the darkness, and calls me His bride.
Maranatha.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Bad Idea - Part 4
Not only did I have to go to work on Slick Thursday, but I had two other must-dos. My writing support group meeting and a trip to the mall to pick up my daughter's engraved graduation locket couldn't be missed.
I pulled my greasy Medusa locks into a messy ponytail. Copped a little swagger, and projected the "I meant to do that" attitude and I hurried to the jewelry store.
I don't know if it was the glare from the overheads that caught everyone's eye, or if it was the eau du salad wafting behind me, but I pretty much had everyone's attention. Did I mention that I had begun rinsing with vinegar after each futile shampoo post cornstarch dump?
With my prized locket clutched in my hand, I hurried to the car and braced myself for one last frontier.
We meet in the coffee shop of a large Christian bookstore. Had this Vaseline incident happened today, I'd share it with the group and we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the stories that could come out of it.
But this particular meeting was only my fourth, ever. Published, intimidating authors populated the group.
I arrived fashionably late and slide into an open chair. All eyes fastened on me. I froze and eked out a tiny princess wave.
No one asked, though subtle sniffs seemed to come from my writer friends as they walked past my chair. And I caught many odd glances, but I didn't say a word.
Survival strengthened me.
On Friday, my locks still squirmed like Medusa's on a bad hair day. Shirlee breezed in with a perfect coif and a giggle. I hummed "I Will Survive."
By Sunday, the surface of my hair was dry to the touch. A week later it shone and luxuriated around my shoulders.
The benefits lasted about two days, then I had to pay for the harsh treatment.
Come back next week and I'll share what I learned while I was greasy.
I pulled my greasy Medusa locks into a messy ponytail. Copped a little swagger, and projected the "I meant to do that" attitude and I hurried to the jewelry store.
I don't know if it was the glare from the overheads that caught everyone's eye, or if it was the eau du salad wafting behind me, but I pretty much had everyone's attention. Did I mention that I had begun rinsing with vinegar after each futile shampoo post cornstarch dump?
With my prized locket clutched in my hand, I hurried to the car and braced myself for one last frontier.
We meet in the coffee shop of a large Christian bookstore. Had this Vaseline incident happened today, I'd share it with the group and we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the stories that could come out of it.
But this particular meeting was only my fourth, ever. Published, intimidating authors populated the group.
I arrived fashionably late and slide into an open chair. All eyes fastened on me. I froze and eked out a tiny princess wave.
No one asked, though subtle sniffs seemed to come from my writer friends as they walked past my chair. And I caught many odd glances, but I didn't say a word.
Survival strengthened me.
On Friday, my locks still squirmed like Medusa's on a bad hair day. Shirlee breezed in with a perfect coif and a giggle. I hummed "I Will Survive."
By Sunday, the surface of my hair was dry to the touch. A week later it shone and luxuriated around my shoulders.
The benefits lasted about two days, then I had to pay for the harsh treatment.
Come back next week and I'll share what I learned while I was greasy.
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