In the past several weeks, I have wreaked havoc upon this unsuspecting, formerly peaceful household. I have broken to smithereens:

Not one but TWOglasses,

A pottery plate,

Not one but TWO (TWO!) honey jars,

An unopened jar of minced garlic

And something else, I vaguely recall, but I can't remember what it was now. Might have been the spoon I put through the garbage disposal last night but was able to bend back into some semblance of what it had been.

?

It's beginning to cross the line from embarrassment to incredulousity (which I don't think is a word... but why not just break the rules of the English language while I'm breaking everything else my hand touches?).

My responses have varied, through the mayhem, from trying to hide the shards in the garbage can (didn't work...he smelled the garlic)

...To cringing as the piece slips from my fingers and smashes on the floor,

...To being really, really shocked (Will someone please save the world from me before I destroy it!?)

...To being vastly annoyed,

...To praying that God would put the pieces back together (Yes, I did. I heard a story where that happened once but it didn't work for me. Go figure!)

...To resignation. This must just be my life right now.

Breaking things.

Soooo humbling. There's nothing that brings you to a point of abject humility quite like a phase of breaking other peoples possessions.

Please pray it passes quickly and in the meantime I think I will go buy some bubble wrap and enshroud all valuables in it.

Oh and poor Mr. Gren. He's handling it like a trooper... other than a few wry remarks about how I have "broken" the record and have actually destroyed more things than he and Miss Elisabeth combined, the past 33 years.

This morning I celebrated the Resurrection in an Anglican church. It was different from any Easter service I have ever attended. The most majestic by far, I should say. For me it felt impersonal and a bit foreign, in some ways... but glorious, still. As if it would feel if I were worshipping in Westminster Abby, only on a (waaaaaaay) smaller scale. As the music played and hands were lifted in "hallelujah" to our Victorious Savior, tears came and I felt that indeed, He ought to be worshipped by skillful musicians! (Psalm 33:3) Though His heart is just as blessed by a heartfelt worshipper on a twangy guitar and an off-tune voice (amazing! And reassuring! Aren't you glad He doesn't judgmentally rate or"score" our worship!?), still it felt right to hear the grand sounds and majestic, triumphant strains of trumpet and organ praising Him. And I had to snatch a few tidbits of the music with my iPhone!

The vicar read the following poem. These types of poetry normally aren't my style (too high-fallutin' and mystical) but for some reason this one, I liked. I appreciated envisioning Christ's resurrection as an actual happening. Not just a flash of light and a bang and suddenly He's on His feet outside the tomb...but a flesh-and-blood rekindling of His cells and re-warming of His blood and the first beat of His heart. Why? Because this revolutionary truth has arrested me this Easter-- that in rising from the dead, He not only proved His power in the Spirit realm, but He proved it in the physical realm. He proved that He is Lord over my body and not just Lord over my soul. He gained the right to claim victory over my flesh and not just my spirit. He is the God of the LIVING and not the God of the DEAD! Praise King Jesus!!!

SEVEN STANZAS OF EASTER

By John Updike

Make no mistake: if He rose at all

it was as His body;

if the cells' dissolution did not reverse, the molecules

reknit, the amino acids rekindle,

the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,

each soft Spring recurrent;

it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled

eyes of the eleven apostles;

it was as His Flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,

the same valved heart

that — pierced — died, withered, paused, and then

regathered out of enduring Might

new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,

analogy, sidestepping transcendence;

making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the

faded credulity of earlier ages:

let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,

not a stone in a story,

but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow

grinding of time will eclipse for each of us

the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,

make it a real angel,

weighty with Max Planck's quanta, vivid with hair,

opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen

spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,

for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,

lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are

embarrassed by the miracle,

and crushed by remonstrance.

Note: Am I just ignorant? Do most people know what "Max Planck's Quanta" is? I thought it was some Latin phrase when the vicar read it. Had no clue. So I Googled it.

And then I felt stupid.

Anyhow.

Here's a short clip from this morning's service.

The Robe

I finished watching this film a few minutes ago. Sounds like a cliche, but as with each time I watch it, I've again been deeply moved and inspired by the story. There's a lot to take away from it; a lot to think about after watching it. It's one of the few that I don't get tired of watching...A fantastic, epic classic which is perfect to watch over Easter week. Fiction, of course, but it gives a powerful portrayal of the impact that Christ's death and resurrection had on those fortunate enough to be in direct contact with Him.

To watch it on YouTube, click here (it's pretty good quality, if you don't mind having so switch to a new part ever 10-15 minutes!) I'm sure you could rent it if you'd rather.

Our Song...

NOTE:

Just spoke with Carlee and got the word that her blood work has come back clear! Thanks for prayers. :)

Today is a rainy, dreary afternoon.

Isn't it strange, how the whether affects your mood?

I was looking for an encouraging song on my iTunes account and came across this one. It's kind of a paraphrase of Psalm 3 that I wrote for my sister Carlee when she was battling breast cancer.

I can't really take credit for the thoughts expressed in the song--thanks to King David-- so I don't suppose it's I'll-mannered for me to say that it's made my heart feel somewhat restful again today. Outside the window, a brooding sky hovers over a gray, tempestuous ocean. And yet:

You, LORD, are a shield around me,

my glory, the One who lifts my head high.

I call out to the LORD,

and he answers me from His holy mountain.

Carlee goes in for a 6-month check up tomorrow, and I'm sure would be grateful for your prayers. Those days when we sat and cried through this song seem far away; but somehow, not far enough away.

I love you, sis. :)

Wow!

I just had to put this video on here because I'm smiling ear-to-ear and just marveling at God's goodness! Jeff's a guy I've done a little ministry with as our churches have partnered together at different times, and I've always been so amazed by his passion for God and for evangelism. He has deeply challenged my life in that regards.

Fast forward to today, when I've been kinda' thinking and praying. recently an acquaintance of mine hinted to me that my sights are set too high; that I'll never find a man with the passion for God and for His glory like I'm looking for. Another friend told me point blank that he's not completely sure there are men of the calibre I'm looking for left. In essence, it's been hinted to me, I should just settle for less. ...And then I found this video.

...May a vent for a moment?

No way. Not going to happen. This video re-focused my heart and made it all crystal clear again. My sights are NOT set to high. I am NOT being a perfectionist. Whether he's out there or not, I refuse to give in and date OR marry anyone other than a CRISIS MAN. What is a crisis man, you may ask?

He may not be handsome.

He may not be rich.

He may not be incredibly talented.

He may not have a college degree.

He may not have a killer personality.

But his heart will echo Jim Elliot's, who said this:

"Father, make of me a crisis man.

Bring those I contact to decision.

Let me not be a milepost on a single road;

make me a fork, that men must turn one way or another

on facing Christ in me."

In the following video you will see a couple who has married for the glory of GOD... not merely for their own happiness. In fact, they would have been willing to walk out of the relationship at any time if God had not made it crystal clear to them that they could serve Him best together. What a glorious reason to marry. :) (The reason, in my book!)

So, friends, family, and nosey strangers on the street who expect me to divulge the secrets of my love life to you; I will answer the question once and for all of why I am not married, and you can tuck it in your pocket and remember it:

When a crisis man finds me, one with whom I can glorify God better than if I was alone, I will fall madly in love and marry him. If I am neither madly in love nor married, you can assume that neither of these things have happened and I'm still waiting. (Oh and did I mention that 20 year vow of celibacy I made?*)

*Just kiddin'.

I don't know... maybe there aren't many men like that left; "crisis men." Men who want to study the Word with their wives and lead them in spiritual work. Men who have a vision to raise a family for the glory of God, and impact a generation with the knowledge of the saving power of Christ. Men who want to expend their lives doing hard things that MATTER instead of building a career and living comfortable, useless lives. Men who value purity above beauty and passion above personality. But let me add that if I never marry, it will not be a tragedy. Because "waiting" for me does not mean sitting idly twiddling my thumbs until a man comes throwing rocks at my window. It means enjoying my awesome God and serving Him and His children with all the passion He gives me!

Enjoy this video. It made me squeal a little bit and as RuthAnn and my family knows, normally only really romantic movies do that to me. Lol!