High in the church tower, the large, bronze bell rung the midnight hour. Slowly it swayed, causing the heavy clapper inside it to rhythmically hit the side of the old bell with a gong that reverberated across the moor. Another year had come to a close; a new year was on the threshold, bringing with it the promise of a hope-filled future. Throughout the small village, the residents now opened their doors wide and shouted into the crisp winter night, “Welcome!” to all things good that knocked on the door of the New Year. With laughter, they returned indoors to their candlelights and fires they refused to put out. Hurrying to bed, the excitement of the party plans for the morrow kept many young hearts awake and aflutter.
Meanwhile, at the bell pull, a small lad strained from the weight of the bronze giant, landing as firmly as he could after the airborne flight with each ring. With silent tears freezing upon his cheeks, his sweet soprano voice softly sang the song his mother had taught him long ago in their cottage amongst the heather:
“Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We two have run about the hills,
and picked the daisies fine;
but we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine;
but seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.”
With a final pull, the breathless lad released the rope and staggered back with a shiver. The exertion had not warmed him as much as he had hoped. Wrapping his slender arms around himself, he reluctantly stepped out into the snow. His numb feet refused to feel the cobblestones beneath him, making it difficult to take the few steps from the bell tower to the main doors of the church. Finally, he reached the large wooden doors. Using nearly all the strength he had left, he leaned upon the handles and fell across the church’s threshold, landing face down.
The small boy was roused by a sudden warmth covering his body, from the toes breaking through his worn shoes to the top of his thinly capped head. Slowly, he raised himself onto his knees that poked through his torn breeches. Aware of his surroundings, he quickly removed his cap, letting his headful of blond curls glisten in the candlelight. He fixed his large hazel eyes on the cross that stood at the end of the aisle. “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir. I just come in to get warm. I promise I won’t be no trouble.” Standing up, he made his way to the front. “I know it ain’t proper to be the first to cross a threshold on the New Year’s Day without a gift, but, You see, all I have is me.” Arriving at the altar, he knelt down. “So, if You would be so good as to accept me, I’ll consider that I’ve done my part.”
Just then, a soft hand laid upon the lad’s shoulder. Turning, he gasped and sprang into the arms of his mother. Nestling against her warm bosom, he wept against her ivory-colored neck. “Oh, Mummy! I’ve missed you! But how are you here?”
His mother’s laughter was like the sound of the wooden chimes that used to dance in the breeze of their old home. His fingers became tangled in her golden-red curls as she pulled him away in order to look into his eyes with her green ones. “Oh, Laddy, I have not come to you as much as you have come to me. The angels have given you back to me, and we shall never be apart, again!”
Mother and child embraced with laughter as warmth and music enveloped them.
The next morning, a frozen boy, surrounded by a pile of snow, was removed from the open doorway of the church. Two superstitious cleaning women shook their heads and wagged their tongues, “Filthy little urchin! Probably came in to steal the candlesticks.” “And ain’t it a shame he had to be the first one to cross the church’s threshold on the New Year’s Day, him with no gift to give and that blond hair? Mark me, that means trouble for the church, and likely all who enter, for the rest of this year!”
Twenty years ago, I fell in love. Truth be told, He had been charming me and drawing me to Himself for, literally, as long as I could remember. But there came a specific day that I could say that I truly fell in love with Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
It happened 20 years ago, the first week of October, 2002, during a performance of “Godspell” I attended. I don’t remember the name of the young man who played Jesus, and I don’t know anything about him, but I became captivated by his portrayal. Here was “Jesus”, smile beaming, eyes twinkling, laughing, singing, dancing, praising God WITH His “disciples”, in the midst of them, one with them, as “God with” them!
I was fascinated with the way “Jesus” looked at each of the “disciples”, with love and light in his eyes. I was impressed at the boldness with which “He” literally touched each of them, male and female, differently. There was nothing awkward or inappropriate in these exchanges. It was all done with innocence, purity and the most sincere love!
The crucifixion scene was the most accurate portrayal I had ever seen. There was no distraction of weapons and blood, but the focus was on the real pain Jesus felt: the weight of the sins of the world, betrayal by those He loved, the rejection of His Father, God. No nails held Him in place, only the determination of willing surrender, spurred by love!
I went home rejoicing, excited, and with a longing to get back to something I had walked away from: my writing. I had a desire to show the world the Jesus I had just seen: real, touching and touchable. I sat down at my desk and asked God to write through me. I felt like an outsider looking in as my hand flew across the pages, writing in a style I had never written before (fantasy/Biblical allegory), and actually completing it (story completion on paper was a rarity for me).
Twenty years ago I fell in love with Jesus, and I was inspired to take a writing path I never dreamt possible for me! In celebration of this milestone, I would like to announce my intention to publish the story that my experience, in 2002, inspired. Also, hopefully being released next year is the first in a series of children’s picture books I created (also inspired by my “Godspell” experience). Stay tuned for more details within the coming year!
I want to thank you all for joining me on this wild ride that has been my writing journey! If you are on social media, be sure to follow me on Instagram (my favorite platform) where I endeavor to daily bring enchantment, and where I hope to be expanding my writing platform soon (https://www.instagram.com/sweetsureshot/). You will also find, on Instagram, all my Fairy Tale Flash Fiction stories under #FairyTaleFlashFictionFriday, each with a beautiful picture appropriate to its story.
Twenty years ago I wouldn’t have believed I would be a multi-published author, with more stories waiting to be released, with more in the works! But, here I am, proving that God’s plans for us are good, He uses the simple to confound the wise and all things work together for good for those who love Him, “day by day”! (Jeremiah 29:11, Romans 8:28, 1 Corinthians 1:27)
Your heart leaps when you see your beloved from afar; a movement, a word, a look, a stance, an expression and you are stirred down to the depths of your being.
Their voice falls like soothing music on your ears.
When your eyes meet theirs, the rest of the world disappears, and, though distance may be between you both, you feel held, safe and at home.
You don’t need a special day or a specific time and place set apart to spend precious moments together; inexpressible joy and peace comes from merely “being” near one another.
One day, one moment, near your beloved is like a piece of Heaven.
You long to give all you have in order to express the full extent of your love, but nothing is enough.
Finally, the longing to give is so great that you are sure the only way to adequately express your love is to pour out your life’s blood; alas, even then the blood will cease.
When you are in love, there are no words to adequately describe the depths of stirrings you feel; there is no sacrifice too great, if it may only give your beloved a glimpse into all you feel for them.
Oh, let that love not be wasted!
To be in love.
True love.
For God so loved you that He poured out every last drop of His blood for you, through the body of His only Son, Jesus, just so that you would have a glimpse into all He feels for you, because He wants to be near you.
He wants to lock eyes with you across a crowded room and make you feel safe and at home, where you are.
Because He loves to hear your voice fall like music on His ears.
Because He watches you as you sleep and sings over you with gladness.
God is in love with you.
Oh, that His love would not be wasted!
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” John 3:16-17 ESV
“The Lord your God is in the midst of you, a Mighty One, a Savior [Who saves]! He will rejoice over you with joy; He will rest [in silent satisfaction] and in His love He will be silent and make no mention [of past sins, or even recall them]; He will exult over you with singing.” Zephaniah 3:17 AMPC
Over the time of nearly a hundred years of filmmaking, one classic book has been brought to the screen over and over, again: Little Women. Every film version has its own style and interpretation of the Louisa May Alcott classic. I’ve seen nearly all of them, my favorite being the ’94, Winona Ryder release. In 2018, in honor of the book’s 150th anniversary, some clever workers of magic in the film industry decided that Little Women could be brought into the 21st century, with little changes done to the original story. They were right, and they brought forth a well-done, theatrical release, starring Sarah Davenport!
It seems to me that the story of Little Women has become more dear to me over the years, as I have truly grown up with it. I’ve watched versions of Little Women ever since I was a child younger than the youngest March child, Amy, starting with the Katharine Hepburn and June Allyson classics. By the time Ryder’s version came out, I was the age of the young Jo March. With the 2018 release, I was, probably, the age of the mother, Marmee!
I think every woman can find herself in at least one of the March women, and, perhaps, a mixture of all, or some, of them. I used to see myself in the introverted, happy-to-stay-home-with-my-toys-and-pets Beth. As my passion for writing and individuality grew, I, of course, saw much of Jo in myself.
The day before this Mother’s Day, I watched the 2018, Davenport, modern version. I was surprised by how much it moved me. Not in seeing myself, this time, but in seeing my own mother in Marmee. If you’re not careful, you can overlook Marmee; she’s a bit like her eldest, Meg: in the background, faithful wife and mother. She has a bit of her third daughter, Beth, in her: happy to be at home, surrounded by those she loves. Perhaps, before she married Mr. March, she had some of her youngest, Amy, in her: dreams of romance and becoming a great lady, living in grandeur. And, I think, she must have the fire and determination of her second born, Jo, in order to keep it all together and raise four, independent individuals, mostly, by herself. The bottom line is, none of the March children could have achieved their dreams if Marmee forced them into a mold of her own design or that of the world’s.
Watching this movie, with this new perspective, made me a bit emotional. It made me think of my own “Marmee”, and all she gave for me and my siblings in order to always be there and available for us. As in the 2018 movie, my own “Marmee” opened the way for us to reach our “castles in the air” and encouraged us to “fill them wisely”. By raising us according to our individual bents, and making the only request that we put God first, we were allowed the freedom to discover the completion of the sentence unique to each of us. For me, that sentence, “I, Sarah Shere…” continues with my heart echoing Jo’s, “I…will be a very successful writer,” then goes beyond, to things I would have never dreamed I could possibly do or be. For me and Jo, attaining those dreams (or even having the courage to dream them, in the first place) are a credit to the hard work, love, support and encouragement of our own “Marmee”s.
I see, too, now that there is much of Beth in my mother. Perhaps she is “My Beth” to my inner Jo: the one whom I can always confide in; the one who always believes in me; the one who supports all my crazy dreams and goals.
Like Beth, My mother would say to her husband and children, “This is my castle, just being here with all of you.”
This Mother’s Day, I want to say thank you to my Marmee, my Beth, for always helping each of us reach our castles, no matter where they ended up being.
Not long ago, His kind, gentle eyes had sparkled at me as He told me a story. “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable shall we use to illustrate and explain it? It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all seeds upon the earth; yet after it is sown, it grows up and becomes the greatest of all garden herbs and puts out large branches, so that the birds of the air are able to make nests and dwell in its shade.”(Mark 4:30-32 AMPC)
I stared up at His face, now. Those once shining eyes were closed, tears flowing from them, mixing with the blood trickling from the open wounds on His forehead, caused by the crown of thorns pressed down upon His brow. Here hung the mustard seed, the source of all our faith, about to be buried in the earth. But, when it would rise (as it was destined to do), it would come up and become the greatest movement ever to be seen on the earth, stretching across continents, reaching into the darkest parts of the world, becoming a place of safety and rest for those who put their trust within it.
I heard an angry mob gather. They shouted up at Him Who hung on the cross, “Come down and save us! Stay on this earth and build Your kingdom here and now!” The mob stormed the hill, waving signs and planting flags. They began to beat down those who had driven the spikes through their Saviour. Beneath the noise of the throng, I heard a faint whisper come from above, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. This is why I was born, and for this I have come into the world. My kingdom belongs not to this world.” (Luke 23:34, John 18:37 & John 18:36 APMC)
***
A throng huddled in the cramped, underground room. Silence was heavy for fear of discovery. A girl sitting by the outside wall shook her cellphone in frustration. They had found a way to shut it off, again. She laid it down and looked around for something to write on, and something to write with. Suddenly, she had an idea. She reached for the back of her collar and ripped off the tag there. She then picked up a burnt match and made an effort to write with it on the back of her tag. When she was done, she rolled up the tag. Looking up, she saw her sister watching her. Her sister shook her head with doubt. The girl responded by signing, “There still may be one person out there who will listen!” She looked over at her mother who wearily smiled and nodded. With that encouragement, the girl stuffed the rolled-up tag into the end of a straw. Carefully, she stuck the end with the tag through a crack in the wall and blew through the other end. She pulled back the empty straw, settled back against her father and wondered if her message would be received.
***
A young man ran as fast as his feet could carry him, a flag on a pole in his left hand and a tag with worn-out writing clenched in his right fist. Suddenly, he stopped. He was surrounded by armed troopers, setting their sights on him. A command was shouted to him over a bullhorn, “Drop the flag and renounce allegiance to all but our leader!”
The young man hesitated, his heart pounding. He then dropped the flag. Another order was given, “Open your hand,and drop what you have!”
The boy held his fist tighter. A third order was given, this time to the troopers, “Fire,” then, “Remove the body from the street.”
An older trooper, near the age of his retirement, approached the young man’s body stretched out on a flag of stars and stripes. His heart was heavy with the task that lay before him. Then, curiosity seized him. Looking first to make sure no one was watching, he gently opened up the boy’s right hand. Carefully, he unrolled the tag and squinted to make out the words barely visible. A gasp caught in his throat and tears rushed to his eyes at the familiar words his grandmother had read to him long ago: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16 NKJV)
Tenderly, the older man picked up the lifeless body of the younger. As he stood with the boy in his arms, he whispered near the lad’s ear another verse he recalled from his youth, “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, (God) will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your Lord.” Matthew 25:23 NKJV
Two years later, a retired trooper was sentenced to execution after being found to be a traitor to the leader of the free world. He died peacefully in his sleep the night before his execution date, gripping a tattered tag in his hand, originally owned by a young girl who faithfully did all she could with all she had.
One Man died on a cross and rose from the grave three days later. He showed us what it is to love unconditionally, how to forgive freely, taught us to give all we can with all we have and showed us that one voice can change the world! “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:37 APMC)
In October of 2002 I fell in love with a real, touching, touchable Jesus, as presented through a live production of “Godspell”. My love for writing was rekindled, as a longing grew in me to use my writings to present a picture to others of the Jesus I had just seen. I was further inspired to take my stories into the Biblical, fantasy and allegorical genre.
I wish I could make everyone fall in love with Jesus the way I did in that first week of October, back in 2002. All I can do is give my testimony, encourage you through my writings, and pray that you will open your heart to the Lover and Creator of your soul. He is so patient. And He is so in love with you! When you discover, and truly believe, that you have everything you could ever want and dream in Jesus (and you can be perfectly content if the entire world turned its back on you, because you have Jesus), then you will have the peace and freedom to love others without fear or concern about receiving anything in return.
A Picture of my Heart
by Sarah Earlene Shere
November 2, 2002
“Once upon a time”, is always what I dreamed. I’d close my door, turn out the light and be transported to another place, another time, where I was a princess dressed so fine. I peered into the darkness and there was my prince: not too short, not too tall; long, thick hair; warm, strong arms I could feel around me; eyes that sparkled like stars and a smile that shamed the sun!
One day I met a man who seemed to fit my dream prince to a tee. But, in a short while, he was taken away from me. And when I looked into the night to see my dream prince, once again, not one hint of a shadow came to view. I cried, for I felt two loves had been taken from me!
Then one day, not so long ago, my dream prince, once again, was seen. However, this time, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before! My Prince’s hands and feet were scarred, as if recently pierced, His side bore a mark, as if He’d been run through. He opened His arms and smiled at me, as He used to do. I fell to the ground, kissed His feet and cried, “Lord, my God, it’s You I’ve always loved!” He picked me up into His arms and held me to His chest.
I can, again, feel His warm, strong arms holding me up to higher ground. His eyes ARE the stars, His smile IS the sun, His voice IS Power, Love, Authority, Peace, and Joy! He is, and forever will be, my True Love, my Prince of Peace! And I know we’ll “live happily ever after”, for eternity!
I want to share with you a short story I wrote, based on my characterization of my role from last year’s Masquer Theatre Company’s “Traditions ‘19”. Trying to fit myself into the main story that was happening all around me, and asking myself why I would be singing “Coventry Carol” with deep feeling and emotion, Angelica was created. These were the thoughts and feelings I was “channeling”, if you will, backstage and during the performance. Some of these were the things going through my mind backstage while “angels” literally danced before me and “God” sat watching. One day, I would love to write a story based on the characterization I have done for all my Masquer rolls. For now, I pray you are blessed by this first story toward reaching that goal. Merry Christmastide!
Angelica’s Traditions
by Sarah Earlene Shere
The snow laden city against the night sky looked like a Christmas postcard. Warmly clad people with umbrellas streaked the scene with shades of black and grey. It seemed the only colors that existed were that of the traffic lights, passing cars and the strings of Christmas lights that adorned the buildings. In one corner of this little world hovered a young woman, cloaked in darkness.
Angelica stood there in the unlit alley, her hands resting against her stomach, unsure of how she had come to the place she now stood. It had been almost two weeks since her procedure. She had not expected to feel movement at such an early stage. But she did, just before…. It was done now. “Nothing more to worry about,” she had been told. She had not expected to feel like a piece of herself had been removed. How did this happen? She wondered.
Angelica went back in her mind as far as she could. She vaguely had an image of a child version of herself, so small, so happy. But then her little world changed. She recalled lying in her dark room each night hearing her parents yelling and things breaking outside her closed door. Most mornings found the child tentatively venturing out of her room, her mother passed out on the couch, empty bottles and small plastic bags strewn around her.
The child began to starve for affection and attention. Finally she felt that she had just that. But it came with a price, shrouded in darkness and impurity. Soon it became her only definition of “love”. At an early age she discovered it was the one thing that brought a semblance of peace. And, ultimately, profit. She began to believe the lies Satan whispered in her ear: here was her worth; here she was wanted; here she belonged.
Angelica was brought back to the present at the sound of singing from some carolers as they strolled down the sidewalk. There was one memory that stood apart from the rest: her grandmother! Her grandmother was the one, pure light in Angelica’s little life. Every Christmas was spent with her. She recalled walking along with her down the busy sidewalks, laughing, singing carols softly, feeling like they were the only two people in the world! She lowered her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. What would Grandmother say now?
Absentmindedly, Angelica stepped out from the alley and into the busy walkway. People laughed, greeted each other warmly and even danced before her. But all Angelica could see was the darkness of her depression. Slowly she made her way to the bridge. There was nothing left to live for. With the procedure she felt like a piece of herself had died. She had always been able to excuse the choices she had made, but this one, to take a life before it had truly had a chance to live, she found that unforgivable.
Angelica stepped up onto the edge of the bridge. She knew no one would miss her. Her Grandmother had once told her that God was always with her, watching over her. Well, if that was the case, He knew what she had done. She would save Him the trouble of punishing her. She didn’t know what awaited her on “the other side”, but she was sure it could be no worse than the “life” she had been living. Oh, she thought, Wouldn’t it be wonderful if death would finally bring a little peace and rest? She knew she was not destined for eternal happiness; a state of mindlessness sounded wonderful!
Just then, something made Angelica stop and turn away from the raging, icy river. A familiar old Christmas hymn fell upon her ears. There, across the street, she recognized the cathedral where she and her grandmother used to attend Christmas Eve service. She remembered the song being called, “The Wexford Carol”. That seemed like such a funny title to her as a child. Now she found herself walking beside the impressive, stone edifice, entranced by the haunting melody coming from inside. Soon she was at the giant, double doors. She hurried to the back of a crowd that was just about to go in. She was the last to slip in, making sure to keep close to the tall woman in front of her, hoping to be blocked from view.
Inside, candlelights shown like little spotlights all around. She hurried past the rows of filled pews, her head down and her arms tightly wrapped around herself. She slid into a place near the tall woman she had followed in, still hoping to be hidden. Suddenly, a small, white feather lying beside her caught her eye. She recalled how her grandmother told her that guardian angels are all around us like ministering spirits. She slowly turned the feather between her fingers and wished that she could see and feel the comfort of beautiful angels, dressed in radiant white, standing near her. Warmth enveloped Angelica, caused by the enclosure and the crowd of bodies. This, mingled with the gentle music of a piano and violin, began to lull her to sleep.
Angelica soon began to dream. Suddenly, she was a little girl, again, sitting next to her grandmother in the stone cathedral on Christmas Eve. Grandmother was smiling down at her, and she was looking up into those gentle eyes with a smile of her own. But then the vision changed. She began to relive the day her grandmother became very ill, and then the day she passed. She remembered crying and begging her grandmother to not leave her. Slowly she began to stir and awaken. She felt her heart aching. She felt sure that her grandmother would be so ashamed of her.
Just then, a choir of women began to sing another hymn that she had heard every Christmastime in that old church, “The Coventry Carol”. This time, the words describing the painful loss of the innocent lives taken by King Herod, when Jesus was an infant, took on new meaning as they fell upon her ears . Angelica saw the song as a mother singing her last lullaby to the lifeless child in her arms. She thought of her own loss of her “poor youngling”, a loss she, like King Herod, had ordered, herself.
Angelica began to tremble and tears rushed to her eyes, as she instinctively stood and followed the congregation who was making their way to the altar to leave their offering. When it came her turn, she stared at the offering receptacle blindly. All she had to give was herself. Nothing else. And nothing better. She saw herself, again, with her grandmother. “That woe is me, poor child, for thee.” What was past was past. It could not be changed. There was no use in crying over it any longer. Her grandmother was in Heaven. She was sure her “little, tiny child” was, too; perhaps even in her grandmother’s arms. A vision suddenly came to her mind of her grandmother smiling upon her. “Bye bye, lully, lullay.” She looked up. Could her grandmother have a different perspective, right now, and still be looking down on her with love?
The entire congregation came alive with a rousing rendition of the first verse of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” as they made their way back to their seats. A man, in passing, smiled warmly at Angelica, but she could not find the strength to return the favor. More than that, the pleasant joy on his face was like a foreign language to her; she knew not how to respond.
Once seated, the pastor took to the pulpit and began his message. Angelica straightened up in the pew. She had heard many preachers before, ruthlessly condemning her and the choices she had made. She sat with a kind of armor in place, and kept her emotions in check. She glanced at the woman on her left who stared ahead with a smile, and judged her critically. Brainwashed with religious rhetoric since childhood, she supposed. She then glanced at the wide-eyed teenager on her right. Shining with youthful hope and innocence. She’ll learn, she thought.
Suddenly, something the pastor said caught her attention. Perhaps it wasn’t what he said as much as the way he said it. He told the Christmas story, and wrapped it with the gospel message, with such gentleness, compassion and simplicity. “God sent His only Son to earth to pay the price for our sin,” he said, “All we have to do is believe and receive it as a free gift.” Angelica was cynical; hurt from those she had trusted in the past had made her heart grow cold. Why should she believe the things she heard from this man, now? The only person she could ever trust was her grandmother.
The message came to a close. Music began to play. People began to sing and cry. Indifference upon her face, Angelica felt alone among the crowd. She knew she was out of place. And yet, she began to have a hunger to feel what those around her were feeling. She longed to feel like what was being sung and talked about was real! She looked around herself, mentally and emotionally standing apart as she judged those around her. Her eyes were dry, her hands were cold.
Angelica began challenging the heavenly music to suddenly puncture and open her heart. She longed for a feeling of being blessed unexpectedly. If only there could be music of Heaven that would open a pathway to her soul and let something glorious into it! She wanted to feel the freedom to give up control to something grander and higher! She waited, wondering when it would open her heart. When would she open her heart?
The congregation began to sing another song that, yet again, reminded her of her childhood days with her grandmother. She remembered her grandmother singing this song with such sincerity and joy. She heard them singing to a “Holy Father”. She wanted to join in. She wanted to claim a father who loved and valued her, so different than the father she had grown up with.
The pastor spoke in a break in the song, inviting those who wanted to be set free of the chains of their past to say, “Yes”, to God calling them to come to His heart and receive His free gift of love and forgiveness. Suddenly, Angelica felt something prick her heart. She bowed her head as tears rushed to her eyes. She whispered, “Yes, I believe. Lord, help my unbelief.” Instantly, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her! She didn’t understand it. She couldn’t explain it. But she felt new. She felt loved! Joy rose up inside of her that had to be released. She began singing along with the congregation, saying, “Yes,” to her Holy, Heavenly Father. She enthusiastically joined them in rising to their feet. She and the teenage girl next to her even caught each other’s eye and almost laughed at the happiness they saw in the other. They grabbed each other’s hand and raised them in praise.
Finally, the song slowed down to a close. Angelica lowered her head and closed her eyes. A warm peace wrapped around her heart. She smiled as she looked up. Her eyes lingered on the wooden cross that stood on the platform across from her. She considered the wondrous Love that had come down to earth for her in the form of a baby on Christmas, laid down its life for her on a cross on Good Friday, and rose from the dead, so that she need not fear death, on Easter morning. Angelica lowered her head, again, and whispered, “Thank You.”
The numbness wrapped around my heart. I was tired of thinking, tired of feeling, tired of not feeling. The room was filled with a blinding light. My head was swimming in the cacophony of voices all around me. Suddenly, a wave swept over my body and knocked me off my feet. I struggled as I felt myself going under. I gasped for air each time my head broke above the water. I had no voice, but, with an upraised hand, my heart cried, “Save me”. In an instant, the flood waters drained out from under me, bringing me hard to my knees. I coughed up the water that had threatened to fill my lungs.
Then, I saw there, just ahead of me, a pair of bare feet marked with wounds from nails. I lifted my head to see Him standing there, my Lord, shining gloriously, with a smile on His face! I bowed my head. I could think of nothing to say, although a million words swirled in my mind. At that moment, I felt a cool breeze come close to my ear and whisper one word: Hope. The word drifted through my head and made its way to my heart where it took root. Hope!
Pull back the curtain. What do you see? There is a little girl and a little boy embracing each other with laughter. There are tears in their eyes. It is uncertain as to whether these are from pure joy or from an underlying piece of regret from a past life nearly forgotten. They linger in each other’s arms; they seem to forget the world around them. Finally, they fly apart, conversing excitedly at once. Now they clasp hands and run off, down the hillside, toward a celestial city on the horizon reaching from the clouds down to the Earth.
Here is our Hope, for this we live and breath and carry on; for this promise we continue through the filth of the battle that currently rages around us. Salvation. Eternal Life. No more sorrow. No more pain. No more death. No more fear. No more insecurities. Healing. Restoration. Resurrection. Life in the presence of God forever! This is Hope. This is the promise given to us on Easter morning!
We’re not like those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We have a living hope (1 Peter 1:3), a hope of eternal salvation that does not disappoint us (Romans 5:5). Faith is the substance of this hope, perceiving as real fact what is not revealed to the senses (Hebrews 11:1 AMPC).
No matter how you do or do not feel, this truth is real. This Easter, cling to your Risen Lord, by Faith. He IS Risen, Indeed!
Love. Love. Right. Now. You can’t change the past. You can’t manipulate the future…not really.
Love is patient. Be patient. Love is kind. Be kind. God is love. Let God reign in your mortal bodies.
Love is like a woman standing at the hospital bedside of the man she adores while he lies in a coma. She’s told, “you’re wasting your time”, “he doesn’t even know you’re there”. But she remains, a faithful standby, trusting that he hears the words unspoken. Every now and then she ventures to gently touch him, lightly, as in a reverent caress. When the tears well up in her eyes she whispers, “I love you”, and trusts he somehow hears.
Love is like a father and a mother, standing at the door of their home, watching, through tears, their prodigal child become a distant blur on the horizon. Their grip was strong, but, when the child twisted free with a shout, they willingly released, trusting that theirs was not the hold that could conform the child to obedience and righteousness, praying that their lost lamb will run till they reach the end of the path and fall into the arms of Jesus.
Love is like the Good Shepherd Who drops everything He’s doing to seek after the one lamb that has gone astray. He will not rest till He has found and rescued this lamb. He shall then bring it back into fellowship with those from which it strayed. And then, oh, what a day of rejoicing that will be!
“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.” 1 John 4:7 NKJV
Trust. Trust the Spirit of God to be at work in your brothers and sisters in Christ. For it is written: “The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord, as are the watercourses; He turns it whichever way He wills” (Proverbs 21:1 AMPC). How much more so can it be said of a child of God?
I encourage you to read this familiar passage and replace each reference to and use of the word “love” with your name:
“Love endures long and is patient and kind; love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy, is not boastful or vainglorious, does not display itself haughtily.
“It is not conceited (arrogant and inflated with pride); it is not rude (unmannerly) and does not act unbecomingly. Love (God’s love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong].
“It does not rejoice at injustice and unrighteousness, but rejoices when right and truth prevail.
“Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening].
“Love never fails [never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end]….” 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 AMPC
Convicting, isn’t it? Now be comforted as you read it, again, this time, replacing every reference and use of the word “love” with “God”.
God is Love! Oh, what hope we have for a glorious future when we fully believe in the Lover of our souls, our First Love, Jesus Christ!
“For now we are looking in a mirror that gives only a dim (blurred) reflection [of reality as in a riddle or enigma], but then [when perfection comes] we shall see in reality and face to face! Now I know in part (imperfectly), but then I shall know and understand fully and clearly, even in the same manner as I have been fully and clearly known and understood [by God].” 1 Corinthians 13:12 AMPC
It’s hard not knowing how another person needs loved. Equally so, it’s hard knowing how they need loved when the way is foreign to you. But the good news is that God is multilingual. He can teach you the other languages if we let Him love through us. From Him we can each learn what it is to love rightly and to feel completely loved by Him through others who are loving us in the same way: His way! God loves you exactly the way you need loved!
“This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us…
“…And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us…
“…And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister (in Christ).” 1 John 4: 10-12, 16-19 & 21 NIV
Thus, also, we must sacrifice ourselves in order to let God’s love dwell within us and extend to others. If each of us focuses on sacrificing what we want in order to, instead, meet the needs of others, eventually we shall all meet in the middle, where God is there, at the center, shining His perfect love on all of us, casting out every fear!
“And so faith, hope, love abide [faith—conviction and belief respecting man’s relation to God and divine things; hope—joyful and confident expectation of eternal salvation; love—true affection for God and man, growing out of God’s love for and in us], these three; but the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13 AMPC
May each of you fall desperately in love with Jesus, the Lover of our souls, this Valentine’s Day!
Hosanna Heralds 