Two pages of print so fine I resort to going without my glasses. My vision is aging, my prescription apparently needs changing.
Side note, 49 got me worse than 50 did and I’m thinking 59’s gonna hit me hard the same.
Still, oh mercy me…I’ve come along way in my most recent ten years!
Thank you Jesus!
At first I thought I might just focus on Ephesians, the second chapter.
I’ll take just a few words and I linger in my absorption of their meaning being just a tad different.
“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us,”
Ephesians 2:4 ESV
I felt the emotion of remembrance and I let it set in
Yesterday, I listened to a podcast that always welcomes the discussion of hard things.
A pastor, raised by his grandmother talked about his struggles and I won’t attempt to quote him, it’d be better if you listen in.
I’m out walking.
Fooled by the morning temps now hot, achy for some reason. I pressed on if for no other reason than to get back home.
And I listened.
At the end of this podcast, Lisa Whittle asks her guests an every episode question.
What’s the last thing you’d say about Jesus? Lisa Whittle
When Derrick Hawkins answered, I said “Oh” out loud and again “Oh, my.”
I’ll remember that like a Bible story, I’ll consider it significant.
When the woman at the house of the leper in Bethany poured out expensive ointment from her alabaster flask over Jesus’ head the disciples were indignant.
I guess they were maybe vying for his approval. Perhaps, they thought he’d find her behavior flamboyant or ridiculous.
They were haughty in their pointing out her behavior to him. I love it.
[bctt tweet=”Jesus said basically, let her love me. Let her be. ” username=””]
That she’d take it upon herself to worship Jesus unprompted and unexpectedly, she simply did what her heart led her to do.
She walked up behind the reclining Jesus and she honored him by giving away what was seen as precious, costly, not to be wasted.
She couldn’t imagine a better use for it.
The best of her given so unabashedly.
The best of what she’d acquired or been given, given away in a sense for the sake of worship, of remembrance of him, of believing what he’d been telling the others was about to occur.
Like a farewell offering, a worthy gift to a deserving recipient.
Maybe the disciples doubted the doom of his death. Maybe the woman at Bethany believed and was ready.
Because of her lack of concern for the disciples opinion, she will be remembered.
“Truly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.”
Matthew 26:13 ESV
Here in South Carolina on a balmy nothing spectacular morning, I turn to this story.
On the day I decide to open my Bible after two days of just phone found scripture, I sit and let my eyes fill with tears.
I am connected with her story as I was with the one of Derrick Hawkins.
In the mornings I go out barefooted and stand in the cool wet grass for a minute.
I look up usually.
Sometimes down, at the level place God has me now and I know clearly I cannot discount his mercy.
I made a list this morning of all things of me.
Changed artist to painter and writer to blogger, added roles most important, wife, mother, grandmother, disciple.
Told myself, let’s be honest Lisa Anne and celebrate that honesty being enough in your Father’s eyes and hands.
No need to demand my attention I feel God’s been saying.
[bctt tweet=”Stay aligned with Jesus, be unconcerned with who may be watching.” username=””]
I pray I’d not have been the disciple who said thousands of years ago, I don’t know Him or the one who couldn’t stay awake or the one who kissed his cheek as a way to show the killers who to take.
But I am some days, I falter.
He finds me.
Says come back now, your unique worship is welcome, nothing is wasted.
Give me what is you.
How will I be remembered?
Will it be in ways of significance or simply small by our culture of comparison and cutesy competition and Instagram celebrity standards?
I don’t believe this satisfies Jesus and I’m beginning to believe it doesn’t satisfy me.
My seeking of recognition.
Not my anxious counting of followers, rather my calm obedience to my content consistently representing my hope of causing curiosity over Jesus, my possible never knowing how my story might change another.
And that being okay, the not knowing that one day a grand or a great-grand or even a stranger might say oh, I love the way she wrote about life and love and Jesus or I love the way she laid down color on canvas.
Letting Jesus decide the direction of my blog, the worth of my story.
The image and images I leave.
Time is not a factor in the impact of our stories and our brave acts of sharing.
The alabaster flask anointing story of Jesus causes me to be certain of my mercy story.
Causes me to know I’m a child of God and that Jesus will always be my defender.
The story of Derrick Hawkins and his last comment about Jesus got me good.
I’m sure he didn’t plan it, my connecting with him.
But God did.
Got me thinking I understand mercy more now.
Mercy that’s rich.
That doesn’t chastise or refute me.
[bctt tweet=”Mercy finds me and says, that was then, this is now.” username=””]
My Heavenly Father saying
Yes, I know Lisa Anne but, Jesus.
And me in agreement saying, I’ll continue.
Continue and believe.
“For we are his workmanship…”
Ephesians 2:10 ESV