The Pillars Have All Gone Now

I think it is interesting that my last post to this blog was about a pillar of my local church passing and the thoughts I had in the wake of losing him. That was back in November. It was my last post of 2015. This opening post of 2016 will begin with the loss of another pillar of my local church, Brother Max Towell. 

Brother Max (Pastor Max to me), died this past week and was laid to rest yesterday. It seems to me that he was the Pastor of my church home forever. But he only moved to Ogallala in 1969 when I was 16 years old. By that time I was a wild child. A few traumatic experiences between my baptism by Ivy Conner at 13 and that 16th year of my life, found me soured on God. I was also battling something that later would be labeled depression and my teenage hormones magnified everything into a crisis, I was a mess. Pastor Max had his hands full trying to tame this wild beast and, sadly, wasn't able to do so before I sneaked out of Grandma's house one late night, a few weeks after my son's birth, and ran pell mell into a dark life until the late 70's.

Son in tow, I ran away at the age of 18 and didn't come back until 1985. By then I was in my early 30's, separated from my husband, after five years of marriage, with my son and a four year old daughter. I ran back home from Lincoln, NE to protect myself and my children. I had married a recovering alcoholic whom became very scary when he returned, like a dog, to his own vomit. Years later he would sober up and become a walking miracle! I am very grateful for the friendship we now share.

Enter, Pastor Max. He and his wife, Viola, rented me a trailer that matched my budget. They then came to my new home for Bible lessons. I'd like to say I invited him. I just didn't say no when he asked if they could come 'visit' and those visits turned into Bible lessons for most of the time I lived in that trailer. I'd also like to say that it was a wonderful time. I was a challenge to them. I still carried a chip on my shoulder when it came to God so I asked them to explain a lot of why my life was a mass of violence, shame and heartache ... which they could not. It would take me several more years before I would learn to stop blaming God. But those visits were not lost on my heart. My soul may have been hardened but their love and patience with me softened it's core. And my heart bloomed with love for them. They were there during a tough time in my life and they anchored me to Hope.

Max and the Church of Christ family were like life rings to my dysfunctional family. Sometime after I had ran away from my Grandma's home, my Mom had begun to go to church regularly and, later, her 4th husband, whom proved to be a keeper, began attending and became one of those pillars in my life that brought me closer to loving God more than ever. 

I could never identify with a healthy father figure but with Pete I finally found a Dad ... a Father. He healed some deep wounds and he became my greatest draw back into the Church of Christ family. He and Mom loved Brother Max dearly and watching their faith grow made me respect Pastor Max and the Church of Christ all the more! I found I could finally pray to a loving Father because I experienced that love from some healthy 'Father' figures. I could pack away the God of violence that I falsely believed picked me as a punching bag. I finally recognized the changes I needed to make to bring this fascinating, loving, forgiving, Lord deep into my heart!

Max was there with such tenderness when Dad died. His son, Jay Towell, was then the 'Pastor' and in his inherited, skilled gift of teaching, officiated the most tender of funerals. I still hear the song he and his talented family sung, acappella, during that service. Brother Max was such a strength for my Mom during that difficult time and visited her often. 

When my Mom became very sick 8-9 years ago with a major infection, Max was one of the most frequent visitors with a couple of other 'Brothers' of the church family. Most folks were scared to come see Mom, but Max showed a love that overcomes fear. 

I was staying with Mom to care for her. I remember, I was having such difficulty understanding Mom's illness and keeping her home sterilized that one day, I just lost it. I mean, I really lost it! I was screaming at my Mom that I wished I had died during her difficult birth with me (I was a breach baby .... hm, that should explain why most of my walk through life has been butt first!) and hated having to deal with everything! Who should come to the door at that very moment ... Pastor Max and someone else ... darn if I can remember who came with him though. I just remember crumbling into a sobbing mess and dear Max helping me work through my despair and shame at screaming at Mom. He and his helper prayed over us and I, still to this day, feel that overwhelming calm that came over me that day. The memory still brings tears to my eyes. 

I feel very sad today. Those pillars of my life that have helped me become a less dysfunctional person have all gone now. Max was the last. His son is preaching in Red Cloud, NE... so far away ... and I will miss his tremendous gift of teaching God's word. 

I don't attend my church home regularly now-a-days. Something has changed. They are still the most awesome family and I love them all. I'm sure it is just me. I don't handle change well ... unless it is rearranging the furniture in my home. I like that change.

Well, Pastor Max, if you could see this post ... I would close with how much you will be missed. So many lives you touched. Such a life you lived! And an awesome banjo player to boot! I didn't remember that about you. But there you were with your banjo in that wonderful slide show of pictures they shared celebrating your life from youth til God took you home with Him. You would have enjoyed that slide show. Your family and dearest friends will miss you most. I love you, Max. I thank the Lord for you. I attribute my strong love for the Lord to you, sir. You had a big part in that love growing. 

You've got another good man there, Lord. I hope to see him again. Maybe I can see him, finally, pickin on that banjo? 

TsK Tsk Tsk

9-20-2015, Allan Brown died of a heart attack.

Allan was an elder at the Church of Christ in my home church and home town of Ogallala, NE. What a dear man!!!

We moved to Ogallala, NE from Paxton, NE the summer of my 13th year. A new neighborhood, a new school and a new group of friends. Sherrie Lee and Nola French invited me to church and it became a regular pattern for our Sunday's and Wednesday night's at the Church of Christ.

Allan was there, too. He and his wife Mabel and the rest of their family. I don't remember the kids as well as I remember Allan and Mabel. He was one of those members ... always warm and such a gentle soul ... unless you were three rowdy teenagers sitting in the back pews, giggling and not being respectful ... for then Allan, or Mabel, would become shoulder tappers. Or if he and Mabel sat in front of us, he would shake his head and Tsk, Tsk, Tsk, or he would just turn around and look stern. Regardless of what he did, it commanded our respect and swift mode to worship or song. He never let our rowdiness keep him from hugging us or just putting his arm around our shoulders or a loving hand upon our shoulder later.

He was stern and loving and time rigid and yet mostly forgiving. He was a great teacher and answered my questions with patience and honesty. I believe he was the first to tell me, when he didn't know an answer to some of my life question;

"I don't know, Sandy, but God does."

I don't know why such an answer, that really never answered my questions, was such a comfort to me. Maybe because Allan's faith in a God that knew everything and would reveal all one day was enough then and still calms and comforts me today.

I'm glad Allan was one of the first healthy influences for my troubled teen soul back then. I'm also grateful that he never wavered in his warmth and kindness toward me over the years since. Never mind that I'm not a regular church attendee, or that I often visit other church families. Allen always welcomed me and made me feel so at home.

Allan's kindness enveloped my Mother who came to my baptism during that 13th year and started attending regularly thereafter.Years later, both she and her 4th husband (whom I adored) would become members and elders. Allan enveloped our dysfunctional family in such love. Did he know he gave a couple of us a lifeline to change? 

Jesus was mimicked by many of those who were Church of Christ elders and nearly no stones were thrown. No stones were thrown by Allen Brown. He will be missed! I wish he knew how much of an impact he had on my family and I. God knows.

I am grateful I was able to attend Allan's funeral. It was a packed church, proving he touched the hearts of many. It was one of my favorite funerals to date. Can one have favorite funerals and not be considered odd?

A slide show sharing precious memories, a moving eulogy presented by his son revealed much I did not know about the father he loved, and the testimony of Allan's influence by several folks were special moments. 

Allan even wrote the message that was read by the officiating pastor, George Robinson, thereby preaching at his own funeral. A message that helped me understand why a funeral can be a celebration ... a reason to hold onto one's fork because the best is yet to come. Sorry, this is one of those 'should have been there' moments, to understand this fork reference.

Allan's message centered on Revelation 21 & 22, which focuses on Heaven. I had read Revelations 21 just that morning in my regular morning Bible reading. Hm ... I like to think that was a God moment and His way of letting Allan, once again, answer some lingering questions for me. 

I hope Allan would be smiling if he knew that though I don't attend a church regularly, I do read my Bible from cover to cover, over and over, 1-3 chapters nearly every day and have for the last 14 years. I wonder if Allan is where he can hear me talk to God every day and that I pray way more often now then I did when he use to encourage me to pray. 

I wish I could tell him that I'm less rowdy. Though the aging youngster that I am, knows that he would be Tsk, Tsk, Tsk'ing me about my life choices that I make today. Still ... I smile ... though I miss him, I am looking forward to that hug when I see him again and I imagine him saying;

"See, Sandy, God knew. Welcome home."

I Took A Bite Of That Apple To See

I took a bite of that apple to see,

That you were naked in front of me.

'Thou shalt not eat of the Tree of Knowledge,

Such beauty unfolded in the fruit and foliage.

I did not plan to deceive you,

But how could I be without you?

One can only relate to what is known,

And with experience one is grown.

So why plant a tree,

And then say "Let it be?"

Why tempt one You know is weak,

By refusing not to speak,

And giving all the facts?

A test. What the hell is that?

Especially when You know all the answers,

Yet expect all the respect, my Lord, Sir?

Why create only to destroy,

Why use life like Your favorite toy?

In my quest to know all these whys,

I ate of that tree to try,

To understand it's reason for being,

And feel all that I knew You were seeing.

But I only found you innocent and naked,

My love, my life became most sacred.

Yes I'd do it all over again,

Be found naked and walking in sin,

To always be with you, my friend.

That Garden of Eden,

Was only created for two,

Yet now our souls combined in one anew.

In a love so innocent,

To withstand that banishment,

From perfection to Resurrection,

The toil becomes the dream,

And Beauty isn't what it seems.

Sometimes it can even be cruel,

To plant a tree and try to fool,

With restrictions set,

You sit and cast the net,

Knowing full well we would fall,

And never have a chance at all,

To live in a maintenance free Garden,

With You as our Warden.

That tree is the reason,

Our life is now for a season.

A brief time to walk the planet,

And destroy all that is on it.

In our quest to know all the whys,

We fall and live only to die.

We will never understand all Your ways,

But You give us a Hope to soften our short stay.

I took a bite of that apple to see,

That you were naked in front of me.

Sandra K. Harrison

Copyright pending 

Pray? Why?

Sunday, June 3rd, I tried to move a heavy roll-top desk, a few inches to make room for a coming cuddle recliner. I sent my daughter and her husband to Pamida to get the chair and I began preparing the corner I planned to put it in.

I have an issue with my lumbar region in my back. L4 and L5 are requiring some medical attention to alleviate pain and repair some disk damage. I have been given shots in that area for almost two years now and the last two shots were not helping as much anymore. Monday, the 4th, I was planning on calling the doctor to get the ball rolling on a mild stenosis procedure he'd been wanting me to consider. So with this knowledge, pushing on the desk, or lifting and pulling, was out of the question. But I thought I could sit on the floor and put my feet on the desk and my back against the wall and, puuussssh, using my whole body to move the desk. I've moved many a heavy object in this fashion before and it has worked. Who needs those slidders, anyway!?

I did get it to move 1/4 of an inch and then...

     ... SNAP!!!!!!! OR WE CAN CALL THIS A POP!!!! BUT WHATEVER IT WAS, IT WAS LOUD, LIKE A GUN SHOT, AND I WAS DIEING!!!!

Ok, I didn't die but, oh my, that pain was seared in my brain and cataloged under OH SHIT!!!!!!

At first my back arched and my breath was sucked away and my whole body was suddenly extremely hot. The pain was so great, I couldn't breathe and I truly thought I would pass out and, did I say, my body temperature was HOT?! Sweat began to pour out of every pore in my body!! My eyes filled of tears and all I could do is moan. When I could, I fell to the right side on floor and struggled, still in a pain, a pain I swear was worse then when I gave birth to my children(!), to lay flat on back with knees on my chest. There I lay and moaned til I could get my breath back. In rasps, I tried to call for help.

My husband and grandson were outside so I knew they would not hear me. I don't think they would have even heard me if they'd of been in the house!

I started crying and in my head I began pleading over and over "help me ... oh please, help me Lord. I'm so sorry, I'm soooo soooo sorry. (After all, I did have thoughts that I was being unwise trying to move that desk by myself ... if at all!) Please Lord, don't let my back be broken! Please Lord, I have to work. Please Lord, I have so much to do. Please Lord, please!"

I don't know how long it was before I could try to move again. Maybe 40 minutes went by before I was able to do so and though the pain didn't seem as bad, it was still unbearable! I managed to crawl. Every crawl was riddled in pain but I finally managed to get to stairwell and down the stairs. I took a break on the cool kitchen floor. By now my clothes and my hair were sticking to my sweaty body that looked like I had run through the sprinkler. While laying there I was thinking, "this is bad, really bad! I'm going to have to go to the hospital."

Now tell me why, if you know, would I suddenly begin to worry about my appearance in the midst of this horrid pain? I struggled from my laying position, knees on chest, to my crawling mode again and crawled into the bathroom, pulled myself onto the toilet and could reach the bathroom mirror and sink from there. My curling iron was also with-in reach. So there I sat, crying and yelping when I'd move and get stabbed with more waves of pain and curled my bangs, put my sweat wet hair in a bun on my head, wet a wash cloth, laying on sink, with cold water and then slid off toilet to floor and crawled into living room and laid again on my back with knees to chest and began to wipe the sweat off my body and leaving the cool wash cloth on my neck.

I waited for my husband to come into the house to find me. By now, I knew I wasn't dieing and I may just survive this after all.

It had been over 1 1/2 hours from when my back snapped/popped and my husband had still not come into the house. I struggled back into a crawling position and began crawling to the deck door to try to get my husband's attention. But before I reached the door, a motorcycle rode into the yard. I sure didn't want to have my husband's friend see the mess I was in so I crawled back to the stairs where I had a cane, I used infrequently, leaning on the railing. I pulled myself up onto the steps and sat for about a half hour before grandson came in the house and found me crying on the steps. He sat down beside me and I told him Nana hurt her back and in his sweet little way he tried to rub my owie.

Finally, I tried to stand and, with much effort, accomplished this feat. Standing wasn't as difficult as I feared. I immediately became aware that I was standing different than before the snap. My back seemed straighter. Before it was too painful to stand straight. Now it was too painful to bend forward and I absolutely could not bend back! To bend down had to be with a straight back and legs bent. (A position my husband has nagged me to bend in, ever since my back became an issue over 4 years ago.) Ok, at this point I decided that I would not incur the cost to go to the emergency room and felt that if I could just get the pain to subside, I could stick it out til I could get ahold of a doctor.

Well, to make this long story shorter, my husband finally did make it into the house to find out why I didn't come out to say hi to our friend. By then I could get around with a cane so he never knew the extent my suffering.

My daughter and her husband arrived from town and we finished that evening out with a barbecue. I could get around but only with the help of that cane and I went about very slowly. I could not cough! Oh what pain that would trigger!! The pain was not as extreme as when my back snappened but a constant pain at level 8-10 on a VAS pain scale was no picnic either!

After the kids took thier family home, my husband ran me a hot bath with Lavender oil and later he added Epsom salts with a variety of soothing oils. That enabled me to become more mobile and I added Ibuprofen and Aleve, praying for relief.

I could not get comfortable. Pain bearable and pain unbearable and in waves ...

So I posted on Facebook,
a call out to all the prayer warriors,
to help stand with me in prayer for relief.

I have no time reference for when the pain became bearable. It seemed to be a gradual process but by Tuesday I was moving nearly normal without the aide of a cane.

I didn't sleep well Sunday night, but I made it til Monday morning when I could call my doctor. My present medial team is located in North Platte, NE. They wanted me go to Ogallala hospital for MRI or x-ray but I told them I would rather try to wait til Thursday. They offered pain meds but I told them I didn't want to medicate the pain, I wanted to fix what was causing the pain. I've been on pain meds and I know the drill. I know what they do to me. I have an addict personality and hate what I become on them ... so, no ... for now.

AND I really believe in the power of prayer and honestly felt like I could survive the level of pain I was experiencing by then. That was Monday morning and the pain progressively abated until it became bearable by Monday night.

The power of prayer?

How else could I walk and even work at my cleaning job and care for my adorable grandson? And when doctor called me on Friday with the results of the MRI, he was concerned with the damage recorded and scheduled me for Vertebroplasty surgery on Monday, June 11. He informed me that I had a compression fracture of the L1 vertebrae and the previous area of concern, the L4-L5 area, was worse. Seems my walking around and not taking any pain medications is remarkable for the pain level such an injury can incur. How else could I be able to endure this, except by the power of prayer and the Power of the Lord responding to those prayers?

I pray that the Lord God, Father of Jesus, my Lord, will be willing to touch the hand of the doctor and guide him to heal without risk, and that my back would be restored and healed, not only in this new L1 lumbar area but also in the L4-L5 that will require attention after Mondays surgery. Lord, Thy Will Be Done. And thank You, Lord for Your merciful grace and thanks to all of those whose stand with me in prayer. Bless you all!!

Note:  And that cuddle chair recliner? Turns out I was two days late for the sale (chair was $499 and went on sale for $200 less) and Pamida wouldn't honor the sale price. Which turned out to be ok since the back wouldn't come off so chair could be moved in two pieces. It was too big to get up the stairs to my office. So broke my back for nothing. :(

Back to the Bible

Last year, in December, I quit reading the Bible daily. For nearly 10 years, until then, I rose nearly every morning early and put my tea kettle on and did Yoga until the tea pot whistled. Two green tea bags were covered with the boiling water and then, with cup in hand, I would go to my Indian Room (named thus because of all my Native American collections kept in there) for my 'meditation' time. After a prayer time, I then would open my Bible and begin reading where I left off the day before, usually reading 2-3 chapters.

I loved this special time with my Lord! I was often in awe at how He would answer a plea from my prayer time, held earlier. I have hundreds of examples of how the Bible has touched me in very remarkable ways but to share them here would take too long. And very few would be interested in such long 'thots' anyway.

Then and even now, I believe the Bible reaches out to those who seek Him, right at the moment one is ready to 'experience' His Living Word. When I first started reading the Bible, it seemed like 'just" words. I guess, I wasn't ready yet. But a seed was planted in the early 80's and an experience that I don't have time to share, moved me and opened the Bible to me in a way I'd never experienced before.

I began to feel compelled to read and study the Bible. I began to love this special time with the Lord. In the years that followed my second baptism I read more, but I didn't always make a regular time to read. It would happen when I thought I had time. Non-the-less, my desire to read grew and I understood at a deeper level than 'just' words. I think I learned, and over the years have improved upon, the something I read somewhere in His word, the 'listening with my heart'.

I use to read lessons on the Bible that hopscotched me through His Word. The first time I read the Bible through, I was angry. ... and I interpreted my God as an angry God. But later years humbled me and I began to read as though my life depended on it. Looking back ... it did. I don't know when it changed exactly, somewhere in 2000, after a series of emotional ups and downs ... I turned to the Bible. I was broken, like never before and I sought Him daily. If not in reading, in praying and those who knew me back then, know how I hated to pray. Why? I didn't know how. I was embarrassed. I still don't know how to pray. Now I don't care because I know that He knows what I'm trying to say. His Word, the Bible, is my refuge and I liken it to a love letter from someone very special to me. Someone who has my back and will fine tune me. His words give me hope and much as they scare me.

So why would I quit spending time reading such personal letters guiding me in my life walk? Before that day in December of 2009, I was nearly done with my fourth read through. That December I was reading in the New Testament, about Judas betrayal of Jesus. Judas betrayal always troubled me. Some interpret that Jesus chose Judas to be in His inner circle of 12, believing his 'greed' would bring Jesus to His cross.

Why would Jesus pick someone so evil to be one of His followers, just, to betray him? Yes, it makes sense that it had to be someone evil but such a betrayal could have come from someone that wasn't so 'close' to Jesus. And the way Judas felt after, to commit suicide by hanging himself (Matthew 27:5), didn't add up for me, especially the way the Lord is known for Seeing into our hearts.

On that day in December I remember an interpretation that my Mom had shared, several years earlier, that Judas thought Jesus would be king. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with an understanding that Jesus may have picked Judas, not because of his greed but because of his thinking. Judas became a betrayer not out of hate for Jesus but because he believed that he was pushing Jesus into being that promised king sooner (old timers believed the coming Messiah would be made King) and he would have a prominent place in that kingship.

Judas was a character in the Bible that I couldn't relate to. Believing that he was evil, that 'Satan came into Judas' (John 13:27), I thought that I never would have done such a thing to Someone after witnessing miracles such as, raising the dead! ... However, if I thought I was 'helping' a situation, I might. It is possible that Judas didn't betray Jesus out of hate for him or for his greater love of money, but out of warped thinking. When Judas realized that Jesus was not to be the king, he was overcome with remorse to the point of death. If it was only greed that governed his actions, he would not have returned the 30 pieces of silver.

Warped thinking, I can relate to! This is a sin I often fall into! Did it overcome me that December, as I began to think that I may be a Judas in my Lord's plan? As a Judas, I would be used to further the faith in those struggling to find Christ but would miss the true message due to my warped thinking. Was I that self seeking? So, I shut the Bible and didn't return to reading it until July 17, 2010. I was hurt and afraid and DID NOT WANT TO BE A JUDAS IN ANY WAY.

I came back to my Lord's word when I finally came to terms with being a Judas.

"Judas or not, I am desperate for You, Lord!"

I guess if the Lord wants to use me to help someone come closer to Him, than so be it!! If I miss out on the final call because of my warped thinking, than so be it!! The Bible tells me that my thoughts are not the Lord's thoughts and my ways are not the Lord's ways. My destiny has been predetermined, so who am I to question the kind of tool the Lord has made of me.

Lord,

I'm coming to the dusk of my life and my bucket list is growing longer every day. I'm sure my list is different from your list for me, because several items on my list have been there nearly as long as it has taken me to get to now. Help me to streamline my list according to Your Will ... not mine. Forgive me the things on my list that are frivolous and self-seeking and give me time to let them go. Help me turn from my distress at my wrinkled reflection in the mirror and focus on the beauty of the dusk You have blessed me with.

In faith,

Sandy

P.S. Can I keep 'riding my own Harley' on the list, Lord?

The Third Day

Easter, according to Webster, is an annual Christian festival in the spring celebrating the resurrection of Jesus. Today celebrates, that the tomb they laid Jesus in, was found empty the morning they arrived, near dawn, to properly prepare the body for burial.

I don't pretend to understand this. I am in awe of this possibility and have many years of questions and doubts, yet, I do believe. I believe in what I don't understand because I fear God more than any god I've been introduced to. I believe in what seems preposterous, foolish, even crazy to many, so as not to be sorry when I die and find out it was true. Should it not be true, what have I lost? Life in this world has been hell already and my scars are deep...but I fear a hell worse than what I've already experienced or witnessed by not believing in the resurrected Christ!

With both, Dad and Mark's death I experienced such a tear in my heart. I was holding Dad when he died and I arrived at the hospital within an hour after brother Mark died. I was insane with sobs and grief after the loss of both. And with both, a sort of numbness settled around me and I stumbled for days...in a fog. Now if either of them had disappeared and then appeared later......how could my heart not burst from the sheer volume of emotion this experience would produce.....but no... this was not to be for them. So what was it like like for those whom witnessed the death and tombing of Christ, only to see him on the third day? The day he promised he would be raised, the third day after he was destroyed.

The resurrection of Jesus impacted his followers so much that they were transformed and risked thier lives to tell everyone of this experience. Faith in the resurrection of Jesus has transformed folks I knew were lost, into someone I hardly recognize. My Mom was one of those folks. Can such faith be ever found in me? Sometimes I'm over-whelmed with faith and filled with such peace and love. More often I'm stuck in a rut, buried under a mountain or screaming in a row boat on an ocean of stormy waves, no oars and taking on water fast!

Every time I've heard the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus, or read it in the Holy Scriptures, I'm captivated. I can picture the confusion, the deep sorrow, then the absolute, awe inspiring wash of emotion to behold one who was dead but now risen. I feel thier feelings, I think, when I witness similar near death recoveries of family and friends who walked a path of self destruction, a type of walking dead and when they find God, a Higher Power, Jesus the Christ.....they rise from what they once were to absolutely, awe inspiring folks! These special experiences give me hope. Hope that I, too, can be transformed and that when no longer in the flesh here, that I leave a legacy of love...not hurt, not pain, not death!

DESTROY THIS TEMPLE AND I WILL RAISE IT IN 3 DAYS!

Saturday. Good Friday was to remember Jesus died. He spent Saturday in the tomb, basically buried. Saturday was thier Sabbath so what ever they needed to do to 'prepare' His body after death, was post poned until Sunday morning....except that he may have been cleaned up some and wrapped and placed in a tomb belonging to someone else who hadn't died yet. (Which was Ok cuz He wasn't going to be there long and the fella could have had his own tomb back.)

What was that day like? What was it like in a cave tomb, dark, silent, cold? What was going through everyones mind that had been touched by Jesus and did not expect him to die!? What was the air like? Did the sun shine or did it stay cloudy, and dark all day? A forced day of no work, complete rest for some and a day without for the poor. What did everyone do, or say, or did they all stay quiet.? Numb?

I don't know what Jesus experienced that day in that tomb. I sometimes compare His tomb to the 'tombs' I have experience as a victum and some I turned myself in....literally inward, a prison and tomb of sorts, that I often created all by myself. Some very dark and 'grave' moments that kept me buried longer than 1 day. Weeks, even years!

My plea to God is that I never experience those darkened tombs for more than a day anymore. More often I ask why have to experience them at all? No answer yet to that question! Instead, He often teaches me that some plants grow more awesome than before after time in a cool, dark place. Also that Spring always follows the dead of Winter. So one full day in the tomb. One full day to feel down and depressed....then get up, out and move. Believe again. Hope and Love again.

Hm...what was that time in the tomb like. That day the Son of God was not found walking His familiar paths. What was that day like? The shock of such a day I often liken to our September 11, 2001 or even back further when John F. Kennedy was killed....of course there are other events that bring home the 'shock' of the day after Jesus was crucified but soon the dawn of a new day would bring on an experience that is beyond comprehension.

Tomorrow will be the third day.

Good Friday?

A PICTURE CAPTURES MEMORIES OF THAT TIME

This is not a picture of Mom's Sunday chicken dinner but
that's the kitchen she cooked it in and that's the table
and Don, then clockwise: Mark, Carl, myself and Donny,
peeking up at the camera.....and Mom taking the shot. Hm...
this could have been taken on a Friday. But by 1963, there
were not many good days...let alone, a Good Friday!


MEMORIES COME FORWARD WHEN BECKONED.......OR NOT....

So, Good Friday. What does this mean? I was taught that this day is to remember a day when Jesus was crucified. Apparently the good part is, He died with purpose? A sacrifice. A final sacrifice that was to atone for sin. (Good thing too, as there aren't enough animals and birds to sacrifice in present day, for sin, as was required in the Ancient Biblical Times! Or do they still do this in Israel?)God gave his only Son, an Innocent, Pure, put to death for the guilty. A wash. Jesus died for things he didn't do. The Perfect Lamb. And this day is set aside to remember that Sacrifice, the day, Jesus the Christ died.

Good Friday Remembrance was given in an Easter sermon that I actually paid attention to, in my late 20's and had become a regular at the Berean Fundamental Church in Lincoln, NE. I don't remember the sermon, the lesson taught even. I only remember the picture the sermon brought to mind.


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It was a Sunday chicken dinner that Mom had prepared for all of us. My favorite memories are of Mom and her cooking. It wasn't because she was a good cook but more because she was an animated cook. She would dance or sing or goof off and her goofiness was catching.

In this memory, it was a chicken dinner and boy did she make the best fried chicken! She'd get out her favorite frying pan, turn on the radio to Sunday polka music and grab one of us kids to dance polka with, in between turning the chicken. Those were the good ole days, when Mom still laughed and seemed happy. But things would change...or this memory wouldn't have come up during an Easter Sunday sermon.

On this particular Sunday, our step-dad, Don, was home from trucking and was sober. That meant a good day and so my guard was down. I don't remember when or how it came about but I had snitched a big bite off a juicy chicken breast to claim my territory. I put it back on the platter thinking no one would want that juicy tidbit with it's big chunk missing. Well, before we even got to sit down to eat, Don noticed the damage. He claimed personal offense that someone had taken a chunk out of his special piece of chicken! He then demanded from myself and two of my brothers that the guilty party confess.

I didn't know it was his chicken, for if I had, I never would have touched it! Now I was in for it and oh how I didn't want to have to go downstairs! I nearly peed my pants I was so scared and so I blurted out that my brother did it! Yes, that's right, Carl ate that piece of chicken and as I said it, I could see him cringe and try to disappear as he whimpered back that he did not eat ANY chicken. I remember that look of surprise and deep pain in his eyes and that stabbed me deeper than my fear of Don's beating. Why Don beat Carl more often that Mark and I, is still a mystery. And even though I was a mite myself, I knew that Carl wasn't holding up well and....well, knowing he was going to suffer another of Don's beatings made me regret my lie.

I have often, in the years since, wondered if Don had witnessed my act when he instructed me to turn to my little brother and beat him for eating his special piece of chicken. Oh, no...me?!!! I begged not to and even volunteered to go downstairs, but to no avail. As I beat on my brother, innocent of the very act I commited, I sobbed as hard as he was sobbing. But I never confessed....until years later...and.. now.
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A few years back, I sat in a garage in Utica, NE with those two brothers and confessed much that had darkened my heart during those early years. I remember Carl telling me as I revealed it was me who ate that piece of chicken, that he had no recollection of that particular memory. He did not remember...but then, he didn't need to, he was innocent.

I was rebaptized in that Berean Church, just after my daughter was born, and walked a stronger Christian walk then I had after baptism at 13. Sermon and memory combinations were very pivital to my understanding of God. They still are. Though now I read the Bible more than I hear a sermon. Unless one wants to count the daily life sermons that, if I'm paying attention, spark a memory and then link a picture and lesson learned..or needing to learn!

So today I will remember. I will remember that Jesus took on all that I've done, do and will do. He also took on what Don had done, is doing and will do. Jesus suffered a beating from the guilty and He asked that I/we be forgiven for doing what He had not done. And then He remembers it no more...like Carl who, to me, seems to have forgiven me by not remembering.

I was haunted by much that Don did to myself and my brothers, especially Carl...but that's a story for another day. Now-a-days, there are moments when I digress into a black hole of whys, or like this, identifying the meaning of Good Friday with that Sunday Fried Chicken memory....and, yet, over the years I've discovered a patient God, Whom has blessed me with tools to transform myself, one day at a time. This God also taught me memories can heal and teach and not be so full of shadows. Today I will try to put to death the shadows and look forward to a rising hope that all will be forgiven, to a time of new beginnings.

TODAY I'LL TAKE A PICTURE THAT CAPTURES THE MEMORY THERE IN AND FREEZES TIME.