Are you smarter than a two-year-old? I’m not.
Once again Eli performed at a higher level of faith than I’ve been able to exhibit in all my 56 years. Here’s how it happened.
Friday was date night for the kids and grandbaby fun time for me. Eli and I did some shopping where of course he selected a new truck for his special treat. I was unloading groceries and he was crawling around my feet imagining a super productive construction site with his dump truck and new cement truck. I must add its cool swiveling bucket on the back insured it as the favorite of the day.
He crossed his trucks between the kitchen tile and family room hardwood only to bump the floor strip; it moved. Oh, how exciting to a little boy who promptly lifted it from its supposedly glued position. I noticed and asked him not to play with it. He let it snap into place and continued on.
A few minutes later I was washing fruit and I heard, “Granpap fix it.” My ears perked up because I know something broke. I feared it was his new truck with the swiveling bucket.
He walked up to me with his fearless face and said, “Granpap fix it.”
His reply, “Granpap fix it.”
That’s it. That’s the lesson that overwhelmed me. That’s why I need to learn from a two-year-old. Only a child has that kind of faith.
If you don’t see it yet, let me share what I would’ve done. I often times follow my ancestor Eve. I’m told not to touch it. I touch it and I break it.
I’m terrified that I will be scolded and disciplined therefore I start coming up with excuses on why I touched the forbidden thing. I actually blame the thing. “It should’ve been glued better. I was only trying to fix it.”
Then I try to fix it myself which because I’m worthless with tools becomes a bigger disaster. So I hide. I put the splintered strip of wood back in place as best I can and I hide on the sofa in a fake sleep.
When Granpap comes home and forces me to wake, I recite my explanation and he doesn’t buy a word of it. So guilt and shame come in and I cry apologizes for being such a waste of a person. “I break everything. I always make it worse. I don’t deserve to live in the same house as you. I’ll pay for the supplies if you will fix it.”
Then I use every tool in my womanly arsenal to try to appease his perceived anger and make him happy so maybe he will like me again.
All my efforts are wasted. I’ll daily remind myself of my stupidity every time I step across that threshold. Guilt will consume my joy.
Oh little Eli, thank you for constantly displaying a childlike faith.
“Granpap fix it.”
Yes, Eli. Granpap did fix it. He didn’t scold you. He loved you before you did it. He loved you while you did it. He loved you after you did it. His love never changes.
“Granpap fix it.”
I hope I remember this the next time I blow it. The next time I sin. All He wants me to do is run to him with a fearless face and put my sin before Him and say, “Abba Daddy, fix it.”
“Abba Daddy, fix it.”
He will. He’s the only one who can. All the time He’s repairing the damage, He’s reminding me of His love. I can sit next to Him and watch how He restores the broken to a perfection I could never have imagined.
And now every time I walk that threshold, I’m reminded of His love for me, His beloved child.
“Abba Daddy fixed me.”
And if that weren’t enough, there’s always a special treat for faith, Granpap gave Eli a new kite, and they played together all evening.
I hope to never hide from another special treat. How about you? Learn something from a two-year-old?
The average American views about 8,000 advertisements per day. That’s an extreme amount of stimulation saying that you need more than you are and more than you have.
The most repeated message heard from birth to the grave is designed to convince you that will never have friends, be sexy, or find success without purchasing something. This consumerism is breeding new forms of depression affecting the young and the old alike.
My pastor is training his children to fight the onslaught. After each commercial they say in unison, “Who are you kidding?” That’s one method.
I chose to mute commercials when my kids were living at home. It just became a habit and we never noticed until one day a friend said, “You guys watch a lot of muted TV.” Yes, the TV was on mute more than sound because commercials rule the airways.
Now, I simply don’t watch network TV. After living without a TV for eight years, I found I can’t stomach the commercials. So we only watch movies or reruns on Netflix.
You see, I need the discipline. I didn’t watch much TV as a child but my father believed his duty was to highlight my every flaw. It’s taken a lifetime to realize they weren’t real flaws after all.
I assume that’s why I cried the other night watching a rerun from season one of Cheers. Coach’s daughter introduces everyone to her fiancé. Roy is the ultimate jerk so Sam convinces Coach to tell Lisa the truth.
A few minutes later in Sam’s office, Lisa agrees with her dad, “Look Daddy, I’m not dumb. I know Roy’s abrasive. I know he’s insensitive. And I know he’s probably only marrying me so he can get the Pennsylvania territory.”
Her bewildered father can only ask, “Why would you want to marry a man like this?” He is further confused when she says that Roy’s the only man who has proposed and she’s afraid he will be the last. This daddy just can’t understand because he knows his daughter. “But you’re so beautiful.”
Here’s where the tears start to roll off my face.
Lisa responds, “Beautiful? Daddy, you’ve been saying I’m beautiful ever since I was a very little girl. But look at me! Not as my father, but like you’re looking at me for the first time. But please, try to see me as I really am.”
Coach moves closer and stares intently. “Oh, my God. I didn’t realize how much you look like your mother.”
“I know. I look exactly like her. And Mom was not….” Lisa struggles to say the words and my heart is pounding. Coach waits anxiously, then Lisa smiles, “comfortable about her beauty.”
I choked. I can’t imagine being comfortable about me. What is it to be content? But read on, there’s more.
“She was really beautiful?” Lisa’s still not convinced.
“Yes and so are you. You’re the most beautiful kid in the whole world.”
Now, right there are the words every child needs to hear from their parents and in their home. With those words a kid can face the world and all its painful lies. A more confident Lisa ended the engagement and went for ice cream with her daddy. No matter the age, she needs constant reassurance of her worth. Her daddy’s job is never finished.
I can do my part to avoid the lies but I still need to hear the truth on a daily basis. There’s a truth in God’s Word that propels me forward. This story tells it best.
An artist was asked how he sculpts an eagle from a slab of stone. While the hammer and chisel delicately works, he replies, “When I look at this marble I see only eagle. I simply chip away at everything that is not eagle.”
I need to remember, when God the Father looks at his children (that’s me) He sees only His beloved Jesus.
My theme verse for 2013 was Acts 1:5 Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.
I’ve endured a difficult spiritual year. When I received the word WAIT, I shuddered, knowing it would be a long journey. I’m an achiever. Passivity is not in my vocabulary. But those two arguments held no resistance to the Spirit’s goal. He is persistent.
As I look back over this year, I marvel at what I’ve learned. I’m so full of new truths I’m about to burst at the seams wanting to teach somebody, anybody. Sadly, I wait some more. He’s not finished yet.
But in order to offer my thanksgivings during this season, I will share a bit of this journey. I’ve studied, with my dearest friends, this promised gift spoken by Jesus to His disciples. John Piper describes it as an “extraordinary anointing for ministry.” No doubt, Pentecost brought such an anointing upon the apostles while at the same time bringing salvation upon 3,000 who were instantly filled with the Spirit.
But I wanted to know how that extraordinary anointing manifests itself in a believer’s heart. This quote nailed it for me. “The Spirit fills me with His own vision of God and His own passion for God and His own prophetic words of praise.” John Piper
Let me put it in my own words. If I’m living in this extraordinary anointing, operating in the unlimited fullness of His power, then the God in me will reveal the majesty, power, and plan of God the Father to me; the God in me will love God the Father with unhindered intimacy and passion; and the God in me will never cease to worship God the Father. Now that’s the fullness power of Christ in me the hope of glory. Colossians 1:27.
One of the books we studied was They Found the Secret. It’s a collection of powerful testimonies of twenty believers who simply believed. I summarize one illustration like this, “Some say we are a pencil in the hand of God. But a pencil can be dropped or lost, I cannot. No, I am more like a finger of God. Jesus prayed that we might be one and He always gets a Yes! answer to His prayers.”
So to solidify this truth and as a constant reminder of our Oneness, I painted one fingernail red. Every day I can say, “By the grace of God and the blood of Jesus and the fullness of His Spirit, He lives in me to do His will. So be it!”
The following words relate my year, my life. Blessed Thanksgiving to you and yours.
Every time I quieted my heart,
Every time I heard and obeyed a truth.
Every time I worshipped in awe,
Every time I spoke the Gospel.
Every time I read His Word,
Every time I prayed.
Every time I gave a tithe,
Every time I sacrificed a treasure.
Every time I cried in joy,
Every time I loved another.
Every time I repented of sin,
Every time I conquered a stronghold.
Every time I admired creation,
Every time I sang His praises.
Every time I taught a truth,
Every time I wrote of Jesus.
Every time I trusted through a trial,
Every time I wept in sorrow.
Every time I cuddled a baby,
Every time I spoke a blessing.
Every time I fasted in power,
Every time I rebuked the devil.
Every time I stood in faith,
Every time I crawled from a pit.
Every time I felt loved,
Every time I knew security.
Every time I trusted His forgiveness.
It was never, ever me. It was always
Every time He…
My grandson Eli loves anything with wheels. His momma takes him to Target so he can visit with the toys. He walks the aisles, touching and narrating. He gives Spiderman a hug. He growls like the Hulk. He operates every function of the robots. But his eyes dance when he sees a truck or car.
He’ll push that boxed treasure up-and-down the aisle making the appropriate sound effects. Then there’s the labeling of each part to confirm that it is indeed a truck. Wheels. Lights. Driving. (That’s the steering wheel.) Hat. (You guessed it, that’s the visor over the windshield.)
Eli’s favorite is the garbage truck and following in close second is the fire truck. At one time his favorite cartoon was Chuck, the adventures of young trucks and cars. Cat in the Hat, George, Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, and Super Why? have all gone the way of Chuck into his category of bor-ing.
He discovered the awe of the full-length cartoon, Cars. Disney’s masterful marketing invaded our home. Replicas of Lightning McQueen, Sally, Red, Mack, and of course Mater are now his most cherished possessions.
I’m the proud Gramma that brags about how he identifies all the alphabet letters and numbers, knows the names and text of his favorite books, and can phonetically sound out many letters. I marvel at how he reenacts Cars’ scenes with perfect dialogue and acting flair. He’s only two.
Needless to say, I too have the script memorized. Larry “Git-R-Done!” the Cable Guy delivers as Mater, “I’m happier than a tornado in a trailer park.” Eli doesn’t get all the jokes but I laugh. His eyes glaze over during the romantic parts. Again the genius of Disney, knowing moms and grammas have to watch, they make a cartoon about cars into a chick flick plus high-speed racing and crashes for the dads.
I wonder if blue Porsches’ sales increased as women hoped if they could drive in slow motion through the waterfall’s mist and seductively bat their eyes then a hunk in a Corvette would give up his dreams to stay with her. I also wonder how many dads started betting on NASCAR.
There’s even something for grandparents. Sally narrates the scene that takes us to the ‘good-o-days’ when the cars crossed the country in a whole different way. “The road didn’t cut through the land like that interstate. It moved with the land, it rose, it fell, it curved. Cars didn’t drive on it to make great time. They drove on it to have a great time.”
Then scenes of Radiator Springs in its heyday play while James Taylor sings, Our Town. Everyone yields. Everyone’s happy. No one speeds by. They had it good and enjoyed it while it lasted. I’m a sucker for the feel good song. I’ve heard my grandparents talk about how great life used to be. The world’s best backwards driver, tow truck Mater says it best, “Ain’t no need to watch where I’m goin’, just need to know where I’ve been.”
Maybe Disney provides a viable message for kids, “Slow down, enjoy childhood.” I’m certainly saying that to Eli. If I could make the sun stand still, it would be when Eli’s dancing his gig with uninhibited giggles, then cheers for himself, and proclaims, “I funny.”
Now, that’s the good-o-days.
I don’t stand in the checkout line and say, “I can count money because my third grade teacher Mrs. Bell taught me to do it this way.”
My brain stores millions of skills in neural pathways then reproduces those skills as naturally as breathing. Each function happens without giving credit to my parents, dozens of teachers, and hundreds of books. Good thing it’s subconscious because I’d fail miserably if I had to acknowledge each source. Only my life changing moments are remembered in vivid detail.
I have one memory of one fact learned in high school. I was sitting in the second floor classroom of the back wing at Collins High. My desk was to the right of the teacher, the side with the windows. I sat on the front row of three semicircles, third seat from the end. On this day, my teacher sat behind his desk in the middle of the room in front of an unused blackboard. A single textbook, Intro to Psychology, rested unopened on the desk.
I don’t remember Mr. Morris ever giving a test. He assigned reading and then he chatted about whatever popped into his head. Everyone loved him.
“Women can make men do anything they want!”
In that hour, he gave the girls the tools to make life fun. He warned the boys that they didn’t stand a chance. I left class motivated to put the lesson to daily practice.
There’s a scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where Maria taught her daughter Toula the same truth. Frustrated Toula cried, “Ma, Dad is so stubborn. What he says goes. ‘Ah, the man is the head of the house!’”
The wise mother responded, “Let me tell you something, Toula. The man is the head, but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.”
Then the movie went on to teach a wise method to use this power. Maria instructed, “We must let Kosta think this was his idea.”
The scene that follows was brilliant. In a few short lines, Kosta exclaimed his brilliant plan, in the exact words Maria had guided him to discover. The bewildered Toula stared at the satisfied Maria while Kosta patted himself on the back for such genius. Everyone was happy. No one got hurt in the process only because this was a scripted movie. Life is not so easy.
Since the Garden of Eden this truth is undeniable. I offer two reasons. One, men are visually stimulated. Adam looked at his deliciously naked Eve with the juices of that forbidden fruit still on her lips and he chose to rebel with her. For this reason, the porn industry is a growing multi-billion dollar evil in our society.
But there’s another reason, we are by nature a stiff-necked people and will always rebel against a law from outside us. We don’t like being told what to do. Yet, like Maria proved, we joyfully embrace the same law springing up from within us.
Here’s how it works, take a stiff-necked woman who is selfishly wanting to rule over the man to get something to satisfy her lust and then have that same motivation controlling an equally selfish man who doesn’t want to be dominated and only wants to satisfy his lust of her body and well, you soon have domestic violence and divorce. Everyone gets hurt.
But suppose this stiff-necked couple learn a higher truth. What would happen if they let the Almighty, loving, unselfish God take possession of their necks, their heads, and their wills?
Movies entertain me. The dictionary defines entertainment as the action of providing or being provided with amusement or enjoyment. I choose feel-good movies when my brain tells my body it’s had enough. Violence and intrigue stress me out. But laughter, even if it’s internal, relaxes my soul.
Few movie scenes cause me to activate the rewind option. There’s a scene in Ghost Town between Ricky Gervais, Kristin Wiig, and the imposing Michael-Leon Wooley as the hospital lawyer that’s classic humor. Gervais plays the dentist Bertrand Pincus who had a routine colonoscopy by surgeon Wiig. Strange things begin to happen and he returns to the hospital to investigate.
“I died! For seven minutes!”
“We brought you right back. People die all the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s usually just once…at the end.”
The dialogue before is a stumbling mumbling exchange between Gervais and Wiig. The lawyer is called in and he remains quiet until a lawsuit is mentioned and well, he perks up. No words on paper can do justice to the humor of this scene. Here is where characters, setting, and dialogue merge to perfection.
But the movie is more than just a comedy to entertain. It’s the story of a man who can now see ghosts, they want his help, he hates people dead or alive, and then he meets a woman. So yes, it’s a romantic comedy with an interesting theme: ghosts don’t have unfinished business, people do.
There are three little words in this movie that hit my soul. In life, there are combinations of three words that are always powerful no matter who speaks them. Hearing “I love you” sends currents of pulsating pleasures through our veins. The words “I hate you” can crush a spirit to the depths of despair or ignite a fury of revenge.
“I forgive you” frees two bitter or broken hearts while “Please forgive me” humbles the proud.
We love to hear the challenge “Go for it.” But at times we need to hear “Wait for it.”
In this movie when Dr. Pincus recognizes a patient he found irritating was in his life to serve a purpose, he could only say, “I didn’t realize.” Yes, we only die once and then these words may emanate from every mouth, “I didn’t realize.”
I didn’t realize everyone around me was a part of that purpose.
I didn’t realize the purpose was for my good.
I didn’t realize good can be wrapped in pain.
I didn’t realize God was real.
I didn’t realize death was final.
This list is endless but it doesn’t need be.
Realize now, God is good.
I suggest you first watch A Knight’s Tale for the love story and humor while you cheer the underdog to victory. Then watch it a second time with the volume maxed out and head bob to classic 1970’s rock. Finally, read this blog and watch it a third time and ask yourself, “What am I believing?”
Two flashbacks in this film reveal the heart of the movie. My favorite character, William’s father, can’t even be found in Google images. While everyone else is focused on William, Adamire, Jocelyn, or Chaucer, I’m asking, “Why didn’t I have a father like John Thatcher?”
I dreamed of greatness as a young girl. So did William. “Someday I’ll be a knight.” The cynic in pillory, played by my father, said, “A Thatcher’s son? A knight? You might as well try to change the stars, ha”
But even these words left alone are worthless and empty. Words are only powerful tools when engaged with action. John Thatcher knew to make his son believe enough, he had to make the ultimate sacrifice of proof. He gave William to a knight and left these final words to guide him, “It’s all I can do for you son. Now go, change your stars and live a better life than I have.”
Behind this scene I see a father who reached into his chest and ripped out his heart, slammed it on the altar then sliced it in half. But William started believing that moment and he never ran away from the challenge. He changed his stars, became the greatest knight of his time and won the heart of royalty.
I’ve heard my Heavenly Father say, “Believe me! I chose you and made you my warrior princess. You are my beloved child, pure and blameless in my sight. Now believe me. Live it.” He proved His words by coming into this wickedness and enduring a brutal death on a rugged cross. His sinless blood washed me clean and validated His claims.
If I believe, my enemies will ask like William’s archenemy Adamire, “How would you beat her?” The answer would knock them flat on their backs, “That woman is unbeatable.”
Take that! voices in my head, skeptics, and demons for “you have been measured, you have been weighed, and you have been found wanting.” Welcome to my new world.
I was seven years old when I l first dreamed of being the one beauty who would win the heart of the handsome prince, just by walking in the room. I imagined that’s all it would take. He would see me with my eighteen-inch waist, full breast, and swan neck adorned in a gown of fabric that glittered like the stars, and instantly know that no one else in all the universe compared. I had no idea where I’d find the fairy godmother that would make me so beautiful. But if it happened for Cinderella, then it could happen for me, at least in my dreams.
Since the 1965 Rodgers and Hammerstein movie, I’ve been a sucker for this classic story. I’m embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve watched the 1998 remake starring Drew Barrymore as the strong-willed, sharp tongued, tomboyish Danielle de Barbarac, aka Cinderella. The writers masterfully blend the fairy tale into historic fiction and for short time; I think this could be real. I overlook the forced accents and low-budget props. I don’t miss the plump godmother and the singing birds or mice from the Disney version. I must admit I’m thrilled this Cinderella doesn’t have to sing like an angel but instead she quotes from Thomas Moore’s Utopia and the prince is hooked. Yes, I could be this Cinderella.
Ever After is more than a story of a young abused girl who gets her chance and wins the prince. The movie shows 16th century France and puts me into the lives of noblemen, peasants, gypsies, and even Leonardo de Vinci. He makes me laugh as the loveable and witty godfather who walks on water, builds flying machines, and will go down in history as the man who opened the door. I even learned he painted with his left-hand.
Woven throughout the story are intrigues, competition, conspiracies, and vengeance. My sense of righteousness is fulfilled when the wicked stepmother and step sister are punished with life-long servitude, when the squealing page gets his scull cracked open with a pot, and when the rotten teeth, well-endowed Pierre Le Pieu is nearly sliced from navel to neck by the sword wielding Danielle.
I want the bad guys to lose and the good guys to win. So in court when the King and Queen confront the Baroness and Marguerite in their lies and conniving ways, I expect justice. I’m not disappointed as they are instantly stripped of their title and ordered shipped to the Americas on the next available boat. It’s only fair.
But then Danielle’s voice comes from behind and silences the courtroom, “I’ll speak for her. After all, she is my stepmother.” She offers mercy, “Your Majesties, all I ask is that you show her the same courtesy she has bestowed upon me.”
Cinderella gave grace. Not only is she independent, strong, beautiful, plus she has a loving heart. This is a true heroine. I’m changing my dream template.
But did she really give grace? She gave an eye for an eye judgment. That seems fair, more than fair. They got what they deserved. But that’s not grace. Grace is receiving what we don’t deserve and not receiving what we do deserve. Allow me to rewrite that scene showing true grace.
“I will speak for her.” Cinderella appears in royal attire where just hours before she traded her rags for riches. She had been forgiven her lies and deceit to the Prince. He loved her for who she was. A slave girl was now a princess.
Cinderella continues, “I know the gift of forgiveness. I don’t deserve these riches yet they are mine forever because of his love.” The room loses all air as every inhabitant gasps at once.
“Your Majesties, all I ask is that you pardon their sins and free them to live in my home as my sister and mother so that they can know the love I have.”
Grace always leaves me speechless.
Before you congratulate me or question why, let me add, “That’s my besetting sin.”
Yeah, I thought you’d hold off on the congrats but I do hope you are forming some questions.
James MacDonald defines prestige as a subcategory under pride. The following quote is taken from page 81 of Downpour.
Prestige. “More ‘atta-boys’ for me, please.” “Tell me again how much you appreciate me and what I’ve done for you.” “I want prizes and bonuses and thank-you notes and public acknowledgments.” Prestige is a consuming need for recognition. It’s the feeling that others are always watching and the insatiable thirst for others to pat you on the back. It’s the insistence that nothing you do be overlooked or unrewarded by those in a position to do so. It’s dropping names of prestigious associations; it’s letting others know of your accomplishments; it’s the constant concern that everyone know who you are.
The saddest part of my sin is that its root comes from an incredibly addictive insecurity problem. I’m often this little four-year-old girl begging for her father’s affirmations that never came. I want people to tell me I did a good job. I want people to think I’m special. I need to know someone knows I’m here and I did something good.
How horrible that insecurity and pride are such close sin cousins.
If you can relate, you’ll want to read on. God’s grace covers this sin. His grace offers power to overcome it. God’s grace heals and matures the broken little girl’s spirit. I’ve spent years fighting those inner thoughts and trying to control my tongue. I’ve had moments of victory. I remember more agonies of defeat.
Today, God spoke a prayer into my heart. I know that if He spoke it, then this alone will be my weapon and salvation. Here’s the plan:
Stop each thought instantly with this prayer, “Father, glorify your name through others, not me.” The others being anyone in my presence when I’m seeking prestige. I’m excited. Actually, I can’t wait for the test run. Just think I’ll get to see God glorify another in my presence just because I asked in obedience to His plan. Wow!
It reminds me of the time in 1996 when the Spirit taught me how to overcome jealousy. I was to pray the words of John the Baptist in John 3:30, “He (Jesus) must become greater; I must become less.” My translation became, “Here is what I want you to do for me BUT do it for others first.” The others were always the people that stirred my jealous heart. My journal records some ‘awe’ moments throughout the years.
Now, here I go again. When I’m tempted to name-drop, list my accomplishments, or draw attention to myself, I have the power of His spoken Word to lead me to victory.
I’ll try to remember to post a praise or two in coming weeks.
Here’s what I remember. I was 25, married, and living in Clarksburg, WV. I had a two-year-old daughter and by the end of the year my son was on the way. We moved from a small cabin on 88 acres deep in the mountains to a Cape Cod home on 5 acres just a few miles outside of town.
I played the piano in the same small church Mike’s childhood church. Mike worked at the family business. I taught preschool at Salem Methodist Church and took graduate classes at Salem College. I think we drove a Subaru and a Camaro Z-28. I can’t remember where we vacationed, if we did.
Sad to admit, but there is absolutely no recall of any major event happening in my state, nation, or the world. Honestly, I can’t even tell you who was president. My memories are centered on my immediate family. If it didn’t touch my personal life, then it wasn’t worth remembering.
I’m now adjusting my opinion of the Hebrew people alive the night Jesus was born and still alive when He was crucified. The year of his birth shook the nation of Judah. Zachariah had delivered a stunning prophecy about his son John and a coming Messiah. People talk when an older barren woman has a baby. People also talk when a young girl is pregnant out-of-wedlock.
Months later there were the shepherds running through town shouting about angels in the sky, a new star over a manger, and a baby that caused their knees to bow in reverence.
I wonder how long it took for life to return to normal and the shepherds became a distant memory. Doesn’t matter because about two years later a violent attack destroyed their security and should’ve stirred their memories.
It started with a parade. You know, the streets were a buzz when a caravan of wise men from the East rode into town. It wasn’t long before the horrors of Roman soldiers, swords, and blood filled the streets of Bethlehem. I can’t imagine anyone could forget the screams of children and mommies as dads pleaded for the lives of their young boys.
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus fled to Egypt and the nation of Judah and the town of Bethlehem forgot them. There’s a mystery here. If the people had remembered the miracles of Jesus’ birth linked to the horrendous reaction of His enemies, they could have silenced his critics in John 7:41-44.
Jesus never talked about the past. I don’t recall a time that Jesus ever returned to Bethlehem. I can’t find a passage where he defended His incarnation and proved his birth was the fulfillment of prophecy.
The people in that little town knew firsthand that life and death came with Jesus. I ponder these things. Were the parents, grandparents, and siblings of murdered babies at the foot of the cross remembering a miraculous star, some jubilant shepherds, and the awe-inspiring worship of a baby boy?
Maybe 30 years was simply too long. The pain had healed. Life went on. No one remembered. But how sad, the birth of the Messiah Savior of the world, forgotten, for a time.
Google stirred my memories of 1983. Ronald Reagan dealt with a social security crisis, the US and USSR played Russian roulette with nuclear bomb testings, the worlds’ largest robbery of 25,000,000 pounds was taken from Heathrow, London. There were floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes that stole lives. Over 200 marines were killed in a Beirut bombing while Israelis died in bus bombings.
It took the crucifixion to sear forever in our hearts and minds the story of the Gospel. Jesus left His heavenly home to be born in a manger, to show us the Father through teaching and miracles, to pay our sin debt on the cross, and to rise to life on the third day, so He can sit at the Father’s side interceding for us so that we never forget the only event in all of history that matters.