Why

It was early. They walked quickly, in hushed tones. It was cool, having rained overnight. Everything was so rushed on the Preparation day, there wasn't time to properly anoint the body. The women all agreed to meet early the morning after the Sabbath, in order to anoint His body; as was fitting. They wondered aloud if the soldiers would help them with the heavy stone.

Passover was usually a time of rememberance but also of celebration. This time, however, there was no celebration. FOr the first time in their lives, all ritual seemed hollow. Afterall, their Deliverer was dead. For three years, they'd followed this man - the One. All they'd hoped for - gone - in one horrible afternoon. Why, Lord, why?

Mary Magdalene worried a little about how quiet it seemed - her experience with Romans was that they were loud - all the time. And yet, as they approached the tomb she did not hear anything - no voices, no heavy steps - just the quiet of the garden.

Then they saw it. The tomb was open. The guards were gone. What had happened? Surely no-one would have taken the Lord's body. Why, then was the stone rolled away? Why would the Roman soldiers have unsealed the tomb? Why?

Frightened, they ran to the tomb, but found nothing. Bewildered, they ran outside and were met by two men. How brightly their robes shined! And their voices rang - it was terrible and beautiful, at the same time.

"Why do you seek the living among the dead," one of the men said, "He is risen! Go and tell the others."

They immediately rushed to tell Peter. "Why don't you believe us? We've seen it for ourselves!" Mary's heart was heavy - she told herself she believed these men - surely they were messengers, sent to give them the good news. Why, then, couldn't she rejoice with the others? Why wouldn't they believe her?

Peter immediately ran for the tomb - going to inspect the now shed graveclothes with bewilderment.

Mary knelt in the cool grass a long time, eyes closed, just listening and praying. When she looked up, she saw a man standing near her. Grief-stricken, she cried, "They've taken the Lord away and I don't know where."

"Mary," said the man. It was only then she realized the man standing before her was Jesus. Alive!

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Jesus had to die. God's perfection demands a sacrifice for sin. It is a death sentence. From the very first rebellion in the garden, God knew we could never be redeemed unless He intervened. From the beginning, to the very last pages of Scripture, we read of God's plan to redeem us through the death, burial and resurrection of His Son. Jesus had  to die; or we would never truly live.

That's why.

Gone

I can't imagine the stunned shock of the disciples. Even though they'd been told this was coming, how many of them really understood? And now, He was gone. They'd watched their friend and teacher - the Savior - beaten, mocked and, finally, crucified.  They watched, with finality, as the Roman soldiers sealed the tomb with an enormous rock.

Judas had betrayed him to the priests and, now, he was dead. Peter, the Rock, had denied him - three times. Not one of the 12 had come to his aid.

And now, they were in hiding. Afraid for their very lives. I imagine the room where they gathered was as silent as the very grave itself.

They had to be exhausted from their grief and terror. It wouldn't be until later they would be filled with courage. Today, all was uncertain.

Living in Crazyville

I'm not sure, but I'm beginning to think Crazyville isn't just some silly name I came up with when I was designing this blog. I'm pretty sure it's one of the more accurate labels I could put on our life.

Working in the school district, I get spring break off. During spring break, it became abundantly clear how desperately I'd been craving some downtime. We didn't go anywhere and just being home, with no games, meetings, appointments, dance classes, work functions, WHATEVER was amazing. It was probably more time together, as a whole family - maybe ever. Crazyville.

Then, school started again and immediately we were right back up to our eardrums in all of the above. I woke up Tuesday morning after spring break and that knot at the base of my neck was back. In less than 48 hours. Crazyville.

Then, you come to something like our crazy day today. (incidentally, from the time I posted the diagram of my afternoon to now, the picture has changed three times) Crazyville.

How do we simplify? Coach can't stop being a coach. Well, he could but that's like telling me to stop singing. I tried that for a season and all the color went out of my life. Not an option.

I can't stop doing my job. Well, I could but what would I be gaining other than some free time? And, who's to say it would work? I am a high-octane personality who tends to grow my job into a high-octane job; no matter where I am. My job today is significantly bigger than when I inherited it - I did that.

We could stop taking Munchkin to extra activities but I don't think anybody would accuse us of overscheduling our kids with extra-curriculars.

And Princess Crybaby is just a toddler along for the ride.

This may just be a season that we'll grow out of (or just have to live through). All in all, we have a great life - just a busy life. Crazyville.

Where is John Madden when you need him?

Normally, most afternoons are not THIS nutty. Today is a special case, though, so I thought it appropriate to post it; for safe-keeping. That way, when people say to me, "boy, you look tired," I can point to this and say, "well YEAH."

Short weeks are fun, aren't they?

Soylent Green

Linky Linky to this VERY strange movie

I had an interesting epiphany this morning.  We do not know we are starving until we taste real food again.

For [fill in the blanks], we've been "too tired" to go to church. We've had too much to do. We've been over-extended/-committed/whatever. (and we were) We, legitimately, were running on fumes. Munchkin and I had Oliver! and Coach started soccer season. I had SO many work obligations I brought it home a lot of nights; against my personal commitment not to. Goals made at the new year still hang, unstarted (is that a word?) on the door.

Church was effectively shelved. A two hour commitment, once a week, was crossed off the list, in favor of a little more "rest."

What we didn't realize at the time was that we were also shelving two hours of concentrated family time; one of our family goals. Time to pray together - also a goal . A church where we could plug in - another goal. Two hours a week, dedicated to reminding us and reinforcing the kind of family we want to be: friendly, patient, kind, healthy, praying, and on and on. So, by eliminating that two hours a week, we effectivly hobbled our ability to meet almost every one of our family goals and many of our individual goals.  Yes, that two hours were freed up but we were starving our family of fellowship, community, encouragement from the outside, accountability to something bigger than ourselves and a group connection to our Savior.

[Enter the Soylent Green metaphor]

Soylent Green is a movie that came out in the 70s and, according to wikipedia: much of the population survives on processed food rations, including "soylent green". It's a weird post-apocalyptic movie that came out in the 70s. People don't eat real food anymore. They eat this soylent green stuff.  It tastes better than other food rations and is more nutritious.  After a VERY long story line (hello, 1970s, I know all the drugs slowed down your processing speed but it doesn't translate well to future viewers), Charlton Heston's character discovers this soylent green is made of PEOPLE.  When people die, their bodies become this processed "food." People don't even know what they're eating. At some point, Heston's character aquires some steak and it's like a treasure. It's so valuable, they hide it until they are ready to eat it.

[return to today]

This morning, for the first time in months, Coach and I went to worship service. At our church. When Brother Andy began to preach, any sense of lingering tiredness fell away and we were just caught up in this sweet fellowship with each other, with the others in the room and with God.

It was during this time I realized I'd been starving for real food. Making myself be content with processed and manufactured rest, over time, my spirit grew quiet as my flesh began to "forget" what real food tasted like. Not that my spirit went away or was less present - I think it just waited for my flesh to get. a. grip.

Suddenly, my attempts to free up our time seemed laughable. Like I could re-create this feeling without spending the time in the pew.  Like I really wanted to. My spirit laughed; not in a mean way, but in a joyful way. Making a joyful noise took on the proportions of the delighted oohs and aahs when Mom presents the family with the Thanksgiving turkey. We feasted on the scripture (Romans 8).

And, not for the first time, I said to God, "God, why did it take me so long to figure that out - the answer was right in front of me the whole time..." And I'm sure God just shrugged His shoulders and said, "I don't know, but I'm glad you're back."

It was good.

We rested in Him.

We were filled.

When it rains....

In meetings all. day. long. 
I can smell the smoke coming from the piles of "OMG get it done RIGHT, NOW" smouldering on my desk. 
I can feel that knot forming right at the base of my skull. 
2:30 comes and my meeting is over.
I sigh a small sigh of relief because I have 30 minutes to do a couple of very small tasks before I have to leave.
The phone rings.
A reporter comes over to get confirmation on rumors.
The daycare calls and says Princess Crybaby is running a 101.7 degree fever.
I was hoping to go to the bank and store.
Coach is in College Station tonight with soccer. 
Munchkin and I have to be at the theatre at 6:30.
*sigh*

I heard a young pastor a few years ago say, "if you aren't in the storm, keep your umbrella handy because it's coming."

preach on brother.

Excuse me, do you have gruel on the kids' menu?

I have beautiful children.  Would you like one (or both) of them?  *giggle*

Just kidding.  Yes, really.    Although Princess Crybaby has started screeching at us.  Now, I know you're saying to yourself, "but Mom, you've been talking about your pterodactyl for almost two years.  How is this any different?"  And to that I tell you "meat, madam.  Meat." (that's from Oliver)

Meat, madam, meat. You’ve overfed him, madam. You’ve raised an artificial spirit in the boy unbecoming of his station in life. If you’d kept him on gruel, madam, this would never have happened.

Really.  I think the key to docile children must be how much meat they eat.  There might be something to that gruel diet after all.

Y'all know I'm kidding, right? 
*arching eyebrow*