Take Back That Gift!

            Our firstborn wasn’t quite 3 years old the Christmas a dear friend presented her with a lovely, wrapped gift.

            Our daughter held the gift, stared at it a moment, then handed it back to the giver. “No bow!” she said. We shared a good laugh amidst that embarrassing moment.

            Would you believe this friend presented her gift to our daughter a second time? Yes. With a bow on top!

            This time it was accepted!

            People stand in long store lines after Christmas, waiting to return gifts for a multitude of reasons. “Too small, too big, already have one, don’t like this color, doesn’t work,” and the ultimate—just plain ol’ “don’t want it.”

             An unwanted gift? Hmm.

            My mind jumps to nearly 2 years after the birth of the Christ Child—when the magi came from the East to present the young Child with their gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

            Gold and frankincense? Lovely gifts honoring this Holy One.

            But myrrh???

            Good thing I wasn't the mother of Jesus! Had a wise man given my tot myrrh, I might've shoved it back at him and shouted, "Take back that gift!"

            Myrrh? Burial spice? An appropriate gift?

            But let me back up a bit. What about the strips of swaddling cloth Mary wrapped her newborn in at the time of His birth? As she wound those about Him, did she shed tears? After all weren’t these there in prep for the dead? Not an infant full of life?

            And what about the lambs that were swaddled, chosen to be sacrificed? Did her mind flash to an image of a lamb upon an altar? She’d been raised to practice Jewish ceremonial law. She knew what a Passover lamb was.

            And she knew she held the Ultimate Sacrifice—wrapped as one would be at burial.

… Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”  Luke 2:19 

            I've thought a lot about Mary's pondering ... so much so that I asked my husband to look up "ponder" in the original language and context of that Scripture. One definition read "conflict." Indeed, Mary must have wrestled, knowing her newborn came into the world to die.

            Of course, all of us eventually die, but how many mothers' thoughts go there while beholding their infant?

             Over the years, I've known a handful of women who received dooming news before their babies' births. They still yearned to hold their little ones but shed many tears, cradling while their hearts moaned lullabies in minor keys. They treasured each moment with a mourning love.

            Mary likely felt the way those moms did.  Hit with the realization that the infant she caressed, wrapped in burial cloths, would die. And when the magi came a long time later, she faced that again.

            So, she didn’t return the gift of myrrh but accepted it, knowing her son would need it. What an awful pondering for her and Jesus!

            Thirty-some years later they beheld each other from different vantage points at Calvary ... the moment they both dreaded yet accepted, knowing the will of The Father.

            Good thing Mary accepted that gift, and I’m grateful the Son of God did too. He rose again to give us all another gift—eternal life.

            I chose that gift when I asked Jesus into my life, and there's no taking that back! I'm His child for keeps. Hallelujah!

 

Man of sorrows what a name for the Son of God, who came

Ruined sinners to reclaim: Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Bearing shame and scoffing rude, in my place condemned he stood,

Sealed my pardon with his blood: Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Guilty, helpless, lost were we; blameless Lamb of God was he,

Sacrificed to set us free: Hallelujah! What a Savior!

 

(from Man of Sorrows by Philip P. Bliss, 1875, public domain)

 

#Christmas #Mary #Jesus #swaddlingcloths #magi #goldfrankincensemyrrh

#gift #sacrifice #LambofGod #Passoverlamb #ponder

Putting On Immortality

            About 2 weeks ago our church said good-bye to our pastor’s wife. Sheila suffered years with Parkinson’s and also pulmonary fibrosis. In her last year especially, her health nosedived, and her loving husband stepped into the position as her full-time caregiver.

            I didn’t know Sheila long, and I can’t even say I knew her well like others in the congregation did. I felt, though, like there was an empty spot in my heart when I heard she was in her last days and then went Home. We’d shared a bond.

            You see, it’s not always easy being a minister’s wife. Sheila had been for decades (as had I). Maybe that’s what first drew me to her—knowing there was someone sitting in that pew “over there” who knew the joys and trials of being the helpmeet to a man called of God.

            I don’t make friends as easily as I used to. But, hey, I thought I should at least reach out to this lady. I asked, at first being unsure who exactly was the pastor’s wife but having heard her name mentioned, “Are you Sheila?”

            She replied, “There are two Sheilas in the church. I have Parkinson’s.”

            I was a little surprised she shared the second part of that, but then I understood a tad why she was so soft-spoken, hesitated in her moves, and seemed partially frozen in her expressions. I decided right then I wanted this lady to know I was willing to be her friend.

            When spring of that first year arrived, Sheila invited me to come see her flowers. I went. At that point she needed her husband’s arm to walk their large backyard. Her honey helped her from plant to planting, while she filled me in on where those blossoms were from and how they were doing that year in comparison. We stopped while Pastor Ronnie took out his phone (camera) and clicked photos of the ones he knew she loved best. And I noted how gently he laid them against his hand while doing so. Just like he did when he cared for Sheila—his gentle, fragile flower.

            Pastor Ronnie helped her back to the deck, and he went off to do another job while Sheila and I sat and talked. That afternoon I learned a lot about this lady—both joys and sorrows and her trust in our sovereign God.

            The next very long talk we had took place in the hospital after she faced more physical challenges. I saw in this lady a quiet strength, a keen wit, an amazing sense of humor, and sometimes fears. But always honesty.

            When I was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, it was Sheila I’d look to for the courage to go on. She already had that label, and I was actually amazed God placed two minister’s wives in a little town in a small church with the same disease. It seemed by design.

            As more time passed, Sheila’s needs became greater. Her husband first assisted her into church with her walker, then a wheelchair. It was a privileged to sit with her after morning services as Pastor Ronnie greeted congregants exiting the church. Those were special, precious moments with only a handful of minutes, but I’m so glad we shared them. And each of these times, Sheila quietly greeted me with, “Hello, friend.”

            But now she’s gone from this earth, and she’s put on immortality.

           “Put on immortality!” Wow! Just think about that! I have recently—more than ever before. Maybe because this year I’ve faced my own mortality.

            Each person who’s trusted Jesus as Lord and Savior, when they die, steps out of clay and becomes immortal. And think how that became possible! The Immortal One Himself stepped down from Heaven and put on mortality to be like us. To be flesh for a time so that He could be the sacrifice for us.

            This is at the core of Christmas. Jesus—the Babe in the manger—born to die. Yet He was King of Kings, our High Priest too.

          When the wise men came (up to 2 years later), they recognized this in the gifts they brought to present to Him. Gold—a gift fit for a king, frankincense—for holy recognition of a priest. Myrrh—the saddest “Christmas” gift ever, yet that which pointed to a fulfillment of prophecy. This royal, priestly Baby came to die. And for that to happen, He had to put on mortality.

      Dear Lord,

            How very special of You to welcome Sheila Home at this time of year when our thoughts are turned toward You and Your Birthday! And, although joy has turned to sadness for a time, in bidding this one farewell, we thank You for the gift of salvation You offered her and that she accepted that gift—and, in a very real way, carried immortality—You—within her heart and life until it was time to lay aside her body of clay.

           Thank you for Sheila’s lovely example to me and us all. She made a difference.

           This Christmas may we not forget the greatest Gift—You—and Your sacrifice in coming to rescue us. We, too, look forward to putting on immortality and living with You in Your perfect time.

            In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

 

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light;

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

 

For Christ is born of Mary; and, gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wond’ring love.

O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth,

And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth.

 

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv’n!

So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heav’n.

No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

 

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin and enter in; be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas angels, the great glad tidings tell;

O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!

 

(from the Christmas carol O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM by Phillip Brooks, 1868, public domain)

 

#death #mortality #immortality #Christmas #Bethlehem #God #Jesus #friend

 

Photos: Flowers in remembrance & Aurora Fundamental Methodist Church—where Pastor Ronnie & his wife have served their Lord well, and where we said “see you later” to Sheila. (used with permission)

A Gunshot & the Gospel

             The year—1978. My fiancé Brian and I served in leadership at Camp Hope for the disabled, located in Kent Cliffs, New York. Our counselors arrived. We had a great group of them and even some who lived with disabilities as well.

            One of the boys’ counselors was Tony! This fella won the hearts of us all and his campers as nothing seemed to stop him in his specially designed sports wheelchair. He wore a smile most if not all of the time.

            Brian and Tony became fast-friends, and that friendship has stayed sweet and strong over the decades from those days when we were all much younger … and thinner (ahem).

            I’ve asked Tony to be my guest blogger this week. May his testimony be a blessing to you!

             “I grew up in the ghettos of East Baltimore. There has always been high drug and illegal gun trafficking in the area. Most do not know that homicide in Baltimore is higher than New York City!

            I spent my pre-teen years listening to Dr. Martin Luther King and Malcom X publicly advocating for “black power” and equal rights for African Americans. Yes, I was around to hear them when they were actually alive! There was a Black Panther recruiting center just around the block from where I lived.

            As a result of illegal gun trafficking, I suffered a gunshot wound to my back which left me a T9-T10 paraplegic. The prognosis was that I would be permanently paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of my life, as told to me by the John’s Hopkins surgeon.

            When I sat in my wheelchair, I felt like I was suspended above a bowl of Jello. No feeling at all below my waist.

            My year and a half in rehabilitation was spent at Good Samaritan Hospital in Maryland. It was a shock to me and my physical therapist when I began to have feeling in my legs. Eventually, feeling and function returned in my right leg and waist.

            From my upbringing, I knew that only a “miracle” would have allowed me to gain mobility, so I began asking questions about the existence of God and what that had to do with me.

            As a result of being involved in a youth group Bible study, I discovered that the Lord Jesus Christ died a substitutionary death to pay for sins … my sins. There is no “scale of justice” here!  No good weighed against the bad. If that were the case, I would have been found wanting and sentenced to eternal separation from the God I love.

            Because the Lord Jesus Christ’s sacrifice was a substitute for me, I needed to accept and trust His sacrifice to be enough to buy my soul’s eternal safety.

            So, at a Youth for Christ meeting I acknowledged His sacrifice on my behalf and accepted it as a sufficient sacrifice. He volunteered to satisfy the price for sin I couldn’t pay.”

—Tony Hewitt

“Whoever has the Son has life;

whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.

I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God,

that you may know that you have eternal life.” I John 5:12-13

            November 25^th that same year Tony sang at our wedding. The song? He Touched Me by Bill & Gloria Gaither. Here is a version you can listen to—although not Tony—sung by an okay group (smile):  

He Touched Me (Live At Bon Secours Wellness Arena, Greenville, SC/2018) - YouTube 

            In 1987 we shared in Tony and Teresa’s special day as they were joined in marriage! They’ve continued on through life with the joy of the Lord as their strength, being a blessing to so many lives around them.

            Thank You, God, for the lives of this brother and sister in Christ—for their zeal for you and their commitment—not only to each other—but to You for the cause of furthering the Gospel. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

 

*gunshot *paraplegic *Baltimore *miracle *YouthforChrist *Christssacrifice

*Hetouchedme *Gaither *commitment *Gospel 

Photo: Tony & Teresa Hewitt (used with permission)

Happy Adoption Day—So You Don’t Go Through This Life Alone

  

          Today we celebrate a family event—Min’s Adoption Day! Anniversary #26! Here you see us pictured (November 14^th, 1997) gathered around Judge David Klim.

            Outside a blizzard had hit our fair city. We often joke about that in connection to taking Min into our family as he was somewhat of a “storm” himself! Min’s life, however, would be fraught with physical and mental challenges.

            Here’s a piece I wrote during one of those times (May 31^st, 2012) when Min was recovering from major abdominal surgery:

 

            “Last Sunday should have been our son’s high school graduation. That’s what is marked on the calendar. But what actually took place was abdominal surgery. Of course, God knew this all ahead of time. He even knew before we adopted Min that he’d one day face this surgery due to his genetic disease.

            Week ago Monday our son had an ultrasound to study his kidneys, which can become problematic for kids with neurofibromatosis type 1. During that scan, a large mass was discovered. We spent the rest of that week helping Min through additional test, resulting in surgery by week’s end. Now that the grapefruit-sized mass is removed, our son lies recovering—very slowly and not so smoothly.

            Because of our son’s other life-struggle, Asperger’s, we’re staying with him around-the-clock, attempting to keep his busy hands from undoing IVs, stopping him from removing tubes that must stay put, and protecting his long incision. A 24/7 task.

            A thought occurred to me when doctors told us our son would have a large active tumor removed … This is why we adopted Min—so he wouldn’t go through this alone. Oh sure, there were other reasons, but perhaps none so important as this (with exception to teaching him about the Savior so he’d one day accept Jesus into his life).

            Did we adopt Min because we needed him? Not in one sense of the word. Did we want him? Yes. If we hadn’t adopted him, he was slated to go to an orphanage for the “unadoptable.”    

            I thought about what it might’ve been like if Min faced this surgery and rough aftermath in a hospital without family … perhaps alone and so full of fear.

            I’ve also reflected how my relationship with God, Who adopted me, is similar. Did He need me? Not really. Did He want me? Yes. And He is with me through all the trials I go through. That’s a great reason to be adopted!

            I’m eternally thankful my loving Father took me in and made me a part of His family so I don’t go through ANYTHING alone.

            During Min’s struggles with testing, surgery, and rough post-op, he cried, ‘I’m so glad you are here to help me.’

            Min, we are too … and we’re also grateful God is with us all, so we don’t go through this life alone.”

I’m So Glad I’m a Part of the Family of God

Bill Gaither - The Family Of God (Live At Gaither Studios, Alexandria, IN/2022) - YouTube

 

*adoption *neurofibromatosis *NF *Godsfamily *belonging *neveralone *happyadoptionday

 

Note: A shorter, redirected version of this May 31^st, 2012 piece is entered as a letter to Min in his memoir, A Home for Min Soo—Putting Together the Pieces of my Life by Kim, Min Soo (available through online booksellers. Also available in eBook and audiobook forms).

The Salem Witch Trials & Forgiveness

             As the congregation sang a Psalm, Rev. Samuel Willard made his way down the aisle of Old South Church in Boston. This Sunday was different than most, having been set aside for prayer and fasting. But the service would take a dramatic turn as the Reverend walked past pew number one—where the most prestigious citizens usually sat.

            Judge Samuel Sewall handed a note to his pastor.

            Rev. Willard hesitated, took the note, walked to the front, and continued the service. Later, though, he unfolded the paper in his hand and looked down at the Judge.

            Judge Sewall stood to his feet with his head hung low as he heard his penned words read aloud from his pastor who came down from the pulpit and stood in front of this prominent man.

            Who was this judge?

            Five years earlier he’d been one of nine specially-appointed judges who presided over the Salem Witch Trials—an awful blight on our nation’s history—a time when Christian believers in God were falsely accused of being witches—some say more than 200. Judge Sewall, along with his peers, declared a guilty verdict on twenty who were sentenced to death—nineteen being hung and one crushed.

 

            For the next five years, Judge Sewall lived with guilt, realizing he violated not only the laws of England but more importantly, God. In his diary he recorded his thoughts—the depth of his guilt and wondering if the death of some of his children was divine retribution. (Eleven of fourteen died before adulthood.)

            Then Sewall told of his son reading this Bible verse: “If ye had known what this meaneth, I will have mercy and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the guiltless.” (Matthew 12:7)

            The Judge wrote in his diary that this convicted him with certainty that he was guilty of twenty innocent lives. Thus, he penned the letter he handed to Rev. Willard that Sunday—one of deep remorse, confessing he’d erred in sentencing the innocent citizens, begging forgiveness for his part in their condemnation and deaths.

            The congregation was deadly silent as Rev. Willard read the Judge’s note aloud.

 

            I wonder what went through Rev. Willard’s thoughts as he read Sewall’s letter to the congregation. Did his mind instantly flashback, knowing full-well one of the doomed was his own kin? Had he held contempt for the Judge those five years and cringed when he walked past that pew every Sunday? Did he ever eye the Judge from the raised pulpit with thoughts of condemnation? Or was his heart like Jesus’—quietly whispering forgive Him, Lord. He knoweth not what he did.

            I’m not certain, but I’ve surmised by the fact the Reverend met the Judge on equal footing and read the note standing before him, face to face, he made peace. He then addressed the congregation: “He (the Judge) desires to take the blame and shame of it … desiring prayers that God … would pardon that sin …” ¹

 

            I’m awed and personally humbled by the Reverend’s words. It does seem he accepted Judge Sewall’s remorse and apology sincerely.

            I’m also ashamed to admit I likely wouldn’t have done the same thing. How do I know that? Because I’ve nursed hatred and unforgiveness to people who took part in declaring our unfounded guilt decades ago, harming one of our children, and nearly destroying our family.

            You, Sarah? I didn’t think you had a vindictive bone in your body—you might think.

            Yes, me. I’ve found forgiving those who harm me easier than those who hurt my husband or children. Touch them, and I’d go ballistic!

            Then I learned this story about my ancestor, Samuel Willard, and I was bowed low—like the other gentleman, Samuel Sewall. If Rev. Willard could forgive “that man,” could I follow his example?

            Sometimes I feel like I’ll never really 100% forgive those who inflicted un-doable hurt and harm, although I am closer and no longer hold thoughts of harming them myself. (I know. This doesn’t sound like a believer in Jesus. Does it?)

            Yet, I carry Willard-DNA within. Rev. Samuel Willard is one of my 8th great-grandfathers. That humbles me, making me plea to God to help me move past it all, like my ancestor did.

            But fully forgive? When no apology comes? No remorse? Impossible!

            But with God all things are possible. (Matthew 19:26) So by His Own Word, the Bible, I claim my “inability” void. I can forgive. I must.

            Also, what am I to do about Jesus Who lives within me—differently than my Willard-DNA but is present in my life. Shall I recklessly toss aside His Words on the cross? “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34)

            Jesus! My supreme example!

            This drives me to my knees at the foot of the cross where the One Who was guiltless died. Where his final Words bore no condemnation. Only forgiveness, overcoming the impossible.

 

            Judge Sewall changed over those years of conviction after the death of the twenty. But he never totally forgave himself. Instead, he “wore” his sorrow, paying for the rest of his days by wearing a goat’s hair shirt under his clothing—an irritating “garment” meant to never let him forget what he had done, through his verdict, taking lives. None of the other eight judges, complicit in the faulty verdict of the twenty at the Salem Witch Trials, ever publicly confessed their guilt.

 

            In the Massachusetts State House chamber in Boston are five murals, each depicting a significant event in our nation’s history. It so happens that one of the paintings ² shows Rev. Samuel Willard, reading the Judge’s letter of repentance.

            May the message of that painting sink into the depths of my soul. If this 8th great-grandfather of mine could forgive Judge Samuel Sewall, can I forgive the worst people have done to us?

            If Jesus could hang on a cross and cry out, “Father, forgive them,” will I also do so? Can you, who’ve endured unfathomable hurt at the hands of another, forgive? It’s possible!

 

Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Thou art the potter, I am the clay.

Mold me and make me after thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still.

 

Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Search me and try me, Savior today!

Wash me just now, Lord, wash me just now, as in thy presence humbly I bow.

 

Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Wounded and weary, help me I pray!

Power, all power, surely is thine! Touch me and heal me, Savior divine!

 

Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Hold o’er my being absolute sway.

Fill with thy Spirit till all shall see Christ only, always, living in me!

 

                                          (from the hymn, Have Thine Own Way, by Adelaide A. Pollard, 1906, public domain)

 

 *SalemWitchTrials *SamuelWillard *SamuelSewall *OldSouthChurch *MassachusettsStateHouseBoston *forgiveness *DNA

 

¹ LaPlante, Eve—Salem Witch Judge: The Life and Repentance of Samuel Sewall

 

² Herter, Albert—Dawn of Tolerance in Massachusetts—Public Repentance of Judge

  Samuel Sewall for His Actions in the Witchcraft Trials, malegislature.gov, 1942.

Watch Israel!

             The nation of Israel has just gone through a week+ of bloodshed and horror to the nth degree. It all began on Shabbat, the Jewish people’s holy day and at the time of year when many of their religious holidays fall. Evil knew the Jews would not be on their guard that morning.

            I’ve been deeply distressed this week with comments coming out of some who imply Israel deserves this. “After all, they killed Jesus!”

            No one deserves what happened. Innocence doesn’t deserve being beheaded in their cribs, being killed/raped/kidnapped from a youth concert, growing up parentless because parents loved them enough to lock them in safe rooms before being slaughtered themselves. The list of atrocities goes on.

            And on.

            Now attacks come from the north as well.

            Yes, we who know what the Bible says know God’s warned that until the end of time the Jewish people will suffer at the hands of her enemy. It’s a harsh realization. One we want to wish away. Yet what God says stands. Not because His Heart desires it, but because it’s a truth set into motion the moment Abraham impregnated Hagar, then Ishmael was born. Enmity between half-brothers on opposite ends of the spiritual spectrum.

            Last Friday the Muslim world proclaimed a day of worldwide jihad against infidels—Jews, believers in Jesus, anyone who does not bow to Allah.

            I’m no expert on end times or the Book of Revelation, but I can tell you, if you want to know where we are in the long range of things, keep your eyes on Israel! It’s key to grasping where we are on earth’s timeline and understanding what’s happening and going to happen in our very broken world.

            So, watch Israel! Read God’s Word!

            And fall on your knees!             

            The Jews are a resilient people. They will rise out of the ashes. They always do. It’s in their resolve (and in their national anthem too).

 

ISRAEL'S National Anthem - HATIKVAH with English and Hebrew lyrics ( Longer version ) - YouTube

—“Our hope is not yet lost.”—

 

            But let’s pray for these beloved of God—that even through these atrocities they will cling to the One Who is watching over them—Who never slumbers nor sleeps. Who roars at the enemy. Who weeps at the lives lost. Who is their Hope.

            Hope is never lost because true Hope is in the Lord God Messiah—Savior of all who will accept His Gift of salvation. This is for the Jews and non-Jews alike.

            So, watch Israel, hope in the God of Zion, and even pray for an enemy so cruel it seeks to devour a whole people. Read God’s Word, weep for the lost, and know that Hope is eternal. 

 

—Because He Lives in English and Hebrew—

BECAUSE HE LIVES (Hebrew and English!) LIVE at the Garden Tomb, Jerusalem Easter - YouTube

#Israel #innocentbloodshed #hope #Revelation #endtimes #Hatikvah #BecauseHeLives

Photo credit: Carolyn Burns