“Love’s as hard as nails.”

It is Good Friday and the sun shines brightly outside my windows. Before I even leave the comfort of my warm bed, I am reminded of a beloved poem by C. S. Lewis…with the final stanza…

Love’s as hard as nails,
Love is nails:
Blunt, thick, hammered through
The medial nerves of One
Who, having made us, knew
The thing He had done,
seeing (with all that is)
Our cross, and His.

Since reading this poem I have been drawn to handcrafted nails. I have known some who have actually made their wedding wings from bent nails.

The truth of the cross became personal for me my senior year of high school – one of the most turbulent years of my life. My Daddy’s earthly life had finally given into cancer after two years of suffering only weeks before my senior year would begin. I remember living  the first semester in a daze, anchorless, rudderless, as if walking in a dream. There were people walking beside me, but none were able to guide me through this deep cavern of loss. There was only one set of footprints – my Lord and my God’s.

As Easter approached, the poignant mini-series,  Jesus of Nazareth, was airing. We had watched it as a family before, but this time, in the quiet of my own room on my little TV set, I watched it by myself. The words of Jesus came alive. The script was almost completely woven from Scripture. I still had not read or understood much of the Bible so with the power of this visual arts medium the Word became living and active in a way never before  experienced. I felt like Jesus was there with me as I watched. It was a divine encounter that quickens  my heart even as I write this. Director Franco Zeffirelli’s artistry and treatment of the life of Jesus still moves me today and has been a part of our family traditions both at Christmas and Easter for many years.

It was the moment that the Roman soldiers pierced His hands and feet that I lost it. It was as if all the pushed back grief, the self protective trying to do life my way, the silly bargain I had made with God after Daddy died asking Him to let me do what I want to my senior year and then I shall submit to His plans for me, and the bad choices all fell at the foot of the cross like in Pilgrims Progress. I screamed on my bed with gut wrenching sobs “Noooo!” His suffering was more than I could bear. I became emotionally hysterical! I was undone! As Jesus hung on that cross looking at me in my room through the TV – His words “Father forgive them for they know not what they do” – that was for me. I can barely write for the power of the memory overwhelms me. Then when Jesus commits His spirit and proclaims, “It is Finished!” – the cost of the redemption for my sin becomes real. A nail in the wall of my life is hammered in. His suffering unto death for me.

This week I have suffered three nights of hives, itchy red fevered patches of bumps for no reason I can figure. Last night they didn’t come even as we emotionally commissioned one of our young adult adoptees moving to London. My best friend in California texts me a spirit filled prayer for healing. I am once again reminded of the film where Zeffirelli beautifully places these prophetic words from Isaiah 53 coming from the mouth of Nicodemus standing at the cross…

⁴ Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.

⁵ But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

⁶ All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.

That passage comes to life for me continually even in this Holy Week when I battled hives. It is a physical reminder that I am in need of a Savior and a Wounded Healer.

He dies so that I might live and be reconciled to my Creator God. I can call Him Abba Father now. I am His daughter. I am loved. I belong. I am secure in Him.

It’s Friday, but Sunday is Comin’!

So when did this Good Friday become personal for you? Please do share with mama g…

 

Tears

” You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalm 56:8 NLT

I have been thinking a lot about tears lately. The topic seems to keep coming up in my head, in my reading, and in conversations. Does that happen to you? I find great comfort that God treasures my tears and stores them. He actually records my times of sorrow and pain. And yet, I confess I struggle with allowing my tears to flow. I confess that often when I really need to let loose a flood of tears, I hold it at bay with angry tension. It is ridiculous self protection on my part because I simply do not want to give sadness or loss space or time. It feels out of control and I struggle with letting go…there are meals to prepare, dishes to clean, someone who needs some support, an email to write, an event to plan and so forth. It feels so selfish and self indulgent to grieve. I mean, what have I to complain about? And yet, God seems to value my release of tears. He created them as a way to release stress hormones, or so the scientists have discovered. My friend Mari Ellen used to be my best reminder to this important truth…but she is in heaven now. I miss her.

I can almost hear the Lord say, “Let it go” – to the tune of Frozen theme song that we have heard way too many times. It is difficult to drink tea when one has a lump in your throat and an unexpressed ache in your heart. When I was discipling students at Black Forest Academy in Germany, unresolved grief was a big topic because we were living in a missionary community where separation from loved ones was the norm. When I discovered this verse, I started looking for representative tear bottles to give as gifts as reminders that God does not look on tears as weakness, but as precious. I keep one in my kitchen where I spend most of my time as a reminder to myself, but I confess I often ignore it and secretly whisper to my soul – not today.

Today is the first day of Spring and it is also a time when many of us enter into the Passion Week heading to Easter. It hit me yesterday, Palm Sunday, while on the back of the Silver Steed heading to a Christian Motorcycle outreach event ( I often have epiphanies while riding pillion) of the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears. Now that was a lot of tears! Read the account for yourself from Luke 7:36-50. She was described as a woman who had lived a sinful life so it took great courage and love for her to even enter the Pharisee’s house! Jesus’ affirming response of love in front of all those gawking men must have been so redemptive and empowering. Her sacrifice of love absolutely humbles me. She must have left that place so much lighter and freer and soul healed! So we have this example of tears of repentant love as a healing sacrifice – I cannot wait to meet this women in heaven and hear about the rest of her earthly story!

Now I grew up idolizing Pollyanna positivism playing the “Glad game” (1960 Disney film with Hayley Mills – Pollyanna), so allowing myself to cry is hard for me, but I must give it space for there are daily reminders that we live in a broken world full of people in need of redemption, love and healing and I am one of them. Tears are a gift of healing release from the Abba Father and I must make space to climb on His lap and allow Him to hold me often with Jesus- in -skin people in my life. I seem to have no problem allowing others to share their tears with me, which actually blesses me because then I can allow myself to mourn with them.  How often I remind others, “blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). May I take my own advise and in this week heading to Easter, may I allow myself to sit at the feet of Jesus and wash His feet with my tears in worship. If you are nearby and need a good cry and a warm embrace, please ring me up – we can share together our tears.

Text coming in…so just after writing this…the Lord gives me someone to cry with…haven’t even published this entry.

Jesus wept.

Tea with a view

Quick post…California girl soaks up sunshine while enjoying a proper cup of tea. This was the reward after riding pillion on my hubby’s Silver Steed to Leith Hill National Trust last Spring. Sunshine and a hot cup of tea in a warm spot with a lovely view of the English countryside – does life get any better? And with traditional china and some yummy English tea cakes. Do you have a special place you like to stop for a cuppa? Please share with mama g…

Welcome to tea with Mama G

The tea kettle is bubbling. My special blend is ready in the English tea pot. It is mid March in coastal south England. The air is briskly cold with birds singing warming songs in the midst of the cloudy sky and seagulls soaring overhead. Please come sit with me in my warm kitchen and let’s share some soul talk.

Let’s weave some life stories and make a tapestry together and see clearer the Master’s design. I am joining this blogging realm to discover, to connect, to grow, to encourage, and be encouraged. I want to have a space where my relational worlds can meet.

I am called many things…Nana G, Aunt Ne Ne, Mamu, Matushka, Sis, Mom, Grubb-a-lub, Buddy, Renée, Fizzy, and often Mama G. With each of those names comes accompanying love and warmth and deep value. One of the most helpful descriptions of my life calling that really resonates with me, especially as a woman, is “relational guardian” (Captivating by the Eldredges). And the most important relationship in my worldview is relationship with our Creator God for out of that flows the life-giving water to love those He has placed in my life.

I have traveled much by plane, train, boat, car, and motorcycle. Each brings a different experience and view. I have lived in 3 countries and learned several languages which also gives different nuances to life interpretation and navigation. I have been married over three decades to my fellow adventurer and my only stable sense of “home”. I have two adult children by birth and countless more “adoptees”. I have four delightful entertaining grandchildren and a brother who is a best friend. I have the most dedicated mother and Papa and most amazingly a lifelong best friend. All of them are far away across the sea as are so many of you that may read this blog. My heart yearns to share a cup of tea with you, to laugh with you and cry with you, but ultimately to grow with you. I will share my heart with you and invite you to share yours with me.

Will you journey forth with me and see what the Abba Father will show us as you have tea with Mama G?