Easter Joy

Happy Resurrection Day!!

My dear friend, Christoula, taught me the official Greek Easter greeting many years ago. "He is Risen!" she said. "And the one greeted responds, 'He is Risen Indeed!' "

I fell in love with the exuberance of it and pleaded with Frank to make it part of our own Easter tradition. He graciously agreed. And we awakened our girls every Easter morning after with the joyful declaration. Sometimes their little voices were groggy but the message echoed just the same year after year.

That's why Meagan was giving Nathan an impromptu tutorial on the way over for our sunrise service this morning.

"Oh, Nathan. We have one more family tradition that you need to know about."

Nathan is also gracious. But his sigh reminded her that our family seems to have a LOT of traditions!

"Sooo when you first walk in the door, someone will probably say, 'Good morning, guys. He is Risen!' And then you have to respond, 'He is Risen Indeed!' Got it?"

How could he possibly resist those beautiful green eyes on Easter? "Okay, He is Risen Indeed?"

"Yes, perfect! Let's practice - 'He is Risen.' "

"He is Risen Indeed!" Nathan is gracious and a fast learner.

She said they had one more dry run-through on the driveway before coming inside. My sons-in-law are truly the best!

Frank met them at the door. "Good morning, guys. He is Risen!"

Meagan and Nathan looked at each other, burst out laughing and answered together, "He is Risen Indeed!"

Now when I say "this morning," I should probably clarify. Frank woke me at 5:00 and Kristin came stumbling into the kitchen around 5:30. Yes, that would be A.M. We've marked Easter with our own family sunrise service for over twenty-five years now.

When the girls were little, Frank and I served as associate pastors in Asheville, NC. Because we directed rather large Easter productions each year, it left little time for our own "bunnies." And we all know the only "sure fire" method of passing on our faith is - intentionally.

So on Joy's first Easter, we began. At only eight months old, I don't think the blanketed baby absorbed much. But Kristin (3 years old) snuggled into Daddy's arms as we sat together on the front porch and croaked out the resurrection hymns. We stumbled over the words and shivered in the cold. But that sunrise was spectacular!

And a tradition was born that our girls have willingly marked with us every Easter since.

The locations have varied widely. One year while we were evangelists, our service was conducted in a mall parking lot because that's where we found a beautiful Bradford pear tree - and privacy.

Our years in Ocean Isle afforded us a golf course, a trampoline, a deserted stretch of beach. We've celebrated in parks, on porches and even porticoes when necessary.

Some years we haven't had the privilege of being all together in the same place. Kristin has traveled the most. One year she sang from under the kitchen table of friends she was visiting so as not to waken them. And even called on her Easter evening the year she was in India.

One of my favorite memories was the year that Easter coincided with the time change. Frank and I hustled everyone out of bed, grabbed blankets and snacks, then drove to a favorite spot on the beach in the predawn darkness.

We parked our Ford van, then huddled together in the back with the hatch wide open so everyone could see the sun as it rose. We sang all our songs - twice. Ate a few snacks. Diverted an argument over squishing and cover-snatching. We talked about what Easter meant. But the sun did not come up!

Finally it dawned on us (cheesy pun totally intended) that we had miscalculated the time change and had dragged our little girls out of bed TWO HOURS EARLY!!

Dad, Kristin and Meagan closed the door and took a nap. But Joy was too full of energy to sleep. So she and I walked the deserted beach and I listened to her little ten year old voice tell me all that was going on in that precious blond head.

The mistake ended up being a marvelous memory!

Perfection has never been the goal. Just joining the rest of Christendom in finding some way to mark the greatest day in all of human history!

Our croaky choir of five has added two more male voices. And even Spencer (snuggled into a blanket in his daddy's arms) watched the proceedings with wide blue eyes this morning.

"We will be faithful to tell the next generation of your goodness!"

Ah, He Is Risen! May it echo in your heart too.

HE IS RISEN INDEED!!

Seder

Oh, how I wish each of you could have been with us last night!

Our church hosted a Seder service; led by a Gentile minister who has converted to Judaism. (No, I didn't get that backwards. And no, he isn't confused; although I was at first!)

Mr. Burroughs did an excellent job of leading us through the symbols and symbolism of a Jewish Seder. The meal used in homes all around the world to mark Passover. We felt incredibly "connected".

He also informed us that the exact day of Passover seldom coincides directly with Easter as it does this year. So, as we walked through the rituals and listened to the explanations, we marked it just as Jesus did 1,982 years ago. Amazing!

Frank and I have participated in these before. But last night was more significant because we were sharing it with our own church family. We were thrilled that so many parents brought their children to learn as well.

This will probably become a Garden Grove Church tradition right along with Family Communion at Christmas. We love tradition!

And, of course, Seder is actually geared for children. The various elements all serve to retell the story of the Exodus. Children have specific roles to play. Each element, every step is an object lesson in itself. All pointing to the love of God for us, His children.

(If you have young ones in your home, you should look up the Seder meal before next year. You and your children would thoroughly enjoy it.)

No wonder Judaism has continued through the ages with so little variation. Jewish people intentionally train their children to know, to understand, to believe.

God grant that we would all be so deliberate in communicating our faith to those entrusted to us!

The only hitch in all this wonder is that I'm struggling with a miserable head cold. Benadryl has become my closest friend. Trying to knock it out before Easter - my most favorite holiday.

I'll try to get back here tomorrow. I'd really love to share with you how we've personalized Easter sunrise through the years.

No matter how you and your loved ones celebrate, may your Easter/Passover be abundantly blessed!

They Know

Our congregation is incredibly patient with me; they know me.

Although I try diligently to avoid it, there are lots of times that I’m slow in returning emails and phone calls.

And our dear members never hand me a scrap of paper with an important message or announcement on Sunday mornings. They just know that it will never be seen again. Sunday morning requires a lot of focus; it's all about the service/the people and nothing else!

(Well, that’s not entirely true. I usually find a way to squeeze Spencer as soon as he arrives. But I don’t think “Grandmothering” counts against you.)

This June marks seven years that we’ve served Garden Grove Assembly of God as pastors. Seven wonderful years! And after all this time, we just know a few things about each other.

They know their pastors love them and work hard. They know that if we don’t get back to them on the same day, there's a really good reason. They know that no matter how busy we may be, they are never far from our thoughts and prayers.

The past nine days have been just such a time.

Our full work week ended with us getting on a plane last Friday. We headed to Ocean Isle Beach, NC. Pastor Chase had graciously invited us to come back and preach for the church we pioneered almost twenty years ago. (Frank AM; Sheri PM) Such a GREAT weekend!

Pastor and Mrs. Chase are long time friends. So we shared meals and laughter and trials and testimonies. The congregation has blossomed under their leadership; we enjoyed ourselves immensely!

The flight home was late Monday, so we carved out a little beach time too.

Got home at midnight.

At 6:00 AM Tuesday, we discovered that a storm had tripped the breaker for our extra freezer. Which promptly began to defrost. All by itself! Tuesday was full; game on.

Around 7:00 PM, my dad pulled into our driveway with a new friend. This friend is of the female persuasion. So of course, one whole suitcase rolled in just stuffed to overflowing with emotions.

(Yes, we knew they were coming. Yes, tomorrow will be three years, four months since my mom passed away. Yes, I fully expect my dad to remarry someday. Just not THIS day. Sigh.)

Wednesday we dovetailed family time with office time then the evening Bible study then more family time.

Thursday went pretty much the same. Only we planned for a big fish fry dinner at our house with my brother and his wife, too.

Things stayed fairly balanced until half way through the day. We got a call that Spencer had pulled a large cabinet over onto his right hand. It immediately turned blue and swelled to twice its normal size.

John and Joy rushed to the hospital for x-rays. Thankfully, nothing was broken and none of the surgery was affected. Oh, those guardian angels!

Friday I made a big breakfast, said farewell to Dad and his friend, took a long walk and went to bed for a nap! Must say, it was a definite “10” as naps go.

Frank treated me to the spring concert at SEU Friday evening. Magnificent music is powerful medicine! Saturday morning found us back at church for the missions meeting. (Have I mentioned that we will be going to El Salvador for ten days the end of May?)

Great Sunday service with amazing people this morning.

And at the time of this writing, I’m sitting under the oak tree behind our church. Enjoying the breeze; watching a flag football game. Our youth group was challenged by another group. I have the easier part – cheering from the shade!

Yes, some days I’m a little slow about returning messages. But there’s almost always a legitimate reason. And the people we serve know that – what a blessing!

HAPPY PALM SUNDAY!!

H.U.M.B.L.E.

Yep, that’s my new middle name – HUMBLE!

Bestowed upon me as I recently devoured a huge piece of Humble Pie.

Have I mentioned that I’m NOT an athlete? Not in any way, shape or form. Never have been. Most likely never will be.

Kickball served as my greatest nemesis in elementary school. I had the wind knocked out of me while playing Red Rover. And softball? Forget it!

I had to run laps in high school to demonstrate my level of physical fitness. Other girls LAPPED me because I ran so slowly. And that came with my best effort! My only D was in that phys ed class!

(Oh, wait. I also had one in Geometry. But that was math, which I stink at, so that doesn’t really count.)

Fortunately, my current life does not require much athleticism. I converse about the final four. I can watch football, baseball, even soccer with some level of intelligence. And that seems sufficient for those sports nuts around me.

Except for my main squeeze – John Franklin.

He has mentioned several times how much he’d like for me to get interested in biking. I’ve reminded him that biking is his outlet. His personal time for reverie. Why would he want to destroy that with female company that wants always to chat?

But he is a persistent man!

So last Saturday, we borrowed Joy’s bicycle (complete with baby carrier) and headed to the trail.

The sun shone; birds chirped; the breeze blew; temperature hovered around 75. A perfect bicycling day for novices and experts alike.

We headed out; Frank offered small coaching tips and encouragement. But Spencer’s handle on the baby carrier was causing great distress in the area of my derriere!

I tried to describe my level of discomfort to Frank but he just kept nodding and saying, “Uh huh. I can see.” Not the answer I wanted – at all!

He did finally figure out how to move the bar; giving me full use of the seat. And believe me, I needed FULL use of the seat!

After that, the ride actually became rather pleasant. (Please refer back to “sun shining; birds chirping” paragraph.)

We rode on, stopping each time my legs cramped or my bottom demanded. And I started enjoying myself. Frank gave a steady commentary about the trail and even shared stories from past rides he’d taken solo or with John.

I could see myself doing this on a semi-regular basis.

Then, it happened.

I made the mistake of asking how far we had ridden. “Three miles,” he said.

My little calculating mind (never still while I’m in a waking state) began to figure.

If we ride one more mile, that will make the round trip eight miles. Frank’s first bike ride three years ago was ten miles and we cheered like he’d won the Tour de France. Surely I could do eight!

Now, “not athletic” does not mean I’m not competitive!

• One young lady swore to never play a board game with me ever again because of my competitive streak.

• Frank and I almost called off our wedding due to a Monopoly game that went rogue.

• Inability to play volleyball well doesn’t stop me from challenging the opposing team with noisy rhetoric.

Okay, so I have a rather serious character flaw. “Hi, my name is Sheri and I’m competitive…..”

So, back to the ride.

My legs were starting to hurt a bit and I knew that this was only the beginning of the pain I’d be experiencing the next day. I really should give up and turn around now.

But hey, that’s why they invented Tylenol, right? I was going to make eight miles! I was determined!

Frank began to say, “Honey, we’ll turn around any time you’re ready.”

“No, I’m good. Let’s just ride a little farther.” I could smell the joy that would accompany the completion of that eighth mile!

“Must get to mile four before turning around! Can’t quit now! Just……Keep…….Pedaling!”

When we reached the fourth mile, I silently congratulated myself. Please remember, Frank had no idea of the thoughts rambling around in my head.

The trip back seemed to have a decidedly uphill slant; much tougher than the first half.

Not a problem. I was mentally up for the challenge. I kept my focus on the moment that would come when we were all sitting around the dinner table and I would casually point out that my first ride had only been two miles shorter than Dad’s first ride.

It would indeed be a delightful moment. I could hear the congratulatory comments already. The entire family would cheer!

“Must……Keep……..Pedaling!”

One short mile from the finish line……er, uh, from the car……we had the choice of repeating a side trail we’d taken at the beginning.

Frank could see that I was pushing hard, so he suggested that we skip the extra trail.

Skip it? That would keep us from making the eight-mile marker I’d set up in my head.

“NO!”

My response was a bit too emphatic and he glanced over at me. “Well, uh, that was a pretty spot. I’d like to ride back through there again.” The huffing and puffing blurred any edge of competitive inflection.

I can see you shaking your head already. Yep, brace yourself. Ever heard the scripture, “Pride goes before a fall”?

We turned smoothly onto the side trail without even slowing down. Frank complemented my improving skills. I beamed. Victory called from just two short miles away!

Another bicycling couple approached from the opposite direction. I casually lifted my hand to wave a greeting and flashed my best “preacher’s wife smile”.

Casual became careless. And in that instant, all of life went into slow motion.

I didn’t see that Frank had slowed for the curve. My front tire clipped his back tire and the future became immediately clear – I was going DOWN!

SELAH. (Which means: stop and consider.)

My favorite capris will become shorts this summer due to the large tear just below my left knee. The bruises have turned multiple shades of purples and yellows. The Neosporin and bandages I’ve kept on hand for John became MY friends. And things have ached that I never knew I had.

Sure glad we have a good chiropractor!

And that, dear friends, is my confession for the day. Confessing is good. Dealing with a character flaw is even better.

Gotta go change my bandage now.

The Missing Piece

I’m convinced that in each relationship we share, there is a piece of that person’s life that we’re missing.

A key. A missing tidbit of information. A puzzle piece that (if fitted into place) would cause us to back up and say, “Ohhh, well that finally makes sense!”

I have a dear friend I’ve admired for many years. She and I became close when our children were just babies. Jennifer* had two perfect little ones who were truly beautiful; a daughter and a son.

Her son, an extremely bright and curious boy, had a vocabulary that exceeded any child his age. We often roared with laughter as she told stories of encounters with strangers in the grocery store; his latest climbing adventure or other “learning experiences.”

Jennifer definitely had her hands full! But she carried on with the grace and optimism of young motherhood.

Joshua’s precocious ways unnerved a lot of people. And when he came to play with my girls I certainly had to stay on my toes. But his loving and compassionate nature always took center stage, to me.

Just before Joshua turned five, we started to realize that some of his behavior had no explanation. The stories changed from light-hearted to startling. Jennifer began to express genuine concern for Josh’s safety – he seemed to have no fear at all.

Jennifer’s husband worked as a public servant. His job left them open to all sorts of suggestions and criticism regarding Joshua. To the casual observer, Josh looked like any other rambunctious little boy. So the input ranged from practical to absurd:

• “Isn’t there a pill they can give him?”
• “I think a good old fashioned spanking is in order!”
• “Have you checked for food allergies?”
• “If you would just get that kid on a better schedule….”

People seldom gave any thought to the heart of the young mother they so freely scrutinized. I cried with Jennifer over some of the more ruthless comments.

During one of those times she said, “It seems like it would be so much easier if he had a physical handicap. That way, at least people would try to muster some sympathy!”

At long last, Joshua was diagnosed with a form of Autism. And the truth became painfully clear – without Divine intervention, Joshua would continue to struggle and people would most likely never understand.

I watched my precious friend become his champion.

If tests were needed and the insurance company refused, she spent countless hours helping them change their corporate mind.

She wrestled with the school system until he successfully graduated high school.

Jennifer sought out job opportunities that would help her son experience the joy of being gainfully employed.

She helped provide community service hours; letting him follow in Dad’s footsteps.

She refused to allow people to label Joshua. And she prayed like Hannah!

When I see Jennifer in other settings now, I know the pain that resides deep in the heart of this polished, confident woman. I know of the darker puzzle pieces God has fitted into the portrait of her life: disappointment, sorrow, grief, questions without answers.

And I marvel at her.

I often think back on her pondering from long ago, “Wouldn’t it be easier if he had a physical handicap that people could see?”

And I wonder how many people around me are, right now, struggling with issues I know nothing of.

Hearts, broken beyond healing, continue to beat. But they doubt joy will ever come again.

The wife of someone in a public role (like Jennifer) who wants to simply crawl into a hole and wait for the storm to end. But she can’t! Obligations and commitments make no allowance for hidden pain. So she smiles and soldiers on as best she can.

The obnoxious teen-ager who dresses so ridiculously. He’s grappling with life questions that would overwhelm an adult. But he dares not say anything to anyone!

The sullen student who never has her work done. She couldn’t return a report card if her life depended on it. But every evening in her upscale home is one more night of terror.

What kind of compassion would we lavish on these if only we had the missing piece of the puzzle? If only we knew!

The ironic thing is this: we seldom ever have that information. God calls us to offer grace and compassion to others without knowing the whole story.

Only He has the vantage point of seeing the entire picture.

My prayer? “Lord, help me blindly extend the kind of lavish love to others that I would gladly give if I knew their story.”

I keep a puzzle piece in my desk as a reminder of this prayer.

Please, feel free to adopt that visual aid too, dear reader. Truth is, we can all afford to be a little more understanding!

Amen. Amen to that!

Response

You made me cry!

Yes, it was you; I'm certain.

After two long weeks of "blogger's stage fright," I finally pushed the post button on Wednesday evening, just before Bible study. I came back to the office early Thursday and decided to proof the post one more time before someone might get to their office and actually start reading it.

What should greet my discouraged eyes but a "7" in the comment box. Seven gracious, thoughtful, encouraging comments. (That number has risen to eleven.) I honestly felt like someone had left an envelope full of money on my desk blotter.

Frank stepped in to ask a question and found me reaching for the tissues.

"Honey, what's wrong?!" I don't cry a lot first thing in the day.

"There are seven comments on my blog this morning!" The tears made me feel self-conscious. But fortunately, my husband understands how much this endeavor means to me.

He came around the desk, gave me a hug and insisted we read each one again. A couple were first-time responders. And two said they sometimes share these thoughts with friends. Big encouragement to keep at it!

What an amazing time we live in; where friendships form in cyberspace. I always wanted a pen pal story: "Oh, we've written letters back and forth for fifteen years. And this summer she's getting on a plane and we'll actually meet for the first time. But we already know each other because of the letters we've shared!"

Hmmm -guess that's why reading our Bible is so important. Its the record of God's letters to us and it gives us an opportunity to get to know Him. Then one day when we actually meet for the first time, we won't be strangers at all because of the letters.

Thank you so much for taking time to read Embrace the Grace! And thanks to those who commented.

The tears were happy ones I assure you!

Fresh Start

Do you ever experience the "Total Fail" feeling?

You know, that moment when you realize:

• you're up to your ankles in dirty laundry.
  
• you're holding a calendar that can not possibly squeeze in one more element.
  
• you forgot to pick up milk - again.
• every person in your life needs assistance you can't provide.
• your guests are arriving early and dinner is definitely late!

Our under-thirties often call this The Epic Fail!

And that's what I've experienced lately in regards to this blog. I have not written for two full weeks now. That (according to every blogger I've encountered) qualifies as an Epic Fail for sure!

But each time I would attempt to sit down and write, something urgent would take center stage.

I've had several great blog ideas. Timely stories. Humorous occurrences. Powerful illustrations. But here we are, two weeks out and not one has been recorded. Huge SIGH!

I would think of all you kind readers/commentators who actually take time to stop by here and follow my ramblings.

• "Will they think something is wrong?"
  
• "Will they wonder if you've just stopped writing entirely?"
  
• "Will they loose interest?"
  
• The worst of all: "Will anyone know you haven't posted?"
  

AAGGHHH -entirely too must introspection for an extrovert!

For me, blogging is such a great honor. I take it quite seriously when anyone chooses to pull a moment from their limited cache of free time and read or listen to anything I have to say. That person needs to be rewarded with a nugget of truth; a word of encouragement; at the very least, a smile.

But for the past two weeks, I just haven't felt the spark of inspiration. And after starring at my computer, totally devoid of words I deemed valuable enough to record, I got "stage fright". And just. could. not. write.

Silly, I know. But please understand how much I want to offer you something of real value when you stop by "Embrace the Grace".

So it was that in the pre-dawn hours of this very morning, I lay awake praying about this blog. I thought of all the regular comment-leavers and how much they've encouraged me these past two years. I recounted the fact that TWO WEEKS have passed without so much as a word; incredibly rude by Southern standards. I rehearsed the joy of pressing the Publish Post button. I questioned my ability to craft a post worthy of your time.

And ever so quietly, I felt the Father whisper to my heart, "You believe in fresh starts for everyone else.............why not yourself?"

"Well, mostly because I should be able to live up to my commitments," was the harsh response from my condemning heart.

"I'll give you a fresh start, then!" His reply always brings comfort. "Just write something. Anything. Just START!"

And so I have.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for reading Embrace the Grace! I truly count your partnership (I write. You read. We both benefit.) as a gift in my life.

May yours be blessed beyond measure today! And may you also encounter a fresh start where it's most needed.