Thinking the world was flat and that Dalmeny was the center of the world gave me a starting gate, however erroneous. Our little town and way of life felt familiar and secure. Only two churches existed in Dalmeny—the MB and EMB, meaning “Mennonite Brethren” and “Evangelical Mennonite Brethren”. We attended both at different times for whatever reason. I still can feel the quiet security of sitting with Mommy and Daddy through the long services and very long German prayers. Though I couldn’t understand High German, I do remember a deep fervency in the prayers of the elderly. I also loved to look at the painted river mural behind the baptistry and hear the beautiful music of the choir each Sunday.

Children remained in the church service back then and learned to be still. We always sat near the front. To occupy me, Mommy would fold her white handkerchief in a triangle, roll up both ends, and pull one corner back under to make it into a little cradle with two babies in it. String beads also could occupy children during the service. I remember the sound of string beads striking and bouncing loudly all over the hardwood floor when the string broke—more than once. I also remember laying my head on Mommy’s lap and falling asleep during the long sermons.

When she became pregnant with my brother, she told me early on so I would not worry about her not feeling well. She later told the story that I stood up on the wooden pew in that M.B. Church, turned around, and excitedly announced to the congregation that my Mommy was going to have my baby brother. So much for keeping their secret!

My baby brother was born that spring and the following winter my Daddy built a little wooden sleigh with a three-sided box on it. When we went to church, they put my baby brother and me into that sleigh and completely covered us with a blanket because the air was too cold to breathe. I can still remember that crisp winter air, see the morning light filtering through the blanket, and hear feet squeaking on the snow ahead of us as they walked to church in sub-zero temperatures. From those early years our faithful attendance in church gave me the security and predictability of belonging to something bigger than myself or my immediate family.

One Sunday morning when the service was over and everyone got up to leave, we filled the isles on our way out. Without glancing up in the pressing crowd of very tall people, I clung tightly to my Daddy’s hand. When we got to the foyer, I happened to look up and with sudden embarrassed shock, burst into tears! The hand I held was that of a stranger! However, my real Daddy was right behind us and he swept me up into his arms. He had been there all along.

I can’t help but wonder if the security of my Daddy’s presence that Sunday morning didn’t give me a greater sense of my heavenly Father’s presence with me today. Somehow, I instinctively know that when fears or embarrassment seek to traumatize me, I can still run to my Abba Father who is always there, watching. . . waiting for me to realize I’ve been holding the wrong hand and comfort me in His arms.

The Psalmist says, “I keep my eyes always on the LORD. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” and “Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.” Psa. 16:8; 73:23-24

IN THE BEGINNING . . . in my beginning the world was flat and Dalmeny sat at the center of the world.  Everyone in the world was a Christian except a few who were not and they smoked.  Of course, then there was the city of Saskatoon about fifteen miles away, which expanded my view of the world, but at first I wasn’t aware of that.  I still remember my conversation with Mommy, and while I insisted the world was flat, she told me otherwise and I tried to grasp a concept contrary to what seemed so real.

Smoking was really bad and so was wearing earrings and lipstick.  One time I tried putting bobby pins on my earlobes to see what I would look like with earrings.  Not bad, actually.  Once my little friend and I tried dancing on the wide cement entrance to Daddy’s general store until some elderly woman came by and forbade us to do such a thing!  My mother was different from all the other women in this small Mennonite town because she was from the United States and she wore lipstick.

That was about sixty years ago and I certainly live on a different planet now than I did then.  Our stories all begin somewhere, and that “somewhere” sets a world view with a profound affect upon the rest of our lives. To look back and identify our world view can help us recognize inherent flaws and bring to light what needs to change as it lines up, or not, with the truth we discover as we grow up.  I had to grow up to realize that things are not always what they seem.  The world IS round and it is vastly larger than our small Mennonite village.  Real Christians are identified by the way they love God and each other, not by outward performance or dress or rules kept.  Yet, I did not learn all that overnight, especially not the identity of a Christian, which I’m still learning. 

So many voices tell us so many things.  In college I entertained human philosophy and the heady experience of feeling wise and knowledgeable came crashing down as did my earlier view of the world being flat—both deceiving and absolutely erroneous.  “For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight” 1 Cor. 3:19.  I still remember the raging battle in my heart as I walked between the library and chapel (both literally and metaphorically) about whether to follow my college friends into their intellectual sophistication or to trust that God had not led me down a garden path of error.  Once I made the choice to trust Him and not doubt, the battle ceased and peace flooded my. . . lonely soul.

Soon, however, I met the love of my life and discovered our similar spiritual passions.  However, there was so much more to come, to learn, more lies to shed, more choices, more pain.  The journey to find our way back to the hearts Jesus gave us from the world of performance and head knowledge is a very long and painful one.
Stay tuned.

I look in the mirror and what do I see?
Why, my dear Grandmother looking at me!
Her hair is all silver, pulled back from her face;
How could it be that I stand in her place?

I look at her now with skin soft as peaches,
With lines and patches, bags and creases;
Her eyelids droop softly just over her eyes,
That sit inside circles like an owl old and wise.

I miss my dear Gramma but would rather see
The young woman I once was looking at me,
With hair long and brown and skin taut and clear
But still keep the lessons I now hold so dear.

Lessons that brought on this silver grey mop,
Each wrinkle and circle, crease and spot.
Without them I fear I’d still hold to my pride,
So foolish and selfish as I was as a bride.

So on second thought, I’ll look at Gramma once more
And reconsider what I thought before;
Maybe there’s something of more value to note
That somehow I missed from this end of the boat.

Though outwardly I still am wearing away,
Inwardly I can grow more lovely each day;
For all things work together for good—
To conform me to the image of Jesus … not to Gramma, for crying out loud!

(MarJean S. Peters  copyright 05-05-2015)

After an exhilarating two-mile walk on this warm and sunny afternoon—up and down hills, past blossoming pink dogwoods, blooming tulips of all colors, and spring green trees all set against dark ponderosa pines—I’m ready to sit down to share with you a new step in a long journey.
I’m so seeking the LORD on what it means for me to blog. Not an easy decision or venture because if you are as inundated with e-mail news, good and worthy causes, and lots of junk mail, as I am, who has time to read one more thing!? Who even cares?
So, I asked the LORD, as I basked in His sweet sun shining grace this Sunday afternoon, “What on earth can I blog about that is valuable enough for anyone to read? Do You even want me to blog? I know I cannot do this without You breathing Your life and words through me, so I’m asking You for that breath.”
I listened. . . and He did breathe through His still, small voice deep inside my heart and mind:
“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” John 10:27.
I knew I must trust Him to give me words to write and that I will hear him and follow Him.
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalm119:105.
Always, His Word lights the path before me. It will not be a flare to light up the whole valley, but it will give me enough light for each step.
“For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” Hebrews 4:12.
I can trust the light and power of His Word to guide my heart and my thoughts. It will reveal my motives for writing and purify them and direct them in ways that will draw me and those who join me to Himself. I can trust His Word to do that in and through me.
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:13-16.
He reminded me that just as He did not design any two snowflakes alike, He did not design any two people alike. Each of us occupy one place in the universe that only we inhabit. No one else, past, present, or future can take our place. Each of our stories reveal God in a way that no one else can reveal Him. Therefore, I can trust that writing from my life circumstances and my personality will fill a place, a valuable place that no one else can fill no matter how many writers fill our mail boxes and book shelves, and book stores, and publishing houses. I cannot let the enemy convince me that I’m just a nobody, an insignificant blip on the screen and that I better not waste my time or anyone else’s time by writing. So many lies keep us from following Jesus and doing what He gives us to do. So much shame and so many accusations to paralyze our spiritual walk and fruitfulness.
I already know I cannot write to you out of my own human wisdom and understanding. Paul says, “Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” 1 Corinthians 1:20.
But, God has given to us who believe, His Holy Spirit who leads us into all truth and who lives in us (see John 16:13; 2 Timothy 1:14).
My body is actually the temple of the Holy Spirit of God, who lives within me, whom I’ve received from God. I’ve been bought by the precious blood of the Lamb of God to do His will, not my own. (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).
I can trust God’s Spirit within me to guide, inspire, motivate, and enable the melding together of God’s Word with my life.
However, the enemy still spreads doubt in my mind about blogging. He reminds me that I still am affected by my Old Adamic nature—prideful, selfish, fearful, insecure, corrupt. . . he also strikes fear into my heart that he will seek to thwart, distract, and deceive me any way he can. He reminds me of how weak and sinful and ignorant I am, hissing, “Who are you to write to anyone?!”
Once again the power of God’s Word and His Holy Spirit come to my aid saying, “But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ Jesus and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ.” 2 Corinthians 2:14.
As I walked through my neighborhood today, the fragrance of spring blossoms filled the air. I even stopped to drink in the aroma of lilacs planted beside the way. Oh to be the aroma of Christ to those God places in my life, and to you who read what He gives me to write!
I listed seven things God impressed upon me today concerning a decision to blog. First, His Word is my light. Secondly, He will reveal Himself through His Word as it relates to my life through my unique design. Thirdly, He gave me His Holy Spirit to breath through me. However, four and five were tough. I still have to contend with my old selfish, prideful, corrupt human nature, and I have the enemy who lies to me and tries to deceive me. I asked God what I needed to do about that.
“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
So numbers six and seven followed with a burst of insight and encouragement. When I am weak, I am strong because God’s power rests upon me. His power will be made evident through my weakness. Lastly, I can even boast in my weakness because through my weakness God’s strength, love, and grace will be revealed to others
So, there I have it. In my blogging, I can vulnerably reveal my weaknesses, my failures, my sins and in so doing, God’s amazing love and grace can be revealed to others. In spite of and even because of my weaknesses, God’s Word will prove true, steadfast, and faithful through the stories of my life.
His Holy Spirit so sweetly reminded me from 2 Corinthians 4:7 that I have an amazing treasure in a common clay pot. I am that common clay pot and Jesus Christ is the treasure within me. You will see my human frailty through my forthcoming stories, but that is so you will never get mixed about who is the one to glorify because God says, “You have this treasure in a jar of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from you.” (see 2 Cor. 4:7).
Dusk falls on this spring day as the sun begins its descent over a bright horizon. Birds twitter among the full bodied trees and blossoms. I get up to close the patio door against the cooling evening air and return to my cozy rocker and laptop. My heart quiets itself in the presence of a Holy God who so faithfully answers prayer. Whoever God calls to journey with me, I pray for you. I fervently pray that He will bless us together with more and more of His gracious, loving, gentle, forgiving, wonderful Self. Pray for me too. . . that He will carry me along by His love, grace, and power.

My grandchildren always ask, “Gramma, tell us a story of when you were a kid.” So I tell them. They now have their favorites and ask again, and I say, “But I told you that one before.” They say, “Tell it again!” There’s many stories and I plan to begin near the beginning and weave God’s grace and goodness into each one.

Love and prayers for you,

Jeannie

I AM YOUR REDEEMER. . .
not for the vainly beautiful,
but for the wretched, pitiful,
poor, blind and naked;
not to the worldly wealthy,
famous, intelligent or beautiful,
but to those who realize
their utter sinfulness
and estrangement
from God.

I AM YOUR CHOOSER. . .
I chose to set My love upon you
to reveal the undeserved
favor of My character;
The one who
has been forgiven much
loves much.

I AM YOUR GREAT PHYSICIAN. . .
not for the well,
but for the sick,
not to those
who think they do not need
a Savior,
but for those who realize
their woundedness,
brokenness, sickness, and
helpless bondage
to a rebellious heart.

I AM YOUR TRUE VINE. . .
not for the self-sufficient,
but for those who
desperately abide;
Not for those who
think they can go days, weeks,
or months without
kneeling in prayer,
but for those who live,
breath, eat, and sleep
in the presence and power
of God’s Word.

I AM YOUR LIGHT OF LIFE. . .
not to the self-illumined,
but to the trusting humble;
not for those who seek significance
in the eyes of this world,
but for those who recognize
that in His light we see light
and see our significance
in the light of the cross.

I AM YOUR BREAD OF LIFE. . .
not to the self-indulgent,
but to those who hunger
and thirst for righteousness;
not to those
who find “nourishment”
on the empty calories
of this world’s pleasures,
but to those who seek
to abide in the presence
and power of their Creator,
Sustainer,
All-in-All.

I AM YOUR GOOD SHEPHERD. . .
not to wolves in sheep’s clothing,
but to the flock of God;
not to spiritual pretenders
practicing to deceive
or to those who trust in
their good works,
but to those who
take shelter
under the protection
of the blood of the Lamb
of God.

I AM YOUR PATH OF LIFE. . .
not for the self-sufficient,
but for the repentant lost;
not for those who
justify themselves,
rationalize their behavior,
or blame everyone else,
but to those who take
the narrow way
in faith and submission.

Alone we dance—LORD God and I,
Our spirits circling lovingly;
He takes a step. . . I follow near—
Ethereal the music here.
No one can know the pain, the tears,
The loneliness we span
Between the stars through time and space. . .
Waltzing to eternal plan.
Alone we dance—our gazes meet,
We smile, we know, we understand.
He winks, I cry. . . and we embrace,
Creator and created—face to face.
What rhythm beat from heaven to earth
On crimson feet for sin atone?
Alone He danced beneath a cross
From earth to heaven’s throne.
Triumphantly the dance moves on
And earthly visions fade
As in His arms I’m held secure
By the sacrifice He made.
—MarJean S. Peters

WOMAN WEEPS BENEATH A CROSS. Fallen! Fallen is beautiful and lovely Eve. Her design marred and now a dwelling place of unclean things. Her sorrows multiply in childbirth and all her children drink the wine of her idolatry. Their sins reach to the heavens and none are found righteous—not one! All her children fall. . . yet, not all, for there is One. . . one of her offspring does not fall; A son of Eve, a son of David, the Son of GOD. Oh Garden of Eden, Garden of Gethsemane, here He wept for your children.

The image of the invisible GOD, the firstborn over all creation, the Creator of all things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; by whom all things were created and for whom all things were created, and by whom all things hold together now hangs suspended above the earth—GOD—broken, bleeding, crushed, smeared and covered with our sin.

Demons dance, women weep, disciples run. GOD—perfect, holy, altogether lovely, magnificent, majestic, and profoundly terrible and awesome, once existing in inextricable unity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit suddenly, inconceivably, unbelievably . . . rip apart! With unimaginable and excruciating pain, the Father must turn from His Son. The cries of both Father and Son pierce and reverberate through the universe, “My God! My God! Why have You forsaken Me?” Out of His immense love for man, for woman, the eternal oneness of GOD wrenches apart, splitting the very core of the eternal GOD-HEAD!

Demons dance, screaming their apparent victory! Man’s sin does its work, and the perfectly righteous, perfectly pure and beautiful Son, the Darling of heaven takes upon Himself all the corruption, abuse, pain, sorrow, crime, idolatries, and adulteries of the entire world. The Godhead—ruptured, hemorrhaging, flowing down, over, covering, cleansing, washing, clean, pure, holy!

Woman lifts His broken body and washes it with her tears. With linen cloths, ointment, and spices she anoints it for burial. Here all her sins are laid to rest, buried within the tomb. Though Eve plunged the earth into darkness and pain and sorrow, through her was promised a Redeemer whose foot would bruise the serpent’s head. Woman bows before The Lord—our pure Righteousness.

Night falls. Never so dark a night. . . never so hopeless a day. . . and night. . . and day. . . and night until. . .  a line of light faintly appears upon a perceived horizon. It grows. . . slowly it widens and fingers of light gradually rise to pierce the gloom. Brighter and brighter it becomes until the very burning core lifts above the horizon and bursts upon the earth in resplendent brilliance! Through blackest darkness a line awakens upon a cosmic screen and the heart, deathly still, now lurches to life. It is the beginning, the word of promise fleshed out and rising as the Light of life. In Him is life and that life is the light of men. The light shines in darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it! In a dimension of unapproachable light, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit fuse again and for all eternity. Angels rejoice. Demons flee. Heaven Receives! Yet. . . a mystery. . . fully God in all His blazing beauty and brightness. Yet the scars. . . the eternal scars upon His hands and feet and side. . . her name, his name carved in the palms of His hands forever. He will never, in all eternity,  forget them. . .  ever!

THE OLIVE GROVE rustles softly in the night air. Mist rises from the damp earth where He lies prostrate before His Father. Fingers that once touched blind eyes, healed deaf ears, and tenderly held children are now clenched white in anguish.

“You don’t have to do this, hisses an all too familiar voice. Even if you give your life for them, they won’t want you. They’ll run away. They’ll deny they even know you. They want a political savior, a miracle man, someone to heal them and feed them and give them ease and comfort. You will disappoint them, you betray their trust, you lead them all like sheep to the slaughter!”

Dark clouds drift silently over the moon, and the shadows deepen. “Father,” He whispers hoarsely, “Father, if you are willing, let this cup pass from me.”

“Ha! Yes, let it pass!” Hisses the voice. “This is too much to ask. You cannot bear the weight of the whole world! One hot breath and all your miserable creatures can be gone, swept into hell with me. You don’t have to do this!”

Drops of blood bead on his brow and trickle down into his beard. He raises his body from the earth and looks up into the night sky. “Father, not my will but yours be done.”
The voice slithers away beneath the darkness and angel wings sweep down and around, comforting, worshipping, loving Him.

The last test, the last temptation, and in the final victory He leads the way to victory after victory over selfishness, self-righteousness, self-gratification, self-sufficiency, and self-worship. No, he will not lead them as sheep to the slaughter. He leads them to victory and eternal life!

~

Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, ‘Father?’
‘Yes, my son?’ The fire and wood are here,’ Isaac said, ‘but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?’
Abraham answered, ‘God Himself will provide the lamb…’

…Abraham looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son. So Abraham called that place The LORD Will Provide. And to this day it is said, ‘On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided.’

—Genesis 22:7-8

TREES ETCHED against an evening sky, rustled softly beneath a pale moon. In the growing darkness a lifeless face, illuminated in the moonlight, stared vacantly into the abyss above. Coagulating rivulets slowly bubbled from the bare chest and trickled down, seeping into the earth with silent screams. A dark sulking figure crawled into the shadows of a vineyard’s twisting vines. Its rage now spent, It heaved a deep trembling sigh and closed its eyes.

The plan had worked. He had been so gullible, just followed like the dummy that he always was. Echoes of guttural laughter seemed to shake the curtain of leaves. Too easy… it had been just too easy… over so quickly… too quickly… not even a challenge. Maybe it should have taken a little longer, perhaps some cat and mouse game, some taunting jibes to make it seem more worthwhile… a little more… maybe… But no, it was better this way… much better. Now it could be forgotten and that sweet, innocent face wouldn’t bother him anymore. There would be no more comparisons, no more looking like a fool. Now he could have peace… yes, peace. The anger would be gone, and so would the seductive voices egging it on day and night. There had been a warning. He had said it could be mastered. But this was easier. Revenge was sweet. All the hurt, disappointment, envy, and jealousy were slaked with a wrath that intoxicated the soul.

He slept… a dreamless sleep that awakened only with the dawn. Drenched with dew, he shivered in the cool morning air. Thick eyelids resisted the light and soiled hands tried to rub away the heaviness that wanted to pull it back into that place of nothingness. Bleary eyes came to focus on the pruning blade still clenched in a callused hand. With unreasonable terror the blade was pressed deeply into the soft soil and disappeared. Yet, the trembling, blood-smeared hands could not be buried. Wash… they had to be washed! Stumbling… running crazily through the saplings down to the stream, falling to his knees at the water’s edge, plunging those stains into the cold, clear water. Now fully awake, scrubbing furiously. Grasping white sand, rubbing, rubbing until fresh blood coursed dangerously close to the surface. There wasn’t enough sand. There wasn’t enough water! The sharp coldness rose quickly to chest height. Scrubbing, scrubbing, everywhere, desperately trying to wash away that sweet, innocent, white face that seemed to cling to everything.

Once more exhausted he crept out of the water and sat trembling on the bank. The sun began to warm the cold skin and dry the soggy clothes. Gathering strength, he stood up and turned to go… go where? Where was there to go? Home? What would they say? The questions. There would be so many questions. Then he saw Him… sitting there quietly on a rock, watching, waiting…

“Where is he?” He simply asked.

“I don’t know! How should I know! He’s big enough to take care of himself!” he snapped.

That was the end. He was never there again. The daylight faded into night. The moon waned. The stars disappeared and the night never ended, ever.

~

TODAY… during this Holy Week, I think of our crushing need for a Savior. Romans 3:10-12 says, “There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands; there is no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one.” From Cain killing Able to WWIII, “We all like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isa. 53:6). God came… and we step into the Vine Light as this Holy Week unfolds. . .