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. . .

Holy Week. . . sometimes it feels like that. . . the days before the resurrection can feel fearful, insecure, depressive, sad, filled with longing, and hoping against hope that things will get better. . . needing God’s Spirit to lift us up once again, to cup our chin in His gentle hands and lift our face to look up at Him, to look into those deep, pure, beautiful eyes and see the love that is there, that He will never leave or forsake us. . . ever.
Tonight my husband and I walked up our walking hill—a breath-stealing, heart-pumping, leg-aching climb. I was already tired and kind of mad that we hadn’t made this trek earlier in the day. My husband said we should quit when we reached the top of the hill. Not wanting to cut our walk short, I told him this was the hard part and after that it would be easy schmeezy. Sure enough, after we reached the top, we continued our walk down a gentle slope and I hardly noticed that I was tired anymore. Since the worst was over, we could easily keep going. Some days we walk the other direction from our house, which is mostly downhill to begin with, but on the way back home, we climb several smaller inclines. When I see the last hill before we reach our house, I always think, only one more hill to climb! I can make it!
Jesus climbed a hill—a breath-heaving, heart-wrenching, leg-crushing climb. He was already beaten and bleeding but he wasn’t mad. His Father, however, was legitimately angry with our sin so took it out on Him—on His perfectly pure, righteous, and deeply loved Son. The hardest part wasn’t even climbing that hill. The hardest part was yet to come. My chest tightens and my breathing becomes harder just thinking about that.
I still have a hill to climb. I don’t even know if it is the last one, but one of these days it will most certainly be the last one. Until then. . . I want to walk in the Light and abide in the Vine. Please join me. We can rest when we get to the top of the hill, catch our breath, and be strengthened for the rest of the journey.

I BASK in the warmth of the sun today with eyes that feast on blossoming trees. Blossoms that transform a colorless winter-dead landscape into the vivid, living breath of spring. A bride in white lace waltzes in the breeze with her gowned bridesmaids in dogwood pink to exult in the glory of Creator. I love springtime here in Spokane, especially after a hard winter. Especially. Maybe I would not appreciate the whisper of spring if I had not heard the groans or felt the bitter tears of winter. Maybe I would take the sun’s warmth for granted if winter had not first gripped my heart and frozen my very breath. Perhaps I’d be oblivious to the beauty around me today if I had not seen the ugliness of naked, black branches etched against a brazen sky. But today, my Lover speaks and says to me, “Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me. . . My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.” *1 So many emotions stir within! Both the winter and the spring of my life squeeze and press my heart—painfully and mysteriously molding it into the very image of Jesus (see Rom. 8:28-29). I cannot change the past, but the past can change me. Therefore, I strive to throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and determine to run with perseverance the race marked out for me. For me.*2 Our sacred romance, the Lover of our souls calls to each of us. He calls us to Himself. He calls us out of this earth place to walk with Him in the light, to abide in the Vine, and to fill us with Himself as nothing in this world can ever do. Jesus… O Jesus is our whisper of spring. *1 Song of Songs 2:10-15 *2 Hebrews 12:1

My challenge this week is to figure out how to navigate through the technological decisions and clicks of setting up a blog page with theme, photos, and pages. I’m overwhelmed, fearful of this unknown territory, and near panic. Obviously, I simply can’t do this. So… my only alternative is to call my 12-year old granddaughter in Alaska to guide me through this process, which I just did. Humbling. Yet I’m grateful for her sweet, cheerful voice, confident guidance, and the love between us. Now I pray that somehow all this effort will result in something worthwhile. I told my brother a while back that I’m really not naturally a writer unless God inspires me. He rebuked me and said writing is just hard work. I know that. I do that. And yet, I still need God’s Spirit to flow through my thoughts and turn them into something worth writing and reading. So that is my prayer and God’s answer includes perseverance, hard work, and, a whole lot of humility.

Perhaps today is the day to let others into our secret place, to listen for Your Still Small Voice and follow You wherever You may lead us. As I stumble along in this dark earth place, I reach for Your hand and it is always there–guiding, leading, comforting, healing. O how grateful I am for the living power of Your Holy Scriptures, for Your Holy Spirit who sheds light into the darkness through Your Word–a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. So now, I ask You to flow Your Word through my life, through my words so others will love and follow You with me. I have no greater earthly joy than in an unbroken relationship with You and with others. Please bless this journey together.