RESURRECTION DAY ALIYAH: 3.30.24

An unusual Resurrection Day to be sure.  Knee swollen, tender and sore – but somewhat – strengthened as I can put weight on it without it popping out of place (ahhhh – the fun of old age). Another day of pulling out the tens machine, MELT stretches, inversion board, PT stretches and a sunrise service in CA, via YouTube, that brought me to tears. Thus, traditional church, family, and outside planting thrown out the window.  Luckily, sunporch windows were thrown wide open to warmth of a perfect ‘Sonshine’ filled day and a happy kitty-kitty curled in the ray of Light.

A hundred years ago, 1924, my parents would have been 5 years old. Well – technically – dad would have been almost 5, since his birthday was at the end of April. Unlike American society of the mid-1900’s and early 2000’s, there are no ‘Easter pictures’ of my parents when they were 5.  But I am beyond blessed because a few black and white pictures have survived to show their younger selves and their smiling parents. Even in the fading images, the love and joy shines in each of their eyes when they are looking at each other.

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help, my help cometh even from the LORD who hath made heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ His only Son our LORD who was conceived by the virgin Mary and crucified under Pontius Pilot – crucified dead and buried.”

Psalm 121:1-2; Apostles’ Creed

 I have always found it interesting – no, more than that – pondered and wondered deeply why Yeshua’s mother is not listed as one of the women who returned to the tomb with spices in any of the gospels. She had stayed with him throughout everything on that day which the recognized ‘church’ calls Holy Thursday and Holy Friday.  She was with Him as He suffered the chains, trials, scourgings, blows, and curses until His body was so beaten it became unrecognizable even by her.  And if some oral traditions are to be believed, she received this Passover Lamp into her arms…arms that had once held and wrapped in swaddling clothes His newborn body… her beloved Son who had fulfilled the Genesis promise of Salvation and a way home for all of them to the Abba Father.

Yet – she didn’t go to the tomb to treat the body with spices one last time?

Early in my meanderings of seeking, I wondered if the gospels had just thought it would be obvious to everyone that she would be there. But lately, I have found myself wondering that maybe she knew her Son so well, that she had no doubt what the women would find on the third day. She had watched Him grow in all stages of His life.  She had pondered all that the angel had proclaimed to her during her time of visitation with Gabriel. Regular old mothers like me, and many I know, bury lots of words in their hearts; words that they treasure because their children said them.

Would not Mary and Joseph, knowing that they were raising the Son of Man who had been prophesied throughout the Torah and other holy traditions, held unto themselves many things of which we do not know?

I often wonder if the angel had told her more than those things she told Luke for the writing of his gospel.  I wonder, if during their years of growing together as a family, whether Yeshua confided – taught – shared – things with her and Joseph that others would not need to know or understand. After all, YAH had chosen these two humans out of all the world – a world filled with evil all around them – to raise His only begotten Son. It was also He that had designed families to be an earthly model of that which would exist when we would, once again, walk closely in His garden with Him.

So many questions on this Resurrection night.  In the scheme of things they probably don’t matter much, but YAH made me to be the teacher – the writer – the one who always wonders and ponders as I try to understand even more deeply the faith I have in Yeshua Ha’Mashiach – Jesus Christ – and the glorious blessing He brought for Jews, Gentiles, righteous and unrighteous…His holy Grace. 

Holy Grace.

A chance to repent of our sins and once again to find our way home to Our Father through that narrow gate at the end of the road. A Father who is there waiting – waiting to run through the gate – His robe flapping around His legs as He runs to hold us – His tears streaking His cheeks – His arms aching to hold us close – a Father waiting to be reunited with His prodigal children and share a feast with them. 

“…On the third day, He arose from the grave and ascended into Heaven where He sitteth at the right hand of GOD the Father Almighty to judge the quick and the dead…” 

Ibid.

My bedtime prayers continue as I wait with my lamp filled with oil and tears of joyful thankfulness in my spirit for a Heavenly Father who loves us beyond our comprehension.

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

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  Women at the tomb – Google image

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  1954 me on Resurrection Sunday

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  Maternal grandparents with mother and her baby brother, 1923

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  Paternal grandparents holding my ‘big brother’, 1942

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  Grandma Ferris holding me, 1951.

HOLY WEEK ALIYAH 3.30: Holy Saturday’s Silence

In the darkness of a full moon’s light, the sword flashed, as the shepherd was stricken, the sheep scattered, and a pregnant silence filled the stretch of hours.

Yesterday was my day of silence. The words were not there.  I have written many times about Good Friday, but this year, the thoughts were scattered and disjointed.  I put words on a page and erased them.  Then world intruded with this and that. I even manage to twist the same knee that kept me in a knee brace for several years in high school (No such thing as scans to see inside the body back then). Finally, I fell asleep and while the knee is still pouting, the silence had skittled away.

There were a few of Yeshua’s followers that did not scatter.  A mother with the faith of Abraham, walked beside Him to that sacrificial hill knowing her Son’s prophetic journey would be accomplished according to His Father’s will. A few others supported her with a longing that denied what they knew was coming including the youngest disciple who was like a son to her. We don’t know if any of the other scattered sheep found their way to the Golgotha altar. From the gospels, we do know that there were other followers mingled in with the crowd trying to stay out of sight, but needing to be near Him in this tragic miscarry of justice as they had not been with Him in righteous teaching.

“After this, Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus; and Pilate gave him permission. So, he came and took the body of Yeshua.  And Nicodemus, who at first came to Yeshua by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred pounds.  Then they took the body of Yeshua, and bound it in strips of linen with the spices, as the custom of the Jews is to bury.  Now in the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid.  So, there they laid Yeshua, because of the Jews’ Preparation Day, for the tomb was nearby.”

John 19:38-42

When Yeshua rode into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, it was one of those rare years in the tradition of the Passover feast that didn’t happen often.  The last day of Passover was always celebrated as a Sabbath with all the restrictive laws of the Sabbath in place.  However, this specific Passover ended on a day that was followed by the weekly Sabbath.  Basically, it meant that they needed to get Yeshua buried as quickly as possible since it would be 2 days before anyone could return to the Tomb. It also fulfills Yeshua’s own prophecy about His death.

“For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.”

Matthew 12:40

Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus were two high ranking men within the Jewish community.  One had a tomb and finely woven shroud. One had the mixture of spices including myrrh, aloes, and cassia, but traditionally, more would often be added the next day.  Those who stood beside the Son of Man on His day of affliction followed Him one more step that they might see Him placed in the ‘heart of the earth’ as He said would happen before the setting of the sun when a new day would start.

“And the women who had come with Him from Galilee followed after, and they observed the tomb and how His body was laid.  Then they returned and prepared spices and fragrant oils. And they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment.”

Luke 23:55-56

The deafening silence enveloped all of them as they walked away from the One they loved.  While they knew the words He had told them – while they knew the words of all the prophets – their hearts and their minds warred within them – except for His mother, Mary or Miriam. She had seen the miraculous before.  She knew Abraham and Isaac’s faith in a way that no one else walking beside her knew.  It was Abraham and Isaac’s faith that had carried her through this day.

The Father of the Jews and his son had a righteous faith. Abraham and Isaac both knew beyond a doubt that even if Isaac was the sacrifice, YHWH had already promised that Abraham’s descendants through Isaac would rival the number of the stars. They trusted YHWH’s promise beyond the world’s logic or even their own hearts.  They climbed the mountain together. Isaac carried the wood after the donkey could not. He was not a child but a man who walked beside his father of his own accord.

For three days and three nights, the sheep were scattered.  The pregnant silence deepened as they pondered what they had been taught by Rabbi Yeshua their Messiah, and what the Torah said in prophetic word about the Ha’Mashiach.  I’m sure wherever they were, they were debating, arguing through their tears – through their fears, of what they would find when they returned to the tomb. 

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

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Images from The Shroud of Turin

HOLY WEEK ALIYAH 3.28: Holy Thursday’s Stumbles

Then Jesus said to them, “All of you will be made to stumble because of Me this night, for it is written: ‘I will strike the shepherd and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’

Matthew 26:31/Zechariah 13:7

This year, I have found myself turning to John’s writings of what happened during this last week of Yeshua’s life, and yet, it was this verse in Matthew that got caught in my spirit today. Especially – the word ‘stumble’.  Fall away in the Greek version. Stumble in the King James version.  Offend in  many versions. Drives me to do a little more research in the commentaries. And still – I wonder…Why did He chose this word?

Bible reading often does that to me.  A verse – a sentence – a word gets stuck in an unending loop in the brain; sending me scurrying here and there, looking in commentaries or finding different translations as I try to understand why this verse seems to be important in the light of today’s journey of life…in light of these latter days’ birth pangs?

I taught today.  Long ago, Rabbi Yeshua taught on this day. He gave and modeled for those He loved most in this world, His last pieces of wisdom and light. The Son of Man thought ‘stumble’ was an important word to use.  There are so many verses that warn about being a stumbling block to others.  I have thought of them often whenever I open the door of my classroom.  Yet – here was Yeshua saying, ‘all of you will be made to stumble – fall away – be offended – because of Me…’

He became a stumbling block. Why? Is there really any good that comes from stumbling?  When I stumble, I usually end up with bruises, cuts and scratches. At the very least, a sprain or sore muscles from trying to catch myself before I fall. Don’t like pain.  Don’t like the time lost because I end up moving slower.  Don’t like stumbling.  Don’t like any of it.

 And yet, this ultimate Passover Lamb took time to say these words during these last few hours of His life on Terra, ‘… you will stumble because of Me…’. Why was it important to warn the ones He loved the most on this small piece of mud in a universe of planets that we would stumble?  Why are these words touching my spirit 2000+ years later and ricochetting around my brain? And then, just like it does so many times in my life, came the whisper.

“Are you willing to stumble…fall away…be offended because of Me?”

Unlike me, the ever astute, boisterous Peter (with the other disciples nodding, I’m sure), jumped on the concept with fast denials; it would never happen – they would never stumble…fall away…or be offended.  I question myself? Would I?

The memories of growing up in the tradition of attending church, singing hymns, partaking of communion on Maundy Thursday circled around me as I poured over this verse again. The sacredness of His Last Supper became real for the little girl I was then, and became real again for the old gal I am now tonight.  I didn’t go to church, although I might have found a church in my new town.  I didn’t partake of the ritual of unleavened bread and fruit juice. I didn’t sing hymns or sit with family.  Instead, I taught. I researched. I pondered.  I heard.

“Are you willing to stumble…fall away…be offended because of Me?”

The disciples didn’t know what was on the agenda for later that night.  I don’t either.  What I do know is that I am who He designed me to be – just as He designed His disciples, followers, and family that were with Him on this Holy Week Thursday. The sheep know their shepherd’s voice and follow where He leads even to an empty garden in the dark of a full moon night where He asks them to keep watch with Him as He prays.

“At that time Jesus went with His disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and He told them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” He took with Him, Peter and the two sons of Zebedee and began to be sorrowful and deeply distressed. Then He said to them, “My soul is consumed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with Me.”

Matthew 26:36-38

The stumbles began as they sought whatever comfortable place they could find among the olive trees and hard ground. Little did they know that all too soon, on Holy Week Friday, their Shepherd would be struck just as He said.  His sheep would scatter…stumble…fall away…be offended…. The day had taken its toll on them.  They yawn.  Mumble a few questions to each other as they watch before their eyes grow heavy from the wine and food and the young sheep sleep knowing their shepherd is nearby………until Zechariah speaks his words into their lives: 

“Awake, O sword, against My Shepherd,
Against the Man who is My Companion,”
Says the Lord of hosts.
“Strike the Shepherd,
And the sheep will be scattered….”

Zechariah 13:7

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

“No Greater Love” by Greg Olsen

HOLY WEEK ALIYAH 3.27: Holy Wednesday’s Gathering Darkness

All I can see are the gathering of dark clouds outside my windows. Yukky, rainy, dark days are not my favorite.  Not only that – it somewhat spoils pool time when it thunders and crackles overhead.  In the water.  Out of the water.  Friends leave. Time slows to a crawl.

Remember when the moms used to make us stay out of the water for 30 minutes after eating a tiny sandwich?  That kind of slow.  UGH!  Not at all the peaceful start to the day that I look forward to three times a week.  That being said, I did get to see a couple people that I usually don’t get to visit with much when we’re at the pool. So the gym workout got expanded into my pool time, and I worked my jaw a little more than usual. 

Kitty is pouty mad because I just made her leave the beloved the sun porch.  The leak in the sun porch roof has returned in a couple spots (luckily -I have a fantastic landlord who is already on it).  An inch of rain is showing in the rain gauge, and its chilly dampness has invaded the house.  More dark clouds appear. The temperature gauge on the atomic clock says it is 67 degrees beside my chair.  Strange how 67 degrees in the sun is a whole lot different than 67 degrees with rain pounding on the metal roof of the house. Makes me want to curl up under my comfy blanket and take a nap.

Instead of doing that, I meandered around the house doing a little of this and a little of that.  I continue to ponder as I work, one of the last sentences that John wrote about his rabbi on Holy Tuesday. Then I sat down to plan out lessons for my student who walks across the property lines to my ad hoc classroom.  Piano one day.  Language arts a couple days later.  A treasure chest memory streams across my mind whenever I open the door because I remember doing the same thing long, long ago. 

Picking up piano books.  Cutting across the corner field or neighbors’ back yards.  Knocking on a big door too heavy for me to open by myself.  The door of my Godmother’s house where my saddle-shoe feet swing a long way off the floor on an old squeaky bench where I first learned to make sense of black and white keys on the piano.

“Young people are a clean slate; old people are cleaning their slates.”

Mark Lowry, musician, comedian, writer

Usually during Holy Week, I get focused on the Olivet Discourse. I’ve written about it many times.  I love how the birth pang warnings line up in the same order as the bowl judgments in John’s Revelation of Jesus Christ. Another sign?  Whoops – squirrel moment. 

Refocus. John 12 and the one sentence that woke me up this morning. John did not write the entirety of the Olivet Discourse, instead he highlighted the theme as He saw Jesus’ teaching on Holy Tuesday.  While the other gospels give the background of the Pharisees plotting and Judas’ betrayal, John the Beloved doesn’t have any squirrels distracting him; he keeps his focus on Jesus.

“These things Jesus spoke, and departed, and was hidden from them.”

John 12:36b

• Where did Jesus go to be hidden? 
• Why did He go away? 
• Was He tired?
• Was He afraid?
• Was He sick to His stomach with all of the darkness around Him?

We know that he as tempted in all ways as we are.  We know He cried. We know He loved.  We know He slept, ate, and dealt with all the other things that humans deal with daily. He knew earth time was clicking away.  He knew all of it before He came to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast on Daniel’s predicted timeline.  As the old gospel song says, “He knew the tree that had grown to be……used…..to make the old rugged cross…” He taught enough in the past couple days that, I think, His jaws ached, too. 

The SON of GOD was the Son of Man.

Those are words I ponder as well.  Yeshua: the One who saves.  GOD yet man.  A Son who calls YHWH, Abba.  His wide-open spiritual eyes and ears could hear and see what human eyes and ears could not. The politicians. The devoted. The gentiles. The lukewarm.  The priests. The zealots.  The radicals. The dark ones. Yet, on Holy Monday and Tuesday, He shined a bright light.  He shared it to all who came to listen, but on Wednesday, He was hidden. Silent. Still. Had GOD asked Him to ‘Be Still’ as He often asks us to ‘Be Still’ when we are walking a path that is hard to walk?

Was this a day put aside just for the Son of Man?  A day to walk the garden He had designed for His people?  A day to walk among the other creatures that roamed Terra and share His light with them?  A day to smell the herbs – taste the fruits – sit in the shade of an old tree?  Was it a gift of “the peace that passeth all understanding” from a loving Father to comfort His beloved Son?

I guess I like to think that amid all the craziness of the Passover crowds, the darkness gathering closer, the disciples’ fears, His own ‘human doubtings’ rising within Him, that Holy Wednesday was a gift…….a gift from His Father. When the Father wiped the Son’s slate clean of responsibilities for a few hours so that they could commune together and rest in the complete Oneness of Whom they are…….‘on earth as it is in Heaven’ for a few moments before the Passover Lamb would willingly lay down His life to wipe the slate clean for all the sheep who know His voice and respond to His light.

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

Google image

HOLY WEEK ALIYAH 3.26: Holy Tuesday’s Teaching

Every day I check all the plants that I transplanted to my new home way back in late October. Most of them are showing tiny signs of life. Little green shoots peeking through the mulch. New layers of leaves on the rose bushes and peonies. Buds on the Mock Orange bush showing slivers of color amid the brown. But there are others that look deader than the famous Shakespearian idiom: ‘deader than a door nail.’

In my younger days, I would be ripping them up and replacing them already. Digging into the soil where I planted new seeds and replacing them with different seeds. Luckily for all of us, I have gained a teensy-weensy bit of patience and a thimble full of wisdom when I look at things in my garden and life.

Plants or seeds remind me in many ways of all those years of teaching. Some students – like plants/seeds – are – …maybe…kinda… sorta… – a little lazier in stretching their boundaries…a little timid to push upward from their comfort zone…a little slower in leave behind the darkness and find the light. Then again – perhaps – the plants/seeds – like the students – just want the dirt to be warmer, softer, lighter so that it is easier to see and to poke their tender shoots above the comforter they have cuddled under all winter. Have to admit that in the winter, I am very much like that seed or plant. I want to see the sunlight before I crawl out of bed.

“The hour has come that the Son of Man should be glorified; most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain.

John 12:23-24

Holy Tuesday was a teaching day for Rabbi Yeshua. The Son of Man knew what was ahead. He saw the darkness gathering denser around Him, around His disciples, around His sheep. The WORD knew the Word of Scripture. He knew what ABBA had spoken to Him [Jn 12:50]. He planted seeds in His parables. He transplanted the roots of His disciples into the rich soil of His light, and He knew, as the storms began to rage around them, that those tender shoots would grow stronger as they remembered His teachings from these last days of His life on Terra-firma.

How many times have I read this section of John and never really absorbed the details? How many times have I missed that the Greeks – the gentiles – came to also learn from Rabbi Yeshua at this point in His life? How many times have I read about a voice speaking from Heaven on this day in history?

I can’t even begin to guess. I know I have read the New Testament more than the Old. I know I have read the 4 Gospels more than most of the Bible except for Genesis, Psalms and Revelation of John. I have read the Book of John often throughout my life. I have taught portions of it in the classroom and for Bible studies. But today, it was as if I read this section for the first time – as if I had never seen these words before.

“Now My soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save Me from this hour’? But for this purpose, I came to this hour. Father, glorify Your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, saying, “I have both glorified it and will glorify it again.” Therefore, the people who stood by and heard it said that it had thundered. Others said, “An angel has spoken to Him.”

John 12:23-27

Today I sat on my screened in porch and enjoyed the sun – even if it was a little chilly. Kitty sat in her chair, and I sat in mine. Now that is funny to me. When we are sitting in the same room at night, she gravitates to my lap and mostly stays there as long as I let her. During the day, she rarely wants to even be anywhere close to me; afterall, the sunlight is bright, warm and calling her to find it.

Plants. Animals. Fish. Seeds. People.

When the sun comes out in the spring, it calls us all outside. Prepare, weed, and check the gardens. Play with the kidlets. Wash the car. Read a book in a hammock. Talk over the neighbor’s fence. Cook a hotdog on the grill. Throw a ball for the choc lab girls. Take a walk in the woods.

Then Jesus said to them, “A little while longer the light is with you. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness overtake you; he who walks in darkness does not know where he is going. While you have the light, believe in the Light, that you may become Sons of Light.”

John 12:35-36

Terra-firma has many weeds in its gardens these days. The light, when it is comes through the atmosphere, seems to be bright, but also appears to be eclipsed by something darker. Its warmth failing to reach deeply into the places it needs to be. Its brightness blocked by shades of twisting darkness amid the rays. The sharp edges of the narrow gate up ahead are hidden in the resulting duskiness. The pebbles on the path become stumbling blocks without light.

Rabbi Yeshua spoke clearly on this Holy Tuesday Teaching.
Believe in the Light.
Trust the Light.
Walk in the Light.
Become Sons of the Light.

These things Jesus spoke, and departed, and was hidden from them. [John 12:36]

The days of His grace are coming to a close as darkness deepens upon the earth. The fulfillment of the Old Testament prophecies about the Messiah Passover Lamb were exposed and accomplished in the bright light of Yeshua Ha’Mashiach. The fulfillment of the prophecies of the Messiah Lion of Judah are yet to come.

latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

“True Light” by Yongsung Kim

HOLY WEEK ALIYAH 3.25: Holy Monday’s Roar

Last night was a freeze warning night, so I shifted all the house plants back onto the solar porch.  In the scheme of all the many things that we have to deal with on a daily basis in these latter days – not a hard decision. They were just sitting on the deck outside the porch door. Far enough out that I knew to put on shoes to avoid cold feet and shut the inner door to keep kitty securely inside. 

Poor plants. One week out of the house – a night in the house – maybe – another week out???  I have no clue, but Abba GOD knows. In actuality, I shouldn’t even be in a hurry at this point in the year, after all, it’s still early spring whether in OH or NC – just a little sunnier in NC than OH.

“Prince of Peace, control my will; Bid my struggling heart be still; Bid my fears and doubts to cease, Hush my spirit into peace. May Thy will, not mine, be done; May Thy will and mine be one; Chase these doubtings from my heart, Now Thy perfect peace impart.”

A Psalm Prayer printed in Church of England Magazine on March 3, 1858. Author unknown. 

Like so many quotes and poems that I have collected over the years, I have no idea where I originally ran across this one.  I tend to think it was a children’s magazine or book of poetry because I remember saying it with all my other bedtime prayers as my mom braided my hair before she and dad would tuck me for the night.  My big brother said no one needed to say that many prayers at night, so I added more to irritate him. If I was lucky, they would all – including the ugly brother – start singing as they went back down the steps to the living room.

Control my will.
Still my struggling heart.
Erase my fears and doubts
Bring your peace to my spirit.

I wonder today, if Rabbi Yeshua had a similar prayer/poem in His heart as He waited for His friends to wake and walk with Him to temple on that first day after He claimed the title that was rightfully His from the start – Messiah, “Son of David, King of Israel”. He knew beyond all doubt His Father’s perfect will. He knew exactly what was to come.  He had known since His genesis.  And yet – the WORD became flesh of His own free will.

He kneeled that He might give His greatest blessing to His children: salvation – a path that would allow them to walk together once again.

As the disciples emerged to gather around their Teacher, He smiled and taught them by example.  He purposely walked forward to His Father’s temple. A fruit tree that bore no fruit would die.  A temple that had made idols out of money and rituals would be shaken, leaving no table left standing as animals and humans scattered before His cleansing, righteous wrath.

The lion made a short appearance to utter a small roar on this Holy Monday.

Did the prince of this world think he had won as he whispered in any of the human ears that would listen? Did he think he had broken the will of the Father and Son as he rejoiced over the chaotic response of those Rabbi Yeshua accused?  Did he feel the ground shaking under his feet as Yeshua’s spiritual eyes found his own through the torn opening He had made with this small roar in the veil between them?

Chase these doubtings – these temptings – from the heart.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy Will be done.
Thy peace be given…
On Terra as it is in Heaven.

Ponderous thoughts and reflections of this latter days’ Holy Monday that started long ago with a psalm – a poem – a prayer whispered on a canopied bed with parents praying with me over my head; as brother tickled and jiggled my foot and my dog slept beside me like a crotchety, old coot.

Holy Monday in these latter days: Signs and prophecies were given to the Jewish people for 2000+ years before Jesus rode into town.  Like most humans they had their own will of what the Messiah, King of David would look like – act like – and be like when He arrived.  One day shouting, praising, and dancing in the street; the next day whispering, gossiping and spreading conspiracies over the One who just completely up-ended their Passover joy.

Holy Monday in these latter days: the world has been given signs and prophecies for 2000+ years….will our eyes be open to recognize the time of our visitation, or will we be blinded by our own will and doubts as many were those 2000+ years ago?

“For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and deep darkness the people; but the Lord will arise over you, and His glory will be seen upon you”

Isaiah 60:2.

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

AI creation by Neal Fant

LENTEN ALIYAH 3.11: Handwriting

Still trying to make my way through all the writings on scraps of paper, in scrunchy old folders or notebooks, or… book bound journals that have traveled with me all these years. Snippets of paper holding snapshots of the me who once was. Small remnants of what was important……ponderous thoughts that crossed my mind……quotes that caught my pondering eye….. angst that stirred my muddy waters…..dreams written lyrical rhyme that sang in my heart….at different points in my life.

“…all is vanity and grasping for the wind.” 

Ecclesiastes 1:14

I have also been reading Ecclesiastics as my daily Bible study which is somewhat ironic if you are reading all about yourself and trying to decide what to ditch and what to put into a new folder for future generations.  God does have a sense of humor. Anyway, my eyes are tired from reading short stories – events of life – poetry – doodlings – – –   All I can say is that at this point, I am ready to ditch it all.  Way too overwhelming for this ol’ gal.

No matter how small – a sentence – a scrap the size of a postage stamp – they all bring back memories for me.  The feelings of love, laughter, disaster, horribly bad decisions, good decisions, prayers of desperation, prayers of repentance, prayers of thankfulness.  But that is just it.  They are my memories.  My discoveries.  My mis-steps.  My failings – failings of such magnitude that they are beyond my own comprehension of how I justified them in any way shape or form. My dreams.  My creative expressions.

In this wide world of YHWH’s creative garden, what is important to leave behind?

“You are our epistle [a letter] written in our hearts, known and read by all men [who meet you]… written not with ink, but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of flesh, that is, of the heart.”

2 Corinthians 3:2-3

My tablets of stone are crumbling.  Some, written back in the days of pencil, are losing those dark carved edges that shaped each letter into words,  fading into the disintegrating paper on which they were written. (I did once write a poem for someone written on toilet paper, but luckily, I gave it to them its fate was already decided.) 

And then……

Hidden in the stacks of notebooks was one page that stopped me. One page written in large capital letters with a black sharpie. One page – nor written by me – but by my mother.  I know I must have picked her up to come and celebrate the 4^th of July with us.  I know that at some point, she had enough time to open my notebook, find a sharpie and write a note for me in 2001. I had just turned 50, and she had turn 82 in January. Written after the macular began to steal her sight but before the ovarian cancer stole much more by taking up residence in her brain. I stopped. Read it all over again, and saw one word written on the back,,,,“memory”.

“Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is GOD’s handwriting.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Seeing her handwriting after almost 20 years changed the lens in my eye – not to mention – the Holy Spirt sending a Gibb’s slap upside my head. I don’t remember anything about that 4^th of July.  I can only guess who else might have been there, but at some point, Mom found time alone and did what she often did in her younger days – she wrote an entry into a notebook journal that she found on a coffee table.

The change of the millennial had come and gone without much of a hiccup despite all the fear mongering.  Mom had bought Champaign glasses for all of us to toast on that special new year, just as she had recently chosen to downsize into apartment living. Kidlets were starting to flap their wings to leave the nest.  FIL was still adjusting to life without his wife. Hubby was starting a new business and selling cars.  My part-time job at HMS had just enlarged to – almost – a full-time position.

9/11 was waiting to fly over the eastern horizon.

GOD has a way of re-ordering our thoughts when He has a plan that is in opposition to our own.  As I re-read Mom’s note for a 3^rd time tonight and made a digital copy of it, I realized I am 72, and she was just 10 years older  when she wrote it.  It wasn’t her last 4^th of July, but it was one of the last ones before the mom I knew all my life started disappearing.  Within four years, she moved 3 times until it came time for her final move through this temporal veil in 2005. I recently passed her journals on to one of the daughters, so seeing her handwriting in my journal was an unexpected blessing. The Gibb’s slap hit me again.

The handwriting of someone we love carries its own blessing across the years.  

With e-mail, technology, AI, handwriting is becoming rare. And yet, on the journey of these past few weeks, seeing my handwriting across many, many years, often brought as many memories as the words the handwriting shaped. I look through the stacks of paper on my desk. Childish scrawls across a piece of paper.  Letters written by the man who would become my husband. Letters from “sister” friends. The handwriting on each slip of paper means almost as much as the words.

So – as I rub my head – I hope that as I go through this morass of handwritten “stuff”, ABBA Father will guide me so that somewhere – in the far future, there will be that one note that brings my loved ones a smile on a dark night.

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

LENTEN ALIYAH 3.5: Firstfruits

Three loads of mulch. 

Not a lot – but after a winter of not hauling mulch or doing much outside of the house and gym, it felt like a lot.  Not wanting to push this ol’ body, I didn’t test the limits – after all – I need to be able to move to go back to the gym tomorrow.  So – three loads of mulch, pick up branches from the yard and found the second violet in the spring of 2024.

My mom could find 4 leaf-clovers without even looking hard.  I didn’t inherit her gift. However, I have always found violets.   Yellow. White. Light purple. Deep purple. Variegated. For whatever reason, my eyes always tracked to the violet, and its broad leaves. I remember gathering bouquets of various colors of all the violets I could find for mom.  She always put them in a small glass, but said she said she always liked the deep purple best.  When the kids were little, little – I would gather bouquets for them. So no surprise…last week, when I found my first 2024 deep purple violet, I gave to my student when I returned her graded homework. 

“Honor the Lord with your wealth and with the firstfruits of all your produce; then your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine.”

Proverbs 3:9-10

Violets are a plant that I have never moved from old homes to new. They are tiny, and since there is always tons of big stuff to move, I rarely think of my small violets. Yet, when I look around the new homestead, they are always somewhere nearby. I carefully dig them up and move them to places where they can begin to fill in those empty spaces between the glorious, bigger plants that everyone “oooo and awwwww” over.

For most of the year, no one but me ever notices the green broad leaves with clumpy roots that cover the mulch. Violets aren’t much to look at most of the year, but they keep the grassy weeds at bay and make me smile.  It is like a secret that only I and “Violet” know.  She is the most favored of all my plants.  A tiny flower that appears in the early hours of spring, gathered into small bouquets that last for a few days in my mom’s old shot glass as the blooms drift off into making rare appearances throughout the rest of the growing season depending on the weather.  

But in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ.

1 Corinthians 15:20-23

When I moved to that last school where I taught full time, there was a “Violet” waiting for me.  As I look back at those years, I open the treasure chest and pull out beautiful bouquets of memories.  She bloomed with all the gifts of the Spirit that had been given to her and to share with all those who entered her room.  

When I retired and moved to North Carolina, there was a “Violet” of a different name waiting for me to gather more bouquets of memories. She, too, blooms with the gifts of the Spirit that she shares with hospice patients, Bible study friends, and those in her sphere. She spends most of her time now in another state, but we still talk occasionally via e-mail or phone. Last week, she shared some of her memories about growing up in the South. Being almost a decade older than me, she shared that there were many things on Sundays that her family couldn’t do. They would harvest food from their gardens on Saturday because she couldn’t gather firstfruits for personal use on Sunday, but if she was giving them to others she could do the “work” of plucking them out of the garden.

This is the season of violets. 

It is the season of firstfruits. 

It is the season to look up and rejoice for He draweth nigh.

One tiny baby
Gloriously bloomed while sheep were lambing
As angels sang to drowsy shepherds.
A lad, like those that have come before,
Who grows to be a man.
In a small sleepy town
Where rumors spread under the mulch like weeds,
Yet where firstfruits may bloom as designed.
Yellow hues of righteousness.
White tints of sinlessness.
Light purple of humbleness.
Deep purple of royalty.
A firstfruit shared in love,
Torn from its roots,
Bruised by our iniquities,
And risen by grace for all who believe.

bcfk 2024

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal.”

Isaiah 26:3-4

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

LENTEN ALIYAH 2.28: Rachamim

Today was a mixture of things – ugh – better  – wonderful!  Storm is coming so joints hurting kept me tossing and turning all night.  But then – when I managed to squiggle myself out of bed and get to the gym, things began to improve.  Gym buddies make me laugh as we stretch the muscles and groan.  Pool buddies get me hungry because the conversation always turns to food. But as I travel between the saltwater pool and hot tub, I notice the pain has subsided to tolerable without having to resort to meds.  Then I realize it is Wednesday.

Sundays and Wednesdays have always been two of my favorite day in the week.  Sundays have those warm fuzzy memories.  Times of walking to church with the parents. Eating actual made-from-scratch-foods at either Grandma Mac’s or at the cousins. When I was older, it was seeing-the-friends/cousins at Sunday school or singing at church and then even more fun times with friends/cousins in the afternoon. Even as I aged, Sundays were still all about reading, singing, teaching, volunteering, and just plain getting to spend time with family.

Wednesdays – when I was little were the “hump” days in the school week and since I was a teacher, it remained that way.  Lesson plans were usually aligning – or not – and I could see that “relax-and-enjoy-home” time just up ahead.  Even as a kid, I loved being home, so I could read, write, and talk to GOD in my “Thinking Tree”. Later, I loved being home with hubby and kids – tending gardens and our few farm animals – playing with the kittens and dogs – having extended family come for dinners in the home we had created. But most of all, in those rare moments of quiet – reading, playing piano, singing, writing……and learning to listen as I continued to walk my path back to My Father.

Because of the loving devotion of the LORD we are not consumed, for His mercies never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness! “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore, I will hope in Him.”

Lamentations 3:22-24

But often, in the stormy darkness of these latter days, there just seems to be no easy words to write or speak – even the poetry that has always flowed through my life has dried into flakes of small dust on top of all my writing stuff. But – when there are no words, there are the merciful groanings of the WORD by the Holy Spirit – Rauch Ha’Kodesh – that comforts and brings a peace beyond all human understanding, carrying my prayers, my dust, my tears to the One who is ever constant in His covenants and love. 

Jeremiah, often known as the weeping prophet, knew the words that he was given well. He watched destruction of the city he loved and his own people scattered to far off lands. Yet he wrote: Rachamim. Rachamim is often translated into English as ‘mercy’.  But notice the ending in this Hebrew word: ‘-im’. In the Jewish language, this suffix is indicating a plural ending.  It is used to denote “more than one” …. just as the suffix ‘-s’ is used in our language. 

Other words in the Jewish language that mean “more than one”.

Elohim.

Cherubim.

Rachamim.

Yerushalayim 

However – today my heart has been focusing on the word – rachamim: a plural noun meaning mercies.  Interesting to note, YAH’s mercy is not singular. It is unending – as eternal as He is.  Sin in Hebrew is a noun more like traditional English in that it is written with a singular spelling.  We see the word and think it means awful bad things.  However, in Hebrew tradition it means: a walking away from GOD’s path by accident or with deliberate intention.  Good news?

YHWH’s mercies cover all those “walking away from His path” and never reach a limit.

“Thus says the Lord: ‘I have returned to Zion, and will dwell in the midst of Yerusalayim; and Yerusalayim shall be called the City of Truth; and the mountain of the Lord of Hosts the Holy Mountain’”

Zechariah 8:3

And that begs the question – why is this one special city dubbed with a plural ending. You gotta love Abba GOD’s sense of humor when He created- breathed the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet. He just wants to keep us asking questions, praying with words unspoken, and learning to listen for an answer – – – His answer.

But as for me, I will look to the LORD;
I will wait for the God of my salvation.
My God will hear me.
       Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
Though I have fallen, I will arise;
though I sit in darkness,
the LORD will be my light.

Micah 7:7-8

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

Greg Olsen artwork “Lift You Where You Stand”

Lenten ALIYAH 2.19: Feed.Find.Follow

Been praying, pondering, waiting, writing, reading, and…teaching.  Journals.  Books.  Poetry.  Piano. Magazines.  Prayers. Letters. And…teaching one student two times a week. My kind of life.

“If you do not know, O fairest among women, follow in the footsteps of the flocks, and feed your little goats beside the shepherds’ tents.”

Song of Solomon 1:8

Wrote this in my writing journal almost 25 years ago.  When I was teaching in the classroom full time, I always tried to write as my students wrote.  It not only allowed me to model for them what I expected them to do (thank you, Mr. Vygotsky), but also gave me time to sort through thoughts that needed some clarity before I actually jumped into the material of the day. In these reflective days, the doodles on the side of the paper often speak to me as much as the words I wrote.

Tents. Sheep. Kidlets. A shepherd’s hook. Pathways in a grassland.  A door – a gateway at the end of the dirt path.

Phrases of words re-imagined into art – not masterpieces in any sense of the art world – but a visualization of where my head and heart were in a different time of change.  Those tiny newborn goats that I had nurtured – fed – were exchanging their wobbly gaits with long strides away from their childhood tent.  Husband’s mother had opened the flap of her tent to her new world, so he was trying to regain his own footing outside his tent.  Add to all of that, my widowed mama was giving voice to her longing to open her own tent flap and see that one special person that she had been waiting for over 3 decades to dance with in the unending grassland.

“Everything in this world is temporary.  It’s not the place in which we stay. It’s the place through which we journey… It isn’t our home; it’s the tent world. And we are all just campers.”

Rabbi Johnathan Cahn, The Book of Mysteries, Day 50

A grass-lined dirt path that leads to a gateway…a narrow gate. We spend a lifetime – sometimes a short one – sometimes a long one – to walk among the many tents of our lives.  A natal tent. A childhood tent.  A discovery tent of self. A marriage tent.  A sick tent. An elder tent. I think you get the point. At this point in my own tent life, I could name a tent for every emotion and change in life. My journal entry that prompted this reflection didn’t go that far.  After all, with a class of students in front of me, I never had a lot of time to write, but a few days later I wrote a new scripture reference with some of the repeated phrases from Song of Solomon 1.  I guess I was still pondering it all – turnings of thoughts in my heart as I tried to figure out what YAH was trying to teach me through those unsettling days.

“I AM the door of the sheep.” 

John 10:8 [1-17]

Still haven’t figured it all out, even after almost 25 years.  So I will continue to walk a narrow path in the world of tents. A path which allows me to feed whatever little goats come my way. A path that allows me to follow in the steps of a remnant of a flock that has gone before me. A remnant that knew their guidebook well.  WORD that led them to find the ‘sheep’ door.

Feed. 

Follow.

Find. 

Until I leave the world of tents for – – – my real home. A home through an open narrow gate where my Shepherd’s voice calls my name as He beckons me with His shepherd’s hook.

“For I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like Me, declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times things that are not yet done, saying, “My counsel shall stand, and I will do all My pleasure.”

Isaiah 46:9-10

#latterdays #rapture #Hedrawethnigh

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