Tag Archives: Holy Week


It has been a month since I have written. The words have been there. The thoughts. The dreams. The joyous bursts of creativity. But the fingers were stayed. For whatever reason – I found myself waiting. So – I waited. I waited some more. Waited for the special silence that always precedes the release of words. And still I waited.

Holy week. 
Palm Sunday
Maundy Thursday.
Good Friday.

A month ago, in one of my many thrift store meanderings, I found a Robert Shaw recording in conjunction with Ohio State University choirs. It was not one from when I was there, but the choral works on it spoke to me once again. The next day, I found myself sitting on the floor of my small utility closet as I pulled out all my classical CD’s. My school room filled with them as I worked. I began singing – not well – but nevertheless – with all my heart in the car on the way home. Finally, letting them filter through my prayers as I lay my head down.

“Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”~Lk 9:58

Two weeks later, I found myself walking through the door of a stately, city Methodist church. The steeple bell rang as I walked the sidewalk towards the church – just as they used to when I walked with my parents. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. I was not surprised. I needed the rituals. I needed the music. I needed to hear the oral readings of Psalms and “Our Father”. I needed to remember the community of my history. The birthplace of my faith – my youth – my maturity.

A touchstone of truth.

“Pilate said to him, “You are a King then?” Yeshua said to him,“You have said that I am a King. For this I was born and for this I have come into the world: to testify of the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.” Pilate said to him, “What is the truth?” ~Jn 18:37-38

It is Holy Week.
It is Good Friday.

On Maundy Thursday, I was going to go back to the Methodist church, but instead, I watched the Mass of the Basilica in DC and sang with choir during Holy Communion. Tonight, as I watched some of the Stations of the Cross in Rome, my thoughts focused and the fingers found their freedom. Then I turned on the “The Passion of the Christ”. It is always the last thing I want to do – ever. It is a hard movie to watch. I cry – often. And yet, it is the one thing thing I must do. I must remember the gift. I must honor the sacrifice that an earthly mother made in conjunction with the plan that a loving, heavenly Father made for all His children so long ago.

“There is no greater love than this: that a person would lay down his life for the sake of his friends.”~Jn 15:13

Today was a stormy day in NC. “The swirly winds came and the rain fell on us” as a poem from my high school days stated. I checked my plants. Pulled the flag in under the porch roof. Rubbed the dogs’ heads over and over as they stayed close by my side. Even the cat who has been standoffish all week has spent most of the night on my lap. The winds have quieted and while all three animals and hubby are sleeping in our small TV room, I am at peace.

The stone has covered the tomb, but Grace is about to blow away the cords that hold it closed.

Resurrection Day is coming.

“You are my friends if you will do all that I command you. No longer do I call you servants, because a servant does not know what his master does, but I have called you my friends, because all that I have heard from my Father, I have taught you.”~Jn 15:14-15

It has been an interesting month of being a learner again. Listening to the Teacher of Truth is never easy of me. I am – at this point in life – used to being the teacher in the room. I tend to want to control everything around me. Although – some of my oldest friends say that I have always had that “teacher attitude” – whatever that is. I’m still not sure where it is leading or what is on that path that seems to have very few mile markers. What I do know?

“You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you and I have appointed you so that you also will go bring forth fruit and your fruit will remain, so that all you will ask my Father in my name, he will give to you.These things I command you that you will love one another.”~Jn 15:16-17


[google images]


loudonville fountain“For he makes the wilderness pools of waters and a thirsty land into springs of waters.” Ps 107:35 (ABPE)

Today was truly the Sabbath. Blessings followed blessings followed blessings. The best one was a visit from Mama Mickey. A post from January 2013 resurfaced today. It was a video of my mom that I had posted on her birthday before I retired from teaching. Since I don’t believe in coincidences, I think she was letting me and my daughter know that she loved our “GrandmaMickey Day” with the Grands yesterday. I am doubly sure that she and Dad were laughing as hard as they coudl as they watched the hubby getting “dressed-up” in her old stuff. (What we do for love and our Grands!) The wilderness of my life became lush with a fountain of living water.

If we’re lucky, the “wildness” of this life becomes tolerable as our parents share their waters of their “fountain”. Later, as we journey away from their fountain, we drink from other fountains. Sometimes the water is okay. Sometimes, the water clouds our vision with invisible minerals that we do not percieve. And sometimes…sadly…the water slowly poisons us until the body can not function at all. Parched and dying, the spirit shrivels into the crevices of the physical body waiting for that one drop of “life”.

“Yeshua stood, and he proclaimed and said: “If a man is thirsty, let him come to me and drink.Everyone who trusts in me, just as the scriptures have said, rivers of living water shall flow from within him.” ~Jn 7:37b-38(ABPE)

Holy Week began today. Chruches around the world celebrated the one day when the people crowded around the fountain and reached out their hands toward its water. If the people were anything like we are – some of them actually drank of the water in that fountain. The spirit within revived and flourished with its richness. Others reached for the fountain put didn’t have the courage to drink the water. Instead, they let it dribble through their fingers where it fell upon the earth. Had their spiritual eyes been opened, they might have noticed the blossoms that bloomed in the dust at their feet, but instead they moved on – trampling the tender blossoms beneath their feet. And some, stood at the back of the crowd. Their hands hanging limply at their sides as they scoffed at the others who drank from the fountain.

Holy week is a time to return to the fountain and look deeply into its waters. Sometimes the water is still, quiet and peacerful. Other times, the waters roll and sparkle with bubbly crests of gaiety. Still other times, the waters are troubled and fearfully dark with storms. But – if one is brave enough to push through the crowd, reaching their hand deep into the waters to drink from it, they will find the waters in this fountain are all embued with LOVE….passionate… personal… eternal… living waters.

The fountain is there. The rest is up to you.

(google images of Loudonville, Mohicanville, OH)


hand of God“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” ~Psalm 90:12

It is holy week. 7 days from Saturday to Golgotha. 24 hours times 7. Approximately, 10,000 minutes to gain wisdom.

I started numbering my days last night. Shabbat a time with familly, friends, food, grandma mickey treasuresand Our Father started at sundown. Grands watched TWO Ice Age movies (sssshhhh…it’s a secret from mama and daddy) and giggled and laughed and jabbered. On this first day, it became a Grandma Mickey day. A day to dig into the “dress-up” chest – full of fancy hats, long gloves, jewelry and the softest coat imaginable. The coat that used to wrap around me much in the same way it wrapped around the Grands today. A comfort in strange bedrooms, in cold churches during long choir rehearsals and in the backseat of a car as we traveled home from family outings. I rubbed my face into the fur (much as I did when I was tiny) before I carried it into the next room to wrap it around the granddaughter….who proceded to bury her face in the softness. I could almost smell her perfume in the folds.

“Choose my instruction instead of silver,
knowledge rather than choice gold,” Prov 8:10

While Grandson played with one set of beads, long enough to create a sash of power on his tiny body and a power crystal ring that vanquished the “evil” Koayiyah from attacking us, the other one decorated Papa with rings, neckaces, pins and even a “Peter Pan Snood” that Grandma Mickey made for dressy occasions like singing with a band or dancing with Grandpa Mike (btw – I still have the 1940 pattern). Passing on our heritage…creating new memories for a future generation…a small link in a long chain.

“…for wisdom is more precious than rubies,
and nothing you desire can compare with her.” ~Prov 8:10-11

Today, the special jewels were on a compact that Grandma Mickey had carried for special occasions. The smell of the 1940 Elign American powder slightly lingers in thin powder puff. Granddaughter rubbed it everywhere on herself and on Papa’s feet. What I didn’t tell her is that I had rubbed that same puff under my nose just before I gave it to her. Just before the parents arrived, the Grands pulled out the old IQ game that I had spent hours playing with my parents and by myself. Another link in the chain.

So many years later the links are still strongly joined to the chain. The material things are merely a physical touchstone of the essence of the knowledge and wisdom passed on from one generation to another. A myriad of stories woven together with threads of facts and faith.

“Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” ~Matt 28:20

Rabbi Yeshua numbered His days during this holy week. I0,000 minutes to share as much as he could squeeze into these last 7 days on earth. He told stories. He pushed. He prodded. He provided links to help those He loved so that they could hold on to the wisdom He had sought to share. Those links still exists – on the earth – in the heavens – linking us – disciple to disciple – one to another – His family – from generation to generation.

(google images)