Just One. One. One.

Some people talk about hunger, but they don't come and say, "Mother, here are five rupees. Buy food for these people." But they can give a most beautiful lecture on hunger.

I had the most extraordinary experience once in Bombay. There was a big conference about hunger. I was supposed to go to that meeting and I lost the way. Suddenly I came to that place, and right in front of the door to where hundreds of people were talking about food and hunger, I found a dying man.

I took him out and I took him home.

He died there.

He died of hunger.

And the people inside were talking about how in fifteen years we will have so much food, so much this, so much that, and that man died.

See the difference?

I never look at the masses as my responsibility. I look at the individual. I can love only one person at a time. I can feed only one person at a time.

Just One. One. One.

You get closer to Christ by coming closer to each other. As Jesus said, " Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do to me."

So you begin.... and I begin.

I picked up one person.

Maybe if I hadn't picked up that one person I wouldn't have picked up 42,000. The whole work is only a drop in the ocean. But if I didn't put the drop in, the ocean would be one drop less.

Same thing for you.

Same thing for your family.

Same thing in the church where you go.

Just begin.... One. One. One.

At the end of life, we will not be judge by
how many diplomas we have received
how much money we have made
how many great things we have done;

We will be judged by this:

"I was hungry and you gave me to eat. I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless and you took me in."

Hungry not for bread - but hungry for love. Naked not only for clothing - but naked of human dignity and respect. Homeless not only for want of a room of bricks - but homeless because of rejection.

This is Christ in distressing disguise.

Mother Teresa

Bend me Break me Make me Yours

Survival. Suffering. Strength.

There are certain wisdoms and understandings that one can only learn in suffering. Songs that can only be heard in the pits of despair. There are lights that will never seem so radiant as when we are covered in darkness. I only know this because I have seen it.

I saw it this past week in the eyes of an orphaned child.

“When my father died..... I died too" That didn't break my heart as much as the smile covering his face as he said it. As if it were normal. As if it were just a part of life. 

It is. And because it is - it will make him stronger. I believe that. I see it in his eyes. And his smile. 

There is a richness in the Core of Pain that we miss sometimes. A sweetness of the first foods eaten after one has been starved for days up on days that can never be tasted again. Not like that. 

The breath one is finally able to breathe just seconds before suffication is the most precious air that will ever cross their lips. 

Many a breath they have taken. But none like that one. There is a Treasure of Life felt by a dying man given a second chance of living that those who have never looked death in the eye will ever grasp. Not really.

It is so with suffering. You see we can be Broken but not Desperate. We can be Desperate but not Broken. But when we allow ourselves to be Desperate for God out of our Brokenness – then there is a part of us that surrenders out of survival. When you have nothing else to hold on to but God – All of a sudden, God is all you need. You treasure Him. Like breath. Either that or you blame Him. But one certainly brings more life than the other. 

“What about blaming God? Do they not blame God for what has happened? For their loved ones who died?” I asked a survivor of the earthquake.

He shook his head. Almost in pity that I would ask such a question. Even seemed to smirk at me.

"I have never heard of this. He is God. He is good. He can do what He wants when He wants how He wants. He is God and He gives life." 

He made it sound so simple.

God brings Life. Life brings death. There is no blaming. It's a part of living. As is suffering. And in the middle of suffering lies the heart of God. The core of the Cross. It's in our deepest despair that we even brush the suffering of the Cross. Communion with the heart of God. I saw this today: 

We were standing in front of at least 100 children sitting on a rocky and dry ground in a tent camp under a summer sun with a heat index of 115 degrees. They were dirty and hungry, and we were surrounded with what seemed to be 1000 people at one point. Telling them how God was actually the closest to them at the very moment they felt the deepest abandonment. As if we knew first hand. We had just given the children paper to draw their heartaches and stories of the earthquakes. Starting to hand out the crayons one by one - there was quickly a mob of little Haitian hands surrounding us. Poking us. Prodding us. Louder and Closer and Pushing and Shoving and beginning to Yell. For what? 

For One Crayon.

I was handing them out as quickly as I could and they were grabbing them even quicker. All I could feel was little fingers all around me.

"Blanche! Blanche!" ("white person. white person")

Sweet fingers poking harder at every inch of me they could find. Mother's shoving their children closer and closer to me. My heart racing faster. The sun beater harder. Space to even move become scarce. 

Poke. Prod. Shove.

Handing out crayons as fast we we could move. One prod. One poke was more intense than the others. Poke. Prod. Poke. Irritating, actually. Fed up - I looked down. 

It wasn't a hand asking to receive a crayon at all. It was the first hand practically begging me to take what was in it. A picture. Of her heartache. I looked in her eyes. The hundreds of children faded away at that one moment, and I took her gift to me. She was smiling. So much. 

As if it were normal. As if it were just a part of life. It is. 

Her drawing? Her mother lying down dead after the earthquake and what seems to be a spirit or an angel in the room. She wanted to show me. Desperately show me. And soon there were more. Giving out crayons quickly gave way to grasping drawings as quickly as I could. They wanted to give us their drawings of their heartaches as much or more as they wanted a crayon.

One crayon. One heartache. One day. One earthquake.

Hundreds of broken Haitian hearts resulting in a flood of forced Hope that most of us would have stopped searching for. But not them. 

"Many have come to God from the earthquake. Out of their suffering they have found Wisdom. They have found Hope...."

The question for us is this: 

Can we say that we welcome suffering if the ending of the journey of Pain means that we look more like the heart of a Savior on a cross? 

You see it is in Suffering  - the Heart of it – the Core of it - that the center of Chirst is the most Alive. It is then that He is breathing in us the deepest.  His Greatest Comfort can be found in the Marrow of of our Pain. If Jesus had a living breath we would be filled with at the very moment we are drowning in Hopelesslessness. Why? Because He was born to suffer. He came to earth to suffer. His purpose of living was to die.  So when we become closer to pain – we become closer to His heart.

The questions is this: Is it worth it. I believe - Yes. So Does Mr. C.S. Lewis.

"We think all of our childish toys brings us all the happiness there is and our nursery is our whole wide world, but something must draw us out of that nursery in to the world of others. That something is suffering"

Do We....

Does it hurt us as badly when we hurt someone else as it does when we ourselves have been hurt?

Do we desire to be His love to others as much as we desire to be loved?

 

Do we wish to be used by Him for His glory as much as we wish for our own glory to be be seen?

 

Do the desires of our hearts reflect the hope to be His vessel in this world as much as our dreams reflect our own ambition?

 

Why are we so uncomfortable with feeling guilty?

 

Why do we fight feeling sorrowful when we have harmed someone?

 Why are we so fearful of asking forgiveness?

Do we seek to be kind as deeply as we seek to be right?

Do we seek to understand more intently than we seek to be understood?

Do we seek more than we wish to be found?

 

I delight in you

They were there for all the world to see. Twirling. All three feet of them. There in their little rain boots and tiny flowered dresses. Twirling around and around as if they were the only two little girls in the world. At that moment, it seemed they were I was sitting at dinner with a friend on the patio of a restaurant. Mid sentence, I stopped. They caught my eye and for some reason I had to stop my world to watch them. Just to watch them. To delight in them. In awe of them. Just them, their rain boots, their curls, and their unmasked freedom. I envied them in many ways – but delighted in them more.  

“Mommy, I want her to be my friend”  

“What’s your name?”  

“My name is Elisa and I like you too”  

Sometimes precious is just not a strong enough word. Like that moment. Like when your world stops just to watch two three year olds who don’t even know each other twirling in the middle of crowded tables on the patio of The Cheesecake Factory under a big moon and a small world and an even larger life. They had only one thing in common at that moment – Twirling. All I could think about was this…. “You, little ones, Are Our Teachers. And I delight in you.”  

You see there is this space of a three year old that’s one of the most magical places known to man. Few understand it. Fewer value it. Everyone looses it. Its called Freedom. There is the space of "being unaware of your Self" that we loose when we get to be about 5. Before that, children say things and do things and simply Love in ways that are open and free and intensely vulnerable. But here’s the kicker. They Don’t Care. They don’t care if they are looked at as silly or dirty or strange. They don’t really even know that you know they’re there at all. They are the truest versions of themselves and they enjoy themselves in spite of themselves and definitely in spite of you. 

Have you ever noticed how a three year old will look you dead in the eye and not look away? As if they don’t know they’re supposed to. As if they don’t know they are supposed to feel uncomfortable or intimidated.  

Keating says: “Our innocence as children is the innocence of ignorance….infants are at one with all that is happening around them” 

But then it happens. Magic ends and Inhibition takes over, and we start to have thoughts that go something like this: “What are they thinking of me?” “Will they think this is silly or stupid or wrong?” Or this one. This big one. “Are they happy with me? Do they think well of me? Do they….. delight in me? Do you, Lord, delight in me?”  

“Yes, Child - especially when you dance, and play, and laugh. I always do. I always will”  

The cool thing is that answer never changes. The sad thing is that we do.  

I have found this….When we re-discover the freedom of twirling and playing and loving boldly and forgiving freely and laughing as if no one is around and dancing as if no one is watching and living as if we have only one – then we find the truest version of ourselves. But what stops us? One word. Four letters. Fierce as a dragon and dangerous as a serpant. It is Fear. Something three years old have little of – simply because they don’t know they are supposed to. Because they are unaware. There’s something about play that ignites us. 

Amazingly, I have had some of my most depressed clients somehow forget they are depressed around small children. An elderly man who has lost everything and everyone dear to him comes alive around a three year old. Why? We catch their Magic.

Granted, I’m naturally a child at heart and will be when I’m 80. I believe in playing and laughing and drinking in life as if I only have one. Maybe because I do. But if we have lost it then that means that we had it, and we can find it again. The Magic. There is a time and a place for all things. We are not children – we are adults. But I can’t help remembering an incredible Savior saying this one time:  

“Unless you be as little children.....”  

And I just wonder, what would happen if we started letting children teach us? Teach us how to forgive freely and to be-friend easily and to play often. And to twirl. When is the last time we twirled? For me? It was after I walked a labyrinth in the still places of the night. After reaching the center. After bowing in prayer. After rising and smiling and then….. twirling. Why? Well, maybe just because I could. Maybe because I wanted to. And maybe - just maybe, at that moment, I stepped into Magic. Not caring if anyone saw or didn’t see. Wondering if My Father would delight in me – all of me – despite of me.  

“I like her, Mommy. I like how she dances with me” Sitting there, loving them without knowing them. Mesmerized by their freedom. Captivated by their joy. Twirling with them in my head.  

It was……. Delightful.  

ps:  

Julia on a tireswing : )

Amazing Grace. Amazing Day.

I was on the floor kneeling beside a woman in labor who Haiti Serve team had just brought in from the village. Holding her hand, rubbing her arm, trying to teach her to breath deeply. This team is amazing. Everyone digging deep into their pot of talents like an involuntary reaction. Humbled to see them work all around me. Amber went from taking photos to trying to keep the IV bag from falling that had been taped up on the wall to washing the feet of children to washing the feet of children to! You never know what the day will bring here!

About 30 minutes before sitting on the ground beside this beautiful woman, I was outside of Children’s Hope Hospice Orphanage sitting on the floor of the open aired pavilion with 42 orphans. This orphanage has more than tripled in size since the quake. The children were surrounding me and Momma T (the grandmother of the orphanage : ) They were showing us their drawings from our time of art therapy. Each one desperate to tell their own story. Literally pushing each other to come closer to us. We had told them they each had a story of heartache because of their sad memories….. but, with God, the ending of their story would be better than the beginning. Reminding them how we believed in them. Reminding them that God had a plan for their lives. How God could make purpose out of their pain.

We listened to 42 stories. One by one. Some of the pictures showed people running or family members being crushed under the rubble. The younger ones did nothing more than scribble and draw swirls on their paper – but that was all they needed to draw.

“It is the earthquake” “It is the ground going round and round” “The earthquake came and the ground came alive and we ran away” “My father died in the earthquake” “My mother had died and my aunt was taking care of me. The earthquake killed her in the house” One by one. I made sure to look them in their eyes, and I wasn’t moving until I heard each story. Sitting on the ground looking up at them. I was the student and they were my teacher.

After each little one shared, I ran inside to check on the medical crew before we were to begin washing the children’s feet and giving them new shoes. Or so I thought. Half of the crew were gathered around a women who had fainted in labor around a mile away, and the other half were giving fluids to two twin infants found being carried by a nine year old boy in the village. Both babies were dehydrated. Both looked to be around 3 months – but they were not. They were around nine months old, and we were told they probably would not have lived to see one year. We all started doing what we could. I took one of the infants in one hand and started holding the IV bag in the other. During one of the most stressful times, one of the team members started singing Amazing Grace. One by one we all started singing. It was beautiful.

The kiddos were still outside and Ashton, the missionary family’s 12 year old daughter was still drawing with them and keeping them out of the home. She’s a rockstar : ) I soon found myself on the floor beside of Momma. By that time she had had at least two seizures, and, I think, we were all secretly fearing the outcome. Putting my hand on her tummy. Knowing on the other side of my palm was a beautiful precious soul whom God had incredible plans for 

In the middle of a village in the middle of Haiti in the middle of Grace. It was a moment. Sitting there, I started singing again to Momma.

Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound who saved a wretch like me.

Singing softly, but hearing something behind me. It was the same song, but in a different tongue. A man behind me was singing with me -  in Creole. Me on the floor looking back at him. He started smiling and came closer. Kneeling beside me. Kneeling beside of her. We were both there and two worlds seemed to become knitted together with the Spirit of God. Holding the hand of a mother getting ready to bring life into the world. We sang to her.

After another seizure started, I quickly got out of the way to let the medical staff take over. How they all worked together was incredible to see. My mind suddenly went back to the kids outside. I shifted gears once again and went outside where Momma T and Ashton had gathered them all together for us to wash their feet. I told them of how Jesus washed the disciple’s feet as a symbol of the fullness of His love. That today was a day of renewal for them. Of new beginnings. New beginnings. Mind drifting back to the other side of my hand as it lay on Momma’s tummy. The sweet staff had given us water to wash the children’s feet and they were all so excited. One by one. We washed 84 little feet. Praying for each of them as we put their new shoes on. Amber quickly shifted from photographer to foot washer and we were side by side washing feet and praying for each precious heart. Love those little toes. We were done, but it was Momma T’s turn.

“You too Momma T” She smirked. I knew what she was secretly wishing. She resisted. I insisted. This great women who had been through poverty, hurricanes, and, now, earthquakes. Oh, the stories she could tell. Oh, the wisdom she could give. I was, again, sitting on the ground looking up at her looking down at me. Washing her feet, Momma T’s eyes met mine:

 “I have seen Christ in all of you today. Today you have done a beautiful thing.”

Kids started playing. Half the team stayed to attend to Momma and the baby. The rest of us left for the guest house. All the way back, I couldn’t help singing in my head over and over.

Amazing Grace…. How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind but now I see.

I see. Lord, I simply pray that you make me blind. Blind to my own eyes and Awakened to yours. I have seen you today. In the eyes of 9 month old twins, in the hearts of 42 orphans, in the spunk of a 75 year old Haitian women, in the warmth of a mother’s tummy who hold’s a soon to be baby boy……. Named after Greg, the East Tennessee missionary whose family has touched my spirit. This day. This Amazing day of Grace.

I will never forget.

http://www.exileinternational.org

Photo courtesy of Amber Beckham. AmberBeckham.com

Orphaned and Abandoned

Orphaned and Abandoned. Two words you hear a lot here. It started on the plane. The plane. American Airlines taking a plane almost full of white faces and folks wearing t-shirts with screen prints about Haiti’s Earthquake. Almost like a youth group going on spring break. I couldn’t help but think that we would all be taking back much more than we would be giving.

This stories of the children started on the plane. Great older southern gentlemen with a fabulous heart for the hurting. He told me that he had come down three days after the earthquake. He was at the airport and there was a fight that started outside the gate in the street. A few went to see what was happening. There was an eight year old little girl there who was with a woman. One group said this woman was selling this little girl for sex for money. But the woman said these men where trying to steal her daughter. No one knew who to believe, and the woman took the little girl away. Crying.

The man said he didn’t know what to do other than just pray that God would be with the little girl. That His spirit would go with her and keep her safe.

An hour later the girl came back to the airport exit gate. Wailing. Screaming. All she could say was: “She is not my mother.”

He said she was so traumatized that she couldn’t remember her last name. She had been

Orphaned. Abandoned.

----------------------------

Driving back from picking up our final team member from the airport, I saw him again. His smile was captivating. His spirit was warm. His name was Garrison. Amber and I had tried to buy some water earlier that day that caused a yelling match at the store. Beside me the whole time was Garrison. Holding my hand tightly. He was eyeing the pastry in the glass. I was so wanting to buy it for him. Precious he is.

So I saw him and I turned to Dr. Jeudy. What is his story? Who is his mother?

He has none.

What do you mean?

No mother. No father. He is

Orphaned.

He was

Abandoned.

Who cares for him?

We do…….

Lord, Father God. You who are bigger than any pain we can imagine. Lighter than any darkness we can walk into. More powerful than an earthquake. The Father of the Fatherless and the Shepard for the Abandoned. Take these children tonight who have been orphaned because of this tragedy and hold them close. Help them to feel the depths of your love like no one else in the world can tonight. They are your special ones. Hold them tight.

The Four Most Beautiful Letters in the Alphabet

Have I come to Haiti to learn of Love? And how can three days seem like three weeks?

“What is your name?” I asked. "Her name is Lise. She understands English but she cannot speak it." “Lise. How do you spell that?” I asked.

“L - I – S – E: The four most beautiful letters in the alphabet.” He said. Watching them, you see it. Love. Not just any love. It’s different. They have been married for many years. One son. One heart.

You can easily watch him as he is protective of his treasure. You can easily see her taking care of him as her husband. You can easily see them share this love they share. This life they share.

He is a pastor and a surgeon and an over-all amazing man. Wise. Deep Well. She randomly breaks out in song, and her service is never ending. But she is strong and commands respect as she walks into the clinic she manages. His clinic. Their clinic. The people they have ministered to since the earthquake are in the hundreds. In food, clothes, medical care, and prayer. Together. As a team. Serving.

Loving through serving. It has been heavy on my mind lately and right before my eyes. And I think…….hmmm, this might just work. I’m a bit jaded when it comes to relationships. Having loved and lost (as many have), witnessed heartbreak in relationships around me, seen bad marriages often, seen good marriages rarely, frequently playing referee in my office in marriage sessions, when what I really want to do is pull my hair out. It just doesn’t seem that hard. But it is. Or is it? Maybe it’s just about serving. Maybe it’s just about surrender. Surrendering to our will to love the other person as God would if He were here. We are the most unhappy when we are the most selfish. And you can find pride and selfishness at the root of almost all marital unbliss. I believe with all my being that the purpose of marriage is to find someone you can love God with deeply rather than seeking someone to help us feel more love-able.

Yes, I’m seen as strong and bold and independent – the secret is that every woman just wants someone to lean into. Someone to catch her if she falls. To protect her from the evil in the world. Especially the strong and independent ones. They fall a lot, I hear : )

“Loving is not about getting. It is about protecting the one you hold the closest. If I am a good man I will protect my wife and children. I will make sure they feel loved. Above God, that is my greatest responsibility. My wife is a strong and beautiful women. She is not weak. She has the power. The power to make me a strong man or a weak man. And she makes me a strong man”

Wow. Loving by serving. Through serving. Reminds me of a man long ago with a towel and a water basin. Yeah – I think we could learn a lot from that man. And His Father. And the people of Haiti.

Why Don't We Dance Anymore?

I have discovered Needtobreathe. Maybe because I need to. Maybe because their music speaks to my spirit, and I like to dance to them in my mind. On a plane. To Haiti.

Stones Under Rushing Water. That’s the song.

"Why don’t we dance anymore? Why don’t we sing anymore?"

I was in front of over 100 Strong Haitian Souls today. Telling them about this song. How blown away I was when I read about them dancing in the middle of their darkest hour. Singing in the streets surrounded by rubble. Telling them how amazed I was at their strength. Dreaming of how the rest of the world can learn about what Hope really means – from them. From the very ones the rest of the world is trying to save.

“Our streets were turned into churches” Dr. Jeudy said.

This great surgeon, pastor and Haitian theologian told stories of the people coming together as One in the streets the night of the earthquake. 

Singing to a God they still trusted. Crying out to a Creator to put their broken world back together – and their broken streets. Dancing together as a people of pure strength. He told stories of how the people of Haiti had turned to God during deep crisis instead of shaking their fist at Him out of blame.

“This sidewalk was lined with corpses. Women. Men. Children. Lined up for days. One on top of another.”

How do you find wisdom in suffering? Rejoicing in the face of despair? How do you look into the dust of ashes and see a reflection of beauty? I don’t know. But I know that I want to know. I know that I have seen it, and I am in awe. In awe of

 Women dancing in the streets singing “Haiti Is Alive” after 220,000 deaths from the earthquake. Amazed after hearing of orphans marching in white…..singing songs of hope after loosing everything – parents, homes, limbs.

I feel as if God has taken His chisel and carved out a pathway into the deepest places of pain in the world and gently taken my hand to led me into them. Into the hearts of His most broken people. Into the hearts of His most wounded children. And through it, I’ve been taught where true beauty can be found.

Lewis says this: "We think our childish toys bring us all the happiness there is and our nursery is the whole wide world - but something must draw us out of the nursery into the world of others. That something is suffering"

Suffering. Despair. Heartache. It is that very place that I think God lives in the fullest form. Holding us. Loving us. Mending us. It’s in broken desperateness – the place that we think we can’t breath anymore – the place that we feel we can't stand anymore – the very place that we never dreamed we would be and would never wish on our greatest enemy… That Place. That very place is where the heart of God lies. The center of His redemption. The core of His grace. The greatest need for His glory. It is not easy or pretty or pleasant. But it is surely there: 

The Hand Of God.

 

How Shall I Cry?

How Lord do you want to change me?

Who, Father, do you want me to be?

Where, Spirit, do you want me to go?

How shall I cry for your hurting?

What hymn should I sing to your orphaned?

With what language should I speak to the ears of the wounded?

How should I awaken the dead....

That they may live in You

Through you

Because of you

In Complete and Absolute Honor of

You. 

Dancing in Dogwood Blossoms.

I was watching them play today. Watching them race for colored plastic eggs, watching them shake the dogwood blossoms off of the trees and dance in them as they fell to the ground. Watching them. Loving them. Admiring them in all of their Innocence – wishing that innocence would never be further away from them as it is today.

This day. This Day of Newness. Of Freshness. Of Resurrection. Of New Beginnings. I was thinking in worship tonight how this has become, possibly, my favorite holiday. I often say that the Ending must End for the Beginning to Begin. But I find we are often so afraid to allow the Ending of Something - that we can’t find the Beginning of what God has for us. You see, you can’t hold on to both. You have to let go of one to find the other. 

The Passion of the Christ. The Lord’s story of sacrifice on a Hollywood screen. I remember my family going to see it together. I had never seen my dad cry so hard. We all had different reactions to what we saw when Jesus was being scourged. My father wanted to just fight for the Lord. To stand up for Him. My brother said he was almost numb. His heart was so overwhelmed that he didn’t even know what to do with it all. Me? I kept thinking one thing and one thing only. “That should be me. I should be taking that beating. Me. They should be whipping me.”

I was in the middle of one of the darkest times of life and had broken practically every one of the Ten Commandments – the Big Ones. At that time, having just gone through a shameful divorce and ending a painful marriage – I was broken in about as many pieces as I could be. Depression gave way to anxiety depending on the hour. Not living sounded much more enticing than I would like to admit. And I remember this day. This One day. Lying on my sister’s bed, I remember having to choose. I remember talking to myself and telling myself that I had to make a choice – I was either going to live or I was going to die. I was either going to see myself through the eyes of man, or through the eyes of my Lord. I was either going to give up or fight. I chose to fight. But I had to re-choose to fight to live many times over since that day. Over and over. I had to choose to change. To change how I was looking for happiness. To move. To grow. To learn. To do something other than what I was doing because what I was doing was only causing pain to me and to others. Thank God I am on the other side of it now! Why am I being so open? Because all of us get second chances, we just have to know when to take them. 

What does all of this have to do with Easter and my nieces and nephew playing in dogwood blossoms? Everything. My favorite scene in The Passion of The Christ is not a scene at all. It’s actually simply a moment. A moment that gives way to words. Jesus had fallen and fallen under the weight of the cross. Bloody. Bruised. Broken. He can barely stand – let alone carry this weight. Along the journey, Mary follows. Crowd chanting and yelling and crying. Soldiers pushing and prodding and spitting. Mary – following in the distance, in the shadows….. and running…. and following. Trying to get a glimpse. A desperate glimpse into his eyes to tell him one thing: “I am here, my son!” Her face becomes more and more desperate as she follows from the outskirts of the crowd. Unable to get close to Him. Just wanting to get close to Him. His walk becomes weaker and weaker. But it all comes to a peak at One Moment. 

He begins to fall to the ground in slow motion…. Not far from her. She runs to Him…..Quickly. As she runs, she has a flashback of Jesus at around 4 years old. He is falling and crying. She is running to him to console him as a young mother. The flashback ends, and they meet on the ground as he falls and she tries to catch his eye. He looks up among the chaos around him and they are face to face. She looks at him as if to say “Why my son? Why this way? Why aren’t you stopping this? Why?" He says Seven words to her. 7 words:

“See, Mother? I make all things new…”

As if to say: “Do you see? Are you proud of me, Mother? Do you see now? Do you understand?”

Do you? See? Do We? Understand?

It’s about Dancing in Dogwood Blossoms. It’s about the newness of Spring and being brave enough to take second chances. To change the direction we are looking for happiness. To do something different. To finally, once and for all, put the past behind us and forgive – ourselves and him and her and them. To finally, today, say: I can be resurrected. I can Live Again. To die to self and bury our own will to rise on the wings of eagles and fly into what He has for us. Realizing it may look nothing like our hopes or dreams or wishes. But that’s ok. Maybe it’s not about getting what we want or life being the way we always thought it would be. Maybe its about knowing when to take second chances and praising Him for giving us that opportunity.

And MAYBE just maybe…. 

It’s about Dancing in Dogwood Blossoms. Just because we can: )