It has been almost three years since I attempted, somewhat
successfully, to blog for 30 days. Well, I’m back, this time for 30 days before
Easter and probably just in the nick of time seeing as my selfishness is a bit
out of control and I can’t seem to remember what living as “People of the
Resurrection” really has to do with me, my family and my monotonous, sometimes
frantic, life. So, if you care to join me in this re-introduction to what it
means to live post-resurrection, please do. If you don’t, that’s o.k. too. I
can tell you one thing already; after three years I have learned there is
nothing speedy or easy about being reminded that I am a sinner and that, just as
I came from ashes I will once return to ashes.
No, my reminders come slowly and sometimes painfully, and almost
always needlessly. “Oh what needless pain I bear.” Pastor Meador described “sitting
in” this season of Lent, stopping, holding onto the opportunities for
reflection. Reflection on what it means to be a sinner, have a savior, and live
as people of the resurrection. He never, not once, suggested that this time
leading up to Easter, or any other time of the church year should or will be
served rapidly. THERE ARE NO DRIVE THROUGH ASHES.
It’s just not likely that the symbol of the cross marked on
my forehead this Wednesday will ever be enough to teach, correct or remind me
of the immensity of His love. Just like three years ago it wasn’t about a cross
that I carried in my pocket. I need to drive in, park, turn off the engine,
take in the experience and meditate on His promises. I need to live, worship
and turn to the One who paid for my sin and allows me to receive immeasurably
more than I think to even ask.
I followed the directions Palm Sunday 2015; I saved the lush
green palms we received at our service. I stuck them behind mirrors, in picture
frames, tucked on shelves and even taped them to a wall. These thriving,
enthusiastic branches, worthy of lying on the pathway before a King became dry,
brittle and crusty throughout the year. My children asked when I would throw them
away. My husband thought it was time to discard them before we had a hundred
people to our house this summer. I’m sure a few guests thought they were an odd
decoration or just another quirky element of the Tarjeson house. I told them
all, NO Pastor Shultz said we should keep them up. Quietly, they reminded me of
just how fragile we can become; just how in need of that Sovereign King we
really are. As the sign of the cross was placed on my forehead this week, with
the oil and ash from similar palm leaves, I was once again reminded that
without that Savior I am dust and ash but with him I have HOPE of so much more.
Let’s see if I can find and hold that HOPE over next 30
days, shall we?
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