Last week Pooka was sick most of the week, which cut back on the fun stuff we had planned to do, like a picnic with the grandparents. And Angry Ranger was away at camp getting sunburned and exhausted (but apparently not getting any girls’ numbers, for which I am grateful), so all I’m saying is it was a pretty boring week.
Except for Pooka’s comment to her brother on Saturday morning, when he was telling her how good he was at MarioKart: “Well there’s no need to be pride about it.” 😉
Also the moment at the doctor’s office when Pooka saw a magazine with a mostly undressed woman on it. “Mommy,” she whispered, “I see something embarrassing.” “Me too,” I whispered back. “Don’t worry, Mom,” she said, and then ran across to the offending magazine and covered it up with something else. “There,” she said breathlessly as she returned to me, “I helped her out.”
One of the things I do every morning is copy a passage out of the Bible– the technical name for this is “transcribing,” which makes it sound fancy. Anyway, right now I’m transcribing Matthew, and today I was in the story of Christ’s crucifixion. And then I turned to Isaiah 43 for my time of adoration, and these words–
Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
And after reading–writing down– the horrific description of what was done to the Son of God, I found this verse to hit me right between the eyes. What a price was paid for my redemption! Jesus was not like me– at any moment during the whole ordeal He could have cried “Enough” and had all of heaven’s armies at His side. He was not held to the cross by the nails, but by His love for me– for me, lost in sin, rebellious and stubborn and so very unworthy.
He has called me by name– He has paid the immeasurably high cost of my redemption– I belong to Him– so if this God who made me and loves me this much says “Fear not,” well, that seems fair. What have I to fear when God has already given me His own Son? Would such a God ever, even for a moment, forget me or neglect me or fail me? When the worth of my life was the life of His Beloved, Jesus?
I think maybe we don’t spend enough time contemplating the cross. Every sacrifice God asks of us pales in comparison to what we have been given.
Next week I am embarking on an epic adventure called Counseling at Senior High Camp. I have to confess that this is making me pretty nervous as it gets closer. Last week I counseled at junior girls’ camp, and that was super fun, but I feel like teenage girls are a bit of a different animal and I might come back scarred for life. Or maybe it’ll be entirely awesome. Either way, if you think about it, pray for me.
Angry Ranger came home from camp on Saturday and I may have squealed when I saw him standing outside the back door. He was just as happy to see me.
That evening we were required to have a Silly Hat Celebration because all of us were together again. Logic demanded it. Obviously.
My phone’s camera clearly did a great job on this picture.
And here’s a random one of Pooka after her shower on Saturday–I had never wrapped her head up in a towel like this before and she seriously thought it was the funniest. thing. ever. Of course, when the camera came out, so did the crazy pose.
And finally, with all the racial tension in our country right now, I feel like I need to share the experience I had the other evening at Barnes and Noble in Omaha. Art and I were going into the store, and there were a couple of kids– African American boys, one a teenager and one I assumed was his younger brother. That older boy went out of his way to hold the door for me until Art could grab it, and then to hold the second door for both of us. It made me smile. I feel like maybe small acts of kindness might do more to relieve pressure between races than all the hashtags in the world. Let us be the hands of Jesus to one another. 🙂
Have a great Monday, and may your meanderings remind you that you are so loved!