There’s always a morning after… Isn’t that what the old pop song says.  The phrase implies regret that follow stupid behavior.  If after getting smashed on mind altering drugs or too much booze at a party, and I awaken with a massive hangover, I will experience the regret of the morning after.  If I lose my self control and I awaken to find a stranger in my bed, or worse yet, discover I have an alphabet soup of  STD’s or learn I am pregnant, I’ll experience the full effect of the morning after.  The party will be over and results of my indiscretions may change my life forever.

There’s always a morning after… What was it like for Mary on Monday the morning after Jesus rose from the grave?  If the woman who visited Jesus’ tomb is the Mary scripture describes as a prostitute, as a fallen woman, Mondays had been a litany of morning afters and vain regrets for her.  And while additional coins jangled in her velvet purse, her soul would feel hollow.  But on this Monday, almost 2000 years ago, her heart would have been filled and about to burst.  She would have danced and twirled, her skirts swirling about her ankles  as she returned to her home in Bethany.  A bouquet of wild flowers would be clutched in her hands and a song of praise spilling from her lips.  Her face would be aglow with joy.  If anyone bothered to ask why she was so delighted, and maybe even if they didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to contain her excitement.  She would tell the world, “He’s alive.  I tell you my Beloved is alive.”

The fact that His followers doubted the Messiah’s resurrection, couldn’t shake her faith.  She knew her Lord was alive, just like He promised.  She’d seen him face to face.  He called out her name!  And no one could say “Mary,” like her Jesus said “Mary!”  She knew that her morning afters would never be the same again.

John 20:13-16 message paraphrase.  Jesus said, ‘Why do you weep?”  She thinking He was the gardener said, “Mister if you took Him, tell me where you put Him so I can care for Him.”  Jesus said, “Mary.” ….  Mary Magdalene went, telling the news to the disciples, “I saw the Master!”  

Dear Big Bro,

Thanks for not giving up.  When the people riled against You, You didn’t quit.  When the church elders tried to trick You with Your own words, you didn’t pack up your marbles and leave.  When You prayed for strength in the garden, You didn’t waver.  When Your beloved disciples slept instead of praying for You, you didn’t wash Your hands of them.  When  Judas betrayed you to the soldiers with a kiss, You didn’t cloth Yourself in darkness and slip away into the night.  When You were beaten and a crown of throne jammed into Your skull, You stood.  When they pounded the nails into Your flesh, You endured.  When Your Father was forced to turn His face away from You because of my sins,  You held fast.  Anguishing for hours in pain, You hung in there.  You didn’t give up, quit, run, hide, waver, decide it was all too difficult and not worth it.  All for me, a natural born quitter!  ”For God so loved the world…me.” (John 3:16)

Trust me, from where I sit, mankind is a selfish, evil lot, deserving of total annihilation.   From where I sit, Your gift wasn’t worth it, not one minute of your anguish.  Had it been me suffering, dying for someone who would as well spit in my eye as to blink,  I wouldn’t have done it.  But then, I can’t comprehend Divine love–love so amazing that You, Your Father and the Holy Sprit love me so much that You’d rather make this incredible sacrifice because of my sins, than to live forever in a perfect world with me.  From where I sit, this gesture is so far outside my realm of thinking I can’t wrap my mind around it.  From where I sit, I just can’t understand, but I sure do love You for it.  Thanks Big Bro for being my Savior.

The line I recall from the film “Finding Nemo,” is  the sea gulls greedily swooping down and crying, “Mine!  Mine!  Mine!”  Recently while fresco-dining at the coast I had left over fish and chips which, for entertainment purposes, I fed to the sea gulls.  (Didn’t see the sign telling me not to–honest.)  And sure enough the larg,e stronger birds quickly established and defended their territory by chasing away and nipping at other smaller birds, all the while crying, “Mind!  Mine!  Mine!”

I guess humans aren’t so different from sea gulls.  I see gangs graffiti wooden fences–I call it lifting their legs like puppy dogs to mark their territory.  I see church members, become irked if anyone dares sit in their preferred pew.  At the pool, I became a part of this when a pushy man tried to commandeer the lane in which I was doing laps.  I was here first!  Who does he think he is?  For days we played tug of war with the space until one day I saw myself becoming as obnoxious as he.  The next morning when he arrived, I smiled and asked him if he preferred the middle lane, and that I would gladly give it to him.  Everyday since I greet him with a cheery hello and move out of his lane.  While he hasn’t become my bosom buddy, he does smile and acknowledge my presence.  Progress?  I don’t know.  Noble?  I doubt it.  But what I did discover is the lane to his right is no better or worse in which to work out.  And I do feel much more refreshed at the end of my routine than when I battled him for rulership of the other lane.

This week a woman won a humungous portion of a lottery ticket–the biggest in lottery history.  She claims her prize was all hers, though she’d been a part of a pool of workers at a McDonald’s.   Whether or not her claim is true, I don’t know, but my mind returned to my day at the beach when I heard the  sea gulls cry, “Mine!  Mine!  Mine!”    To gain the whole world and lose one’s soul?

They say money change people but does it?  Isn’t it the same old problem of the need to mark one’s territory, to protect what we perceive is ours?  As big as the biggest lottery win in history or as little as forty-five minutes swimming in my favorite lane, is it all prompted by fear or by greed? The gulls I understand.  They don’t know when the next dumb tourist will come along and share her lunch.  As for gangs,  what do you think?    Please share your insights with me into this very curious phenomenon.

I do know when I consider the eternal question I remember an old hymn, “This world is not my home; I’m just a passing through.  The treasure I laid up, somewhere beyond the blue.  The angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door and I can’t feel at home in this world anymore.”  Yeah, I’m just a pilgrim, a traveler, in this land.  I brought nothing into it and I will take nothing out of it.  My territory is in a better place.

The next time I am tempted to defend my territory on the highway, in church or wherever, I’ll sing a little hymn and quote the words of John 14:1-3 Rizzo paraphrase, “Do not worry about marking your territory or someone straying into your space.  Trust me, my child.  I have a very special place for you that will blow your mind.  You wait; you’ll see, when I come back for you, we will be together forever and ever–in My territory.

Richard and I recently lost a dear friend whose compassion and grace affected our lives forever.  Though we hadn’t seen or chatted with  him in years, we already miss him.  We called him our Gentle Shepherd.  So here’s to you, Charles.

Death is such an anathama to human beings.  We see it all around us–in grass, in flowers, in family pets, a part of life and sin on Planet Earth.  Yet we detest it.  There are times when death is the kindest wish for a suffering patient, yet we rebel against it.

The poet Dylan Thomas wrote of his father’s passing, Do not go gentle in that goodnight.  Fight!  Fight!  As a youth I felt exactly the same way.  To me, death seemed like a form of “giving up.”  Surely the person I loved could have tried harder to live, could have fought longer.  I understand a young friend of mine who says she’s angry at her mom for dying.  I’ve known wives furious at their spouses for leaving in death.  Perhaps that is just a part of the grieving process.  I don’t know.

As a former English teacher and as a writer of an undisclosed age, I’ve learned the importance of using the correct punctuation in a sentence as well as in death.  Comfort comes to those left behind by how they punctuate their loved one’s life sentence.

A naive youth punctuates the loss of a loved one with an exclamation point.  This is all there is!

The agnostic describes death as a question mark.  Is this all there is?

The atheist places a period at the end of a life.  It’s all over.  Send in the clowns.

I used to consider a comma the breaking point of death–the division of two connecting thoughts.  If separation from my loved one were short perhaps a comma would do, but it’s not.  The closer you were to the individual the longer it seems and the more you miss them.  Over the last few losses, I’ve changed my mind.   I’ve decided that, for a believer, a semi-colon  better describes the break one experiences from the departed.  Together you shared a portion of life; then came the semicolon of death which will be followed by the rest of the sentence–a sentence with no ending…

Observe the three dots for infinity… (or eternity)   Reminds me that the best is yet to come…  See you there, dear friend…

Psalm 139:7-11 ia a favorite text of mine.  In 1957, I heard Jim Reeves sing, “Fly the ocean in a  silver plane.  See the jungle when it’s wet with rain…”  I knew that one day I wanted to see the world. I would sail the seven seas, fly into the highest heavens, climb snow-capped peaks, and trek across arid deserts–all without fear.  The next line in Mr. Reeves song is, “…Just remember ’til you’re home again, you belong to me.”  I knew I could dare to go wherever God lead because He is God and I am His.

Today, while planes are no longer silver and I have seen and tasted jungle rain, I still hunger to travel to the farthest reaches of the globe–if for no other reason than because it’s there. (Probably that’s why I love watching TV’s Amazing Race.  While I’ll never ride a zip line or parachute from a plane, I can live vicariously through those who do.)

I find myself equally fascinated with traveling into the great beyond.  When the Russian cosmonaut declared that he’d been in outer space and didn’t see God, I chuckled.  How ironic,  a half a century later, the Russian military is now assigning chaplains to their troops.  And where is that scoffing space traveler today?

When I read the article entitled, Into an Alien World, about James Cameron’s dive into the deepest part of the ocean–the Mariana Trench–a place further into the abyss than Mt. Everest is tall, my imagination comes alive once again.  I wonder, did Mr. Cameron find God down there?  The adventurer did find many new species of sea life, but did he find the final resting place for my sins as well?

Regardless, Mr. Cameron could be assured that no matter how deeply he dived, he didn’t out-dive his Creator.  The Message Bible puts it this way:  Is there any place I can go to avoid Your Spirit?  to be out of Your sight? If I climb to the sky, You’re there.  If I go underground, you’re there! If I flew on the morning’s wings to the far western horizon, You’d find me in a minute–You’re already there.  …It’s a fact darkness isn’t dark to you; night and day, darkness and light, they’re all the same to you.  

The best news is my days of traveling are far from over.  For my biggest excursion, I won’t need a rocket ship, a bathyscaphe, or pressurized apparel. While so much else will have changed the most important feature will not.  For while I will travel on angel wings, my Creator will escort me, not into an alien world, but a world of joy, love and laughter.

Today is the first day of spring.  (Wahoo!  The rains and storm clouds have moved toward the east. ) It’s a spectacular day of blue skies, puffy, white clouds, and gentle breezes.  As a child, I couldn’t understand why my mother’s favorite season was spring.  She said, “Springtime is when God makes all things new.”

But my mama didn’t wait for God to renew our little cottage on Sixth Avenue.  With the arrival of spring, she became a woman on a mission.  She donned her Mother Hubbard apron and attacked!  It meant throwing open all the windows and washing them until they sparkled; rolling up the living room carpet, carrying it into the backyard, and hanging it on the clothes line to be batted with a wicker thing-a-ma-jig until the dust cleared.  Every nook and cranny would be scrubbed free of all traces of winter; cobwebs would be eliminated, sending daddy longlegs fleeing for their lives; and panels of lace curtains would be washed and stretched on torturous, nail-studded wood frames to dry.  The bed pillows would be aired and the seams of throw pillows mended.  Though exhausted after my mother’s two-day marathon, I must confess the house smelled sweeter and looked brighter.  A vase filled with daffodils would occupy the center of her freshly polished mahogany dining room table.  Even the sofa in the parlor looked almost new.

Whenever I think of  the verse in Revelation 21:5, I think of springtime, my mom and God’s words, “Behold I will make all things new…These words are true and faithful.”

I look forward to the day when my Creator will make all things new–Eternal spring!

As the daughter of parents who endured the Great Depression on a diet of potatoes and coffee, I learned to “waste not, want not.”  But then I married a man whose motto is, “If in doubt; throw it out!”  And so established a sometimes humorous, sometimes stress-filled, yin-yang relationship with stuff.

Being a professional Nomad much of my adult life helped me release many of my squirrel-ish tendencies.  Now that we have nested in one place, we have begun to accumulate.  Recently I asked myself, “Do I really want to leave all this stuff for my children to sort through after I’m gone? Never-worn shoes too uncomfortable to wear; blouses I liked in the store, but now question my taste; frayed jeans that have seen “better days”; skirts, once chic but now “iffy” at best; dresses too tight for primetime, even with the help of Spanx?

My kitchen cupboards are cluttered with plastic containers I dare not throw away, lest I one day find the matching covers.  My book shelves?  Ooh, parting with a book, even a boring one, is a traumatic event.  But worst of all, is the garbage I’ve stowed in my brain, a treasury of shattered dreams, useless fears, and painful insults.

Lately I’ve adopted a rule of thumb.  If I’m not using a piece of clothing, a never-to-be-read book, or a household item someone else could enjoy, I let it go.  You wouldn’t believe the amount of usable space gained once I de-cluttered.  However that moldy, mildewed trash stacked in the dark, decaying corners of my memory is not worth dumping on another human being, only on God.   Jesus said, “Cast your burdens upon the Lord and He shall sustain thee.” Psalm 55:22 KJV.

Waste not; want not is a good motto for loving others; while Richard’s motto, “When in doubt, throw it out,” is good advice for the rest of life’s clutter.

I was on the brink of suicide when God first revealed to me His gospel of praise.  Beside giving me the strength to hang on one more day, I found a dynamic powerhouse at my fingertips.  Praise became my mantra (if Christians’ have mantras).  Once I discovered praise, I couldn’t shut my mouth.  I had to share the good news with the world.  Thus I became known as the “praise lady” to family, fans and friends, and as the “praise nut” to others.  I learned that praise changes the worst of situations; eases the deepest of pains and replaces the gravest of depressions with joy.  I wrote books about praise; sang songs about praise; and preached on the power inherent in praise.  One of my favorite praise texts was and is, Philippians 4:4 KJV, “Rejoice in the Lord always; and again I say rejoice.”

I’d never thought much about the second half of the text, “…and again I say rejoice,” until recently when I found myself embroiled in an emotionally charged crises.  That night, distraught and heartsick, I tossed and turned unable to sleep.  Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, sleep arrived, along with it a dark, spirit-crippling dream that hung over me like a storm cloud after I awakened.  Lugging a 2000 pound elephant on my back, I stumbled to my prayer corner and picked up my Bible.  It fell open to Philippians 4:4.  As I stared at the page through a tear-blurred vision, it was as if I were reading the familiar words for the first time.  My heart skipped a beat.  ”…and again I say rejoice!”

“Rejoice?  How can I rejoice in this situation, Lord?  How?” I moaned.  This time the letters appeared emblazoned in fire.  ”…and again, I say rejoice!”

“OK!  I’ll rejoice, Lord.” I threw my hands symbolically into the air and lifted my gaze toward the ceiling.  ”See? I am rejoicing!”  As I did,  a gentle spring shower of mercy cooled my fevered brow.  The power of praise soothed and comforted my distraught mind.  The hated dream faded from memory.  New-found strength touched my heart and coursed throughout my body.

“Forgive me, Lord, for forgetting…” Excited, I quoted the words, “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10KJV)  And despite seeing no evidence the situation would improve any time soon, I realized my praise had given God permission to take over my worries and to carry that 2000 pound elephant on His shoulders.  And while “Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen,” (Hebrews 11:1KJV), God’s peace has restored my soul.  I can know for certain, in His hands all will be well.

If life has thrown you an undeserved curveball, if your situation appears hopeless, if your spirit is overcome with grief, consider following the advice of Philippians 4:4.  ”…and again, I say rejoice!”   If you’ve once experience the power of praise but have temporarily forgotten the dynamite a simple prayer, song or word of praise contains, take a second look.  You’ll be glad you did.

Last week I received an invitation to enter a drawing to “do lunch” with the President.  Since I don’t live on the East Coast, I declined. Instead on that very day, I did “lunch” with the King of Kings.  Yeah, I did–really!  As Richard and I headed into our favorite locally-owned restaurant for a bite of lunch, I noticed a shabbily dressed man slowly walking back and forth in front of the establishment.  We ordered our food and sat at a table near the door.  The same man entered, bought a cup of coffee,  sat down at a table across the aisle from us and began reading a discarded copy of the local newspaper.

When our hot, juicy and deliciously aromatic order arrived we eagerly began to eat.  But, as I looked at the man seated at the nearby table, I instinctively knew the coffee was all he could afford to order.  Somehow the tasty tortilla didn’t slide down as easily as it had previously.  Reaching in my purse, I handed Richard a $10.00 bill. (Understand I am of the generation when $10.00 was a lot of money!).  At the same time the Holy Spirit was impressing my hubby with the same urge.  ”Here, ask that man if he’s hungry and give this to him.”  My hubby is gregarious to a  fault and did as I asked.  The stranger eagerly accepted the bill and rushed to the counter to place his order.  A woman at an adjoining table watched the exchange and sneered.  But that’s OK with me.  While I wasn’t dining with a President or the Speaker of the House, or a Supreme Court Judge, on that day, I dined with Jesus.  Hey, what could be a greater honor and privilege?  Since that day I’ve greeted Jesus all over town, on street corners, in grocery store parking lots, outside my favorite fast food joints.

Sometimes the words of Matthew 25 are disparaged or misinterpreted by many Christians as to mean we should help programs for the homeless.  Give to your church; Donate to the local rescue mission, et.al.  And this is good we should help relieve needs in every way we can.  This is how we send our “wealth” ahead to God’s bank vault.  But when I read the chapter about the division of sheep and goats, about “doing it unto the least of these,” I see the hungry, the thirsty, the poor, the stranger, the naked, the needy, the sick, the imprisoned.   I see individual faces.  I see my Savior.

I don’t know about you.  Maybe you are more discerning.  Maybe you can tell the difference between the face of Jesus Christ and the face of a scammer out to “dupe” you, but I can’t.  Last week I “did lunch” with Jesus.  What a humbling experience.   There’s no pride in “Look what I’ve done, but, wow!  I dined with the King of Kings and Lord of Lords!  I can’t wait until our next lunch date!

You are not your car; you are not your house; you are not your bank account; you are not your 401K.  You are not your failures; you are not your problems; you are not your disappointments.  You are the toe-headed five-year-old girl who danced in the sunlight.  You are the copper-headed, freckle-faced boy who imagined sailing ships and giant leviathan in the clouds.  You are the dreamer who believed you could change the world.  When God smiles at you, that’s the you He sees, whether you’re nine or ninety-nine.

While children’s first words are usually “Daddy” and “Mama,” they quickly graduate to “I can do it myself!”  Whether it be tying one’s own shoe laces or untangling an impossibly humongous stack of bills, it takes a lifetime for people to discover they can’t do it by themselves.

A story was told of a young man who wanted to plant a vegetable garden behind his parents’ home.  His father warned him of the number of rocks hidden beneath the surface.  ”No problem,” the boy said, “I can handle it.”  Day after day he dug up rocks only to find more and more rocks at each level.  After a week the boy admitted to his dad that all he’d managed to do was construct a huge pile of rocks.  ”I’ve done everything to remove all the rocks. I don’t know what else to do.”

His dad smiled.  ”There is one more thing you can do.”

“What?” the discouraged boy asked.

“Ask for my help.  Together, and with the help of our garden tractor and plow, we can make short work of those rocks.”   Pride had kept the son from asking for his father’s help.  Pride is what makes even the smallest of children declare, “I can do it myself!”

Growing older is all about growing younger, learning to shed one’s disappointments, troubles and mistakes by turning them over to Daddy-God before the “shoelaces” are tied up in knots.  We learn to say, “I can do it myself!”  But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”  Matthew 18:14 NIV

As eager as I was to grow up, I have fond memories of being a kid.  I loved playing ballerina on the lawn; playing bride with my paper dolls on the front porch; dreaming of driving to California at the wheel of my daddy’s broken-down car.  OK, so I won’t ever do a pirouette in a tutu for a live audience; and I am so grateful my romance with Richard is beyond the bride and groom stage; and living in California is everything I dreamed it might be.  Even though the problems in my life are much bigger than I imagined at age ten, I can still dance in the sunlight of God’s love and dream big dreams because I’ve chosen to trust my Daddy-God to work wonders in my life every day.  I can eagerly anticipate each problem with, “So how are You gonna help me fix this one, Daddy?”

“I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13.  I can still dance in the sunlight.  I can imagine high expectations and spectacular dreams, the biggest being a guaranteed place as one of the little children in God’s incredible, unimaginable kingdom.  Come dream a big dream today and dance in the sunlight with me.