The Power of the Word

I have read through my life, the power of the Word. I have heard revival evangelists invoke the Holy Scripture as if calling down the lightning of God. I have heard people calling on the biblical promises as if they were spoken by God to them. I have even dabbled in them, saying them like holding a magic lamp, waiting for the genie to appear. But as I have studied recent scripture, I realize the words are not a magic lamp or wand. The power is in the One who spoke them or gave them to man to speak them. He gives power to the Word. Something we cannot conjure up, nor required to have faith strong enough to believe. There is no hidden button or special voice inflection required. They are the words we speak, when our mind is telling us otherwise. They are the cries of pain, when our loved one is critically sick. They are the tears we shed when there is no other way to express our sorrow. When Christ was in the wilderness, weakened by hunger and thirst, they were the one thing He still had. When Satan attacked Him, He had at His disposal so much power and might. He was the very God incarnate. But He chose to fight with an earthly weapon. Let me rephrase that. He chose to fight with a human, heaven provided weapon. The very Word of God given to a undeserving, unappreciative world. But given none the less. There is power in the Word. Oh yes there is!

Mary's Feet

Lessons at Mary’s Feet

Scent of lotion as I soothed dry skin

Her heel cupped gently in my palm

A meager offering in cancer’s wake

My love and fears mixed with the balm

Sisters linked through faith, not birth

Our journey together about to end

The scales of our lives were now tipping

How does one lose their best friend?

Twelve who knew, gathered in a room

Hosannas repeating in their ears

Preparing to sup on bread and wine,

Almost forgetting, His time was near

Christ knowing, as He removed His robe,

Only actions would convey what words lacked.

Removing sandals, He began to wash

The soles of those loved, calloused and cracked

Lesson written in water, not sand

Script of affection, missive to serve

His a Master’s heart, but servant’s hands.

Grace to give, not earn or deserve

Before them in submission, Christ knelt

Ministry not needed, or even desired

Glimpse of heaven, divinely ordained,

Last ritual, final portrait inspired

Did mere water cleanse twelve that night

Or did His tears blend in the bath?

Forgiveness washing betrayal’s stain

Final offering left beside death’s path

My friend’s cross not fashioned of wood

Chemo the nails, radiation the thorn

My last gift to her, I understood

Her plight was to leave, mine was to mourn

Only now, do I truly perceive grief’s gain

His found in death, while mine found in life

To stay or leave, such companionable pain

My only hope born through His anguish and strife

Where is Joy?

There is a song from the musical "Oliver", titled "Where is Love". It is poignant and sweet and so very relevant to so many. I remember as a "wanting to be lovestruck" teenager, riding along in the family car, sitting in the back seat, looking out of the darkness and singing this song. Where was Mr. Right? When would I find him? What would he look like. Handsome, athletic, witty, considerate. All my hoped for qualities fashioned him in my mind. I found him and we have been married for 30+ years.

As I look at him now, those qualities are not quite so clear. Age and health have been a factor, but my love, though not quite so physical, is stronger than ever. The song I now sing is "Where is Joy?". I go through the day listening to the barrage of depressing banter. Talk radio, news shows, minute by minute stock reports. All this information at my fingertips and ear tips for that matter, whether I want it or not. We talk about the things taking a beating our lives - retirement plans, Medicare, healthcare, social security, the environment, - need I go on. That there is a truly abusive class that has evolved. Joy abuse. We have taken the joy of life and beat it, rationalized it, berated it. Labels such as Pollyanna, superficial, pie in the sky, not realistic are bandied about. But joy is not a superficial thing. Paul talks about it in the midst of the worst. Count it all joy when you go through various trials. Not your mealy-mouthed, panty-waist type of joy. Deep, abiding joy. I want some of that. I tried putting my head in the sand - that doesn't work. I tried to be cheerful - that didn't work. Someone or something seems like it has a mission to rob your joy. But if my joy was as deep as it should or could be, would it be rob-able? Would it be so ingrained in my very being that you could not separate it from the me in me? How much does that kind of joy cost? Give me a few 1000 shares of it, please!