Good Friday

“But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.”—Isaiah 53:5 Friday Heading into service tonight, I felt anything but good. Our temp pole was delayed—may need to be moved, may swing and catch the whole place on fire, may get pulled by a too-tall truck. I also took the pool cover off and discovered the liner was falling down and there’s an area of rust completely rotted through a side panel. Dollar signs danced through my head. Thoughts of “what have I done” coupled with “I’m such an idiot. This is the biggest mistake of my life.” I felt hopeless, lost, like a failure. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the goal. As debt free as possible was the goal. A mama at home. An at home oasis. All in the plan. But building again, renovating or just filling the dang pool in with dirt was not in the plan. So as I headed in to church, my posture was not where it should have been on Good Friday. But then, a glorious thing happened. As the music began to play, Cadence requested to be held. I picked up her 45 pound self and slung her on my hip. Then Gabe nuzzled in on my other side. Both of them singing hymns to Jesus. As I stood there singing with them, the reminder of his promise began to pour into me. For years, a decade at least, I have wanted nothing but to be mom. I have wanted nothing but to be present. I have wanted to be the nurturer, the caregiver, the comforter. I have wanted closeness. And here I was, on a Friday night, on a holiday weekend, standing in church, with literally no space between me and my children. And my heart softened. The promise was that I would have this. It wasn’t for a pool or a house or a vacation this summer. It was for this, for this moment right now. It was for the ability to be off on the holiday weekend to spend it fully with my children as we share in the goodness of God and all that Jesus did for us. The promise was my time made available, made open for these two. As we clustered there, I began to turn to mush. Whatever happens with the house, with the pool is not for me to fret over. I thought about how consumed I had been with the latest discoveries and how they had stolen my attention for conversations, for experiences, for prepping their little hearts for service. I then diverted to God. Thank him that he is a good parent. Thank him that he’s not so consumed with the intricacies of this life that he can’t give his undivided attention to our ramblings, our prayers, our needs. Thank him that he keeps promises. And thank him for sending Jesus so that we may know him, we may be saved and that one day we will live with him. It took me sometime to get there this evening when I should have had a spirit of worship throughout the day, the week… but I got there and I needed the reminder I found along the way.

You saw to the other side...

  

 

“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”  —Hebrews 12:2-3

Last night, as I was packing up the house I found an old journal. The first and only actual journal entry in it was an account of why I was leaving my clinic position of 4 years.  As I read through the entry, tears fell like rain.  The entry was raw—full of emotion.  I had been hurting.  I had been struggling.  I wanted God’s plan for me but I didn’t know all of what that would entail but I knew it meant leaving my position.  I knew it would mean stepping out in faith. I knew it would mean giving up a nice salary with bonuses and stability, with a husband only working part time and enrolled in school and leaning in on God that he was going to provide me with something new, something better.  On August 14, 2013, I wrote, “Tonight, I journal so I can leave a trail of God’s promise, so that when that devil comes, I can show him this is why I left.”  I wanted the record so there was no doubt.  I wrote the reasons I felt God was calling me to leave.  There were many reasons ranging from too much drive time and not enough wake time with Gabe  to feeling like a cash cow to an at times hostile work environment to feeling like I spent more time with other people’s kids than my own, to simply the memories the office held of our fatal day with Gideon.  I ended the entry, “I trust in Him and like Gideon, I am putting it out on the lawn, praying He brings the dew.”  This Gideon was the Gideon of the Bible of course and not my son.  In Judges 6, Gideon knows the plan.  He knows exactly what he is to do but still he asks for a sign.  He lays out his fleece, asking for it to be wet and the ground to be dry and then again the next night asks for another sign that the fleece be dry and the ground wet with dew even though he was given the sign on that first night.  He asks for these two signs even after seeing the angel of the Lord, asking for a sign it is truly the Lord and having that sign given.  Three times Gideon asked for a sign that he was truly to fight the Midianites.  God didn’t have to but three times he gave him the sign.  When I wrote my journal entry, I wasn’t necessarily asking God to give me a sign that I was to quit.  I knew that I was supposed to leave but I was asking for a sign on the other side that He truly was with me.  It’s strange and it’s flesh but it happens.  Gideon knew what he was to do but he struggled with feelings of inadequacy.  His clan was the weakest and he was the least in his family.  He had almost gotten killed because he cut down the altar to Baal and built an alar to God after God told him to do it.  I knew I was supposed to leave but how was my family going to survive.  How would the bills get paid?  Gideon questions the plan.  How, at his own hand, will Israel be saved?  How were we going to get money?  What job was waiting for me on the other side?  I too, wanted the proof of the plan and not just the catalyst.  My “proof” didn’t come until 2 months later—17 days before my last day of employment.  On September 13, I spoke with the medical director of the Saint Francis Pediatric Emergency Center.  The details of that conversation were jotted down just 2 pages over from my “leaving” entry.  When I saw the notes last night, I couldn’t help but giggle.  I hadn’t written the notes as an entry of “proof.”  However, that’s exactly what it was as I look back nearly 9 years later.  

This move in my career was one of the most pivotal times in my life.  This is one of the most concrete, vivid experiences where I knew God was calling me to action, to act in faith, to trust in Him.  He was faithful.  I have shared with Lance and a few others that the selling of our house is another pivotal moment in our life.  It will mean financial freedom.  It will mean a woman who is more present as wife and as mom.  It will mean the fulfilling of a promise I was given over 11 years ago.  I don’t know where we will land, what he will have for us in the end.  We sold with a camper to live in but nothing to buy, nothing to build on.  I have felt like God was going to provide a house with land, with the necessities to live simply and to have our small farm life.  But he had not shone it to me when we listed, when we accepted an offer.   I do know he drew out the home we found last week that I inquired about.  I do know he set in me a spirit of boldness in that moment to step out in faith.  I know he is the reason I received a text back from the owner stating she wasn’t interested in selling previously but after seeing our offer, she now is.  I know that wherever we land, whatever happens, this is His will and our act of faith will not be questioned. I will use this “journal entry” as the proof that our God is good even when we don’t know the plan.  I know I follow a God who suffered a death of scourging, of beating, of hanging on a cross, because he saw to the other side.  He died for me and my sins. He died for me and my questioning.  He died for the joy of having me restored.  I may not know the details of what is on the other side of this move but I serve a God who does and in that I will rejoice and have joy.   I will not grow weary or lose heart.   

My notes from my phone conversation for my job in  the PEC.  I love how Micki's name is on the 3rd line down.  She has become my best friend and I cherish her dearly.  

  

Again, I will say rejoice...

...rejoice in the Lord. -Philippians 3:1

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice.  —Philippians 4:4

As 2021 was drawing to a close, I felt the dam break.  The emotions, the anger, the anxiety, the fear I had been allowing to build for nearly two years finally released.  For two years I had fought feelings of inadequacy, feelings of unworthiness, feelings of being used and abused.  I had fought feeling as though at any given moment, the rug was going to be ripped out from underneath me.  I feared losing our home, our kids’ private education, our stability.  My schedule was all over the place.  I had gone from being highly utilized and essential to a place of feeling like I could get fired any day because the hours just weren’t there to keep all of us and if we griped or contested then that risk felt even higher.  When I would finally get settled in and comfortable with the current state of affairs, a new disruption would hit.  I felt as though God was slapping me, trying to get my attention, setting me towards something else but not seeing what the something else was—which only brought more frustration.  In the beginning of 2021, I chose to go part-time.  In part, so the risk of our current group losing another employee was lessened, in part because I was not in agreement with what the model was going to look like and in part because I just needed to step away.  For months, I didn’t work.  Thankfully, God knew what was going to happen and he positioned us in a place where financially it was feasible for a season.  A friend had told me that though we thought we were paying things off for this or saving for that, God had us set us out on that journey for other reasons and this just happened to be that reason.  But it wasn’t what we had planned and it was uncomfortable.    Then after finally paying off that student debt, I found out that I’m going to need another certification to keep my position—the one that I had been doing for 8 years.  That certification was going to require going back to school and paying tuition—something I thought I was done with.  Again, not what I had planned.  So, by the time December came, I was drained and spent.  But God spoke to me on Gideon’s birthday and reminded me to rejoice.  I had been waiting for him to give me the plan, the blueprint, my checklist of what to do.  But he simply told me to rejoice.  Rejoice in him.  Rejoice in Jesus.  Rejoice in my salvation.  Rejoice in that one day I will stand in the presence of Jesus and I will be in amazement of his glory and goodness.  As the year ended and the new year began, I held onto that word.  I made it my intention this year to worship.  

Worship isn’t just Sunday mornings standing in church, singing to God with my hands lifted in praise.  It’s not just listening to Shane and Shane on my drive into work or drop off and pick up.  Worship can be found in everything that I do.  Worship should be a part of everything I do.  And that worship should be to God to bring glory to God.  The “Daily Devo” app has helped me stay on track.  This morning’s devotional spoke about God giving us the desires of our hearts.  It spoke about how we wrestle with unmet desires, unmet Godly desires.  It’s hard for us to sometimes see that he is working in us, that he is developing a path, a way to make that desire come to be truth and fact.  Almost 11 years ago, when we lost Gideon, there was no stronger desire of my heart than to have him back—and one day I will see that come true—just not this side of Heaven.  But secondly, I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.  However, I was $80,000 deep in student loan debt and without a miraculous change in events and circumstances, financially it wasn’t going to happen.  But God brought me lots of people and circumstances that allowed me to have more time with the babies that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.  And these past two years haven’t been any different from that.  Granted, they’ve been harder.  They’ve squeezed me more.  I definitely didn’t always handle them with grace.  They haven’t looked as though I had wished but they have brought about change that has led to me being more available, at home more, actively mom more of the time.  In April of 2020, I was scheduled for 170+ hours for the month.  That month, my hours were cut to around 80.  And though I went part-time with the desire to return to full-time, that too changed.  This morning’s devotional resonated and spoke to me because this has been my desire.  Working less, staying at home more, being the available mom has been my desire and I am living that out.  These are those days.  They are tough at times and scary and filled with the unknown but they are here and now.  I have a savior who loves me, who does push me, who does teach me to be more reliant, who does answer the Godly desires of my heart and in him I will rejoice.  Rejoice. Again I will say, rejoice.   

Easter weekend 2010--when we found out we were pregnant with Gideon.

His mercies are new every morning…

Yesterday morning, I woke with a heart full of hurt and ruin. The thoughts of the loss of Gideon and how we would be celebrating his last day as a 10 year old weighed heavy on my soul. I laid there for a bit, not wanting to move, on the brink of tears. I finally lifted up, knowing I better get going or we would all be late, and I saw that beautiful sky. I stared in awe for a bit, snapped a picture that does not do the masterpiece justice, and managed to give thanks to the Creator.

 

This year has been immensely difficult. As we’ve struggled with a reduction in hours, income and gone back and forth on selling our home and moving, the stress has eaten at me. The uncertainty in the life of a planner wreaks havoc on wellbeing. Couple that with a crazed medical community who seem to no longer care about actual data and well-being of kids and I was twisted. Many times I felt on the brink of depression and in a state of sullenness.  Apathy doesn’t suit me well. I care too much, not to care but at the same time I felt too hurt to get too close. At work, I’ve felt like I’ve been balancing on the line of the circle, lonely and looking in.  I’ve prayed, read, reached out to my pastor, talked it out a million times with my mom and Lance and waited.  

So here we were today, picking up our individual birthday cupcakes, placing a few things on Gideon’s grave and trying to get a few pics to remember number 11. As I looked down at the ornament, “Joy to the World,” I chuckled. It hasn’t always felt like much joy this past year. But then I thought of the second part of the song—“the Lord is come.”  I was again reminded that my joy doesn’t come from my circumstances but from the Lord.   And I love Jesus—like butterflies in my stomach, singing in my spirit with a praise unlike any other. But that didn’t take from me missing Gideon. That didn’t take from not seeing my son turn 11. That didn’t make this past year any easier.  As we got in the car and made our way home to sing happy birthday and eat our goodies, I began to sob. “Though You Slay Me” played over the speaker and the tears streamed. 

“Though You slay me

Yet I will praise You

Though You take from me

I will bless Your name

Though You ruin me

Still I will worship

Sing a song to the one who's all I need”

A calmness came and again I went back to the ornament. Joy to the world. I needed to cry out to God. I needed to once again let him take the cup from me. I needed to be reminded that though I will suffer, I will know heartache and loss and misery, these will pale in comparison to the glories I have in Heaven. These will pale in the glory of God. And he reminded me. As I sit here tonight, thinking about Gideon and what he may look like, what he might be interested in, I will rejoice. Nothing can undo my joy I find in Jesus.  Though sin and sorrow will come, nothing can separate me from the goodness of our God. My name is written in the book. I will see our son again. I will see Jesus. And although life may look different than what I thought it would or what I think it should, his mercies are new each morning. 

It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.

They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. —Lamentations 3:22-23

when the well runs dry…

 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water?  Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”—John 4:10-15

This pandemic and all of its uncertainty has continually been bringing me back to the well, digging a little deeper, searching for a little more, striving to thirst no more.  I struggle with who I am if I’m not…  Who am I if not an Emergency Medicine provider?  Who am I if not a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner.  Who am I if I don’t have a job?  

Lance and I have gone through umpteen iterations of what life would be like if I had decreased hours, no hours, no job and for how long of each.  We have plans and rip-cords to pull in case the unthinkable happens.  But who am I if I’m not working?  Who am I if not an EM pediatric nurse practitioner.  Everyday I worry about losing my job.  The workplace is an incredibly volatile environment these days.  I worry that at any moment, I could be singled out for doing or saying the wrong thing, for not toeing the line, asking the wrong question, being too bold, for demanding better.  I worry about the security of our finances, our livelihood, our home, our children’s education, our life insurance, our retirement.  I worry about my relationships, my friendships, the connections that I’ve made while employed over the past 6.5 years.  Who will still be there for me, who will text to check in on me, stop in and say hello?  Who will still invite me to hang out, to get together, to catch up?  Who will have my back, stand up for me, be my voice if I no longer have one?  

Personal, local, known injustice eats at me.  It has always been in my nature to take on the pain and the suffering and the cause—even to my demise of those closest to me and those most vulnerable.  That most certainly is why pediatric nursing was my calling and on the flip side why I know, and even more so know now, that I could never be in management.  

My first long time job was as a nurse tech on a little chronic, long term rehab facility.  My patients were the definition of vulnerable—chronic, abused, high needs, and most, no parents.  I tried to leave to work in the NICU but my heart was with those sweet kids who so many didn’t have a voice or an advocate so I was drawn right back.  I also had grown close to the little old sweet man who had a depth of knowledge corporate CEOs only pretend to possess and the somehow simple yet still managing to be eclectic nurse who had spent her life in this role at this one facility in this one department.  And so as I transitioned to nurse and the department was seeing corporate cuts and corporate changes in the requirements and stipulations forced upon that doctor and all of the nurses I began to take on that pain.  I whole-heartedly felt the unfairness and the disregard for staff and experience.  I began to carry that load and even though I have been gone for 15 years, I still feel the weight and the depth of their suffering and struggle.  When I left that job, I had promised myself to never work for a hospital system again.  I wasn’t certain that ingenuity to figure out how to keep experience, quality of care and profits under one roof could exist.  On my facebook boards, there is a post of fellow nurse practitioners who have been furloughed, laid off, hours reduced, wages cut due to the unexpected, unprecedented turn of events.  The irony of losing your job in healthcare in the middle of a health pandemic is uncanny.  With Lance in law enforcement and I in healthcare, we have always joked that we would be employed until Jesus came back and now I’m just sitting back thinking I may have missed the coming of our Savior—not truly, of course.  One NP had words of wisdom, uplifting words.  She was trying to intentionally spend time with God daily.  She was searching for Jesus in all of this.  She was hunting, searching for what it was he had for her to learn through all of this.  She still was processing through all of the anger, the hurt, the fear, the unknowing and mourning, not just over lost wages but lost relationships.  But time and time again, she was choosing to take it back and lay it at his feet.  

At his feet, is the only place there is healing.  At his feet, is the only place your burden becomes light.  At his feet, is the only place the wrongs of this world can be overshadowed by the goodness of his love.  At his feet, there is comfort.  At his feet, there is love.  At his feet, there is water.  You find the water.  You. Find. The. Water. You find the everlasting water of a well that doesn’t run dry.  At his feet, you find that the views of the world of what they think you should be or what you think you should be die.  At his feet, you find who you are.  At his feet, you find who he is and you find who you are in him.  He is love and goodness and all knowing and all powerful.  And at his feet you find that power.  You find that power that comes through the water from a well that doesn’t run dry.   At his feet, you remember you are the child of the one true risen God.  You are the daughter of a King.  You are more than a label, more than a career, more than an address or a school system.  He is more and because you are his, you are more.    You. Are. More.  Find his feet.  Find the well.  Find the water.  Poor child, never thirst again.  I never want to thirst again.  His well does not run dry. 

9 years ago, God sent this little bundle to my friend Sara.  He arrived roughly one and a half months after our loss of Gideon.  I remember feeling the joy and the heartache.  I was fortunate to have them at that time. I was thankful for her sharing of this beautiful boy who is only 4 months younger than our son. I'm thankful God sent him and that through him I have been able to see what every age and what every stage of Gideon could have brought.  In loss, there can be joy but it's only found through Christ Jesus.  Seek him.  Lay it down.  If you pick it up, do it again.  Lay it down again.  Bring the shame, bring the hurt, bring the bitterness, bring the ego, bring your worry.  Bring the things that run your well dry and lay it down.  He will take it and he will give you water.  

...there’s a cross

…“Weren’t there three men that we tied up and threw into the fire?”

They replied, “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

He said, “Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.” Daniel 3:24-25

Have you heard the song “Another in the Fire” yet?  Several months ago our worship leaders sang it at church and I was swept up in the words and the truth.  I had heard it before and loved it then but it was a completely different thing to be standing there in my time of worship, arms held high, ready to be moved, ready to feel the power of the Holy Spirit and to be swept away.  I’m standing there hands out, probably singing too loud and tears just streaming down my face.  I was overcome by the honesty and simplicity of the words and what they meant to me. I was overcome with love for Jesus but first by the love Jesus has for me.   And every time I’ve heard it since then, I probably sing too loud and get a little teary eyed and today was no different.  But today, I ruminated over the lyrics and I went back to Daniel to study the verses.    I thought of the three.  I thought of their honesty.  I thought of their steadfast belief in the one true God.  They stood up to the king and told him that they would not serve the king’s false gods.  And when threatened with the death in the fiery furnace, without hesitation they responded, “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”—Daniel 3:17-18.  Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego knew that their God could deliver them from the fire but if he didn’t they would still worship their God.   There was either going to be a divine intervention and a miracle that would save their lives or they were going to die but either way they were still going to worship God and refused to give in.  When we were in the hospital, I wrestled with even the thought that Gideon may not live.  I prayed heavily that God would save him but even then, I knew if he died it didn’t change who my God was.  I’ve heard people say that you shouldn’t speak things into existence, you should only pray for supernatural healing, pray for life but right here, we see these three speak it plainly.  “I know God can deliver us through this but if he does not he is still God and we will still follow him.”  He is God and he can’t be manipulated.  We can’t trick him into getting our way. 

     

Being Good Friday, we had already talked a great deal about what today meant for Jesus and what today meant for us.  I was already feeling the anguish and the heaviness of what his beating may have looked like.  I always break down when I think of the scourging and after our Good Friday service where it was discussed in detail, it was all too heavy.  I had talked to Gabe a lot about it and about the tremendous amount of suffering Jesus had to endure before even being placed on the cross.   Yesterday, I used a charcoal mask again.  The kids were in the bath behind me as I began pulling it off.  It hurt.  My breathing became heavy, my heart rate increased.  I started to sweat as I became flushed.  I made little painful sounds as I would slowly peel it away.  They both asked me several times if I was okay.  In the best way I could, I compared that slow agony to the scourging of Jesus.  Except of course we talked about how much worse it was for him.  We talked about the whips lashing across the skin causing cuts across his body.  We talked about the hooks on the end of the whips that would grab onto the skin and pull at the skin and rip it away when the enforcer was going back for another swing.  He felt it.  He could have ended it.  But he stood there, feeling every ounce of pain.  Every stripe was felt in real agony.  My heart breaks knowing that my sin did that.  I can’t help but fall on my face when I think about that beating he took when he could have ended it all but instead he chose to save me, to save us.  

Today’s circumstances are no different than the times of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  We still have struggles. We still have to make hard choices. Our sin is no different than what was going on at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion.  Our world is facing this pandemic together.  Some are experiencing sickness and death.   Some are hit with financial loss and wondering how they are going to pay the mortgage, put food on the table.  Some are struggling through home-schooling and some juggling this new homeschooling situation while still working full-time.  And many are just plain struggling with fear.  But guess what?  The same Jesus that was in the fiery furnace with the three is the same Jesus who suffered an excruciating death for our sin and he is the same Jesus who lives for us today.  He is alive.  He is risen.  Whatever tomorrow will look like, I will praise him and I will worship him.  As I look at the cross, I see the burden of my sin.  When I think of the empty tomb, I think of the hell that has no victory.  Thank God he first loved me.  

...he washed their feet

“…he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.”—John 13:5

on repeat.  This image playing over and over in my head.  I picture him there, essentially in his undergarments, on his hands and knees, washing and drying the feet of his closest friends.  As we started the day out with our morning scripture reading, we discussed the events of Maundy Thursday.  Gabe found it humorous how dirty the disciples feet would be.  “Like a day at the lake without any shoes.”  We talked about communion and the betrayal by Judas.  We talked about Jesus going to pray in the garden.  But mostly we talked about the feet washing.  Growing up, I always thought the washing of feet came at the end after Judas was already gone.  It probably was within the last decade that I learned Judas was still there and it actually happened before the meal was over.  And today, that really hit me and stuck with me.  There are many reasons for Jesus’ act of washing the disciples’ feet—being a servant, symbolizing the need for repentance, but today I really focused on Judas.  

Jesus knew that Judas was going to betray him.  Yet he still chose to wash his feet.  Why?  In all honesty friends, that’s a struggle for me. Of course, he’s Jesus.  He’s the ultimate forgiver.  That’s why he is God and we are not.  But hurt is real.  And when I feel betrayed, the last thing I want to to do is get on my hands and knees and do something so low for the ones I feel betrayed by.  But here it is.  Here he is doing just that.  He was God.  In mere hours, he was going to be handed over by his own.  Judas had walked along side Jesus for 3 years.  He had seen with his own eyes the miracles.  He had heard with his own ears the teachings of Jesus.  Yet, he still handed over Jesus for some extra money in his pocket.  But still, Jesus washed his feet.  Was it merely an act of servanthood that he was compelled to do for all 12?  Was it hypocritical because Judas was not “whole body clean”?  Was it an opportunity for Judas to repent and turn from the deceit?   I believe time and time again, Jesus was trying to reach out to Judas.  He loved Judas.   Nowhere do you read about contempt or rejection towards Judas.  Nowhere.    How could he do it?  I just couldn’t do it.  But then I thought about the other 11.  Why was it so easy for me to think of Jesus serving the 11 but not Judas?  These 11 would also deny him.  They too would sin against God.  These men were considered his best friends, the ones he loved and they too would give him up for fear of their own loss.  Even in knowing all of it, he still washed their feet.  The King was now the servant.  And as I’ve reflected throughout today—trying to figure out how to let go of resentment and contempt, I struggled.  How could I possibly get on my hands and knees and wash the feet of those who have hurt me?   Then  I realized God had answered my question with the very verse I had been pondering and picturing all day. Get down on your hands and knees and pray.  Seek God.  Pray.  Although Jesus was fully God, he also was full man.  He felt the same struggle and agitation but he was constantly looking to the father for his response, for his actions, for his guidance. Without that grace of Christ, I too could be Judas or Peter or…Without grace, I am any one of the 12.  

As we enter into Good Friday, I encourage you to think about that one who you feel abandoned you.  I encourage you to think about the one who didn’t call to check in on you or send a text to see how things were going.  I encourage you to think about the one who spread lies or who lied directly to your face.  Now pray.  Pray for them.  Don’t pray that “they will see the error in their ways” or that “God will give them theirs” but pray like Jesus would pray.  Pray for their health.  Pray for their wealth.  Pray for their happiness, their comfort, their freedom.  Pray they know Jesus.  In the most agonizing time of Jesus’ life on earth, he chooses to comfort the disciples when they should have been comforting him.  May we all have hearts like Jesus.  

Even on the night that Jesus was betrayed he still gave thanks (1Cor 11:23-24). Surely, in this time of suffering, in this time of being uncomfortable, we too can give thanks to the one who shed his blood, to the one who sacrificed his life for us. We thank you, Jesus. Continue to make us new. Continue to fix our eyes and our hearts on you. Thank you for the grace that covers us. Thank you for the grace that sets us free. Free us from our bondage. Free us from our bitterness. Free us from the things that are not of you.