“Standing by the cross of Jesus was his mother…..”
As a mother, it’s hard not to see Good Friday from the broken heart of the mother of God, watching with horror as her son was mocked and beaten and crucified.
The sin of Adam, which ushered in our suffering and death would be answered by Christ, the suffering Savior, whose kingdom is born in you, through the obedience and the quiet yes of a young girl from Nazareth. It must have seemed like no time to her that the linens she wrapped her baby in became his grave clothes. And just like Mary, the shroud that covered you in your dying with Him will become the swaddling clothes with which you offer your love, incarnate, to the world.
The yes cry of the mother of God would break her heart into a thousand pieces. [read more]
For those who fear their sin has been too great and their pride too blinding,
For those crushed under doubt and shame and unbelief,
For those whose hearts are broken with loneliness, abandonment, and mind-numbing grief,
For those who’ve spent years in a dark and dreary wilderness, without the tiniest shimmer of hope,
For those whose souls ache for the joy of homecoming,
For those who are ravaged by addiction and longing and worry,
For those who don’t remember a day when love didn’t threaten to leave,
For those who’ve been battered and bruised by the Church, by the religious ones who said you didn’t measure up, [read more]
My love for hospitality began when I was ten years old and a giant ornate bar was delivered to our dining room complete with a crystal whiskey decanter and a set of brandy sniffers. I don’t think we had ever owned anything quite so nice and I was completely awestruck at the possibilities. My sister and I bartended for hours on end, with the likes of chocolate milk, apple juice, sweet tea, and some fancy swizzle sticks. Sometimes we would dress up in our snazziest clothes and pretend to be the patrons, holding our pinkies out just so while we sipped on beverages from dainty glasses. Apparently, this was an eat-in bar establishment because my favorite part was to set the tables and take the faux orders of a host of make believe (and very demanding) restaurant goers. I hustled. I was in it to win it. I took CARE of my customers. I hired my sister off and on but I didn’t hesitate to fire her if her enthusiasm waned. Now I’d give anything to work beside her everyday. She’d keep me organized and she’d make me laugh all day. Alas, I didn’t know how good I had it.
(Go ahead and take a minute with this photo. There’s a lot to study here.)
I perfected the art of running the home restaurant over the next few years until it all came crumbling down in 1983. [read more]