All posts tagged: Isaiah

Simply Jesus, Day 10

Those who turn to Jesus Christ, and accept his promise, begin to open our mouths with a new song, a song that tells of the pit, of the muck and mire of our making, and then sings the tune El gives. The song, the life, the story then belongs to him and we are the happy beneficiaries of his promise, heirs to the kingdom of heaven, children of God.


25 Gifts-Why Jesus {Advent 2014, Day 12}

This is a story about a king who would be born, raised up to power and chosen by God to free his people from captivity, to return them to their homeland and restore them. But it’s not a story about Jesus.

Desolation to Delight

She sat in the courtyard in the brilliant African sunshine.   Her dark skin failed to conceal the desolation in her eyes. Her arms, weak from holding the child, now lay still and empty. Her hands rested on the cotton skirt that covered her thighs, her fingers played at the creases.   Her child, the boy, naked and brown with shining eyes and a perfect mouth, was in the arms of another, hungrily working at wrapping those flower-blossom lips around the bottle nipple.   His blanket was but a dirty square of fabric, ripped from something larger, to be made small enough to enfold the baby.   Swaddling clothes.       And I listened to the lilting voices speaking words that sounded like the tinkling of bells and falling water. I didn’t understand the language.   But the story was clear.   The baby was healthy, declared the staff nurse.   But malnourished.   The girl with the desolate eyes explained: no milk had come. He had slurped water from her cupped hand, lapped at the …

On Every Leanin’ Side

A full week had passed since I’d seen her. It was a busy week for me. I’d met with experts and visited with dozens of people that week. I hardly slept; food, five courses delivered at breakfast, lunch and dinner, sat barely eaten. Although that week was busier than I could have imagined, I found myself pausing, lingering long on deep sighs, yearning to be together again. Because even though I was exactly where I needed to be, I wanted to be home. Just a week earlier, my hand brushed the iron knob on death’s door. I came so close I nearly pushed it’s rough surface and crossed the threshold from life to death. But I was saved, and with some help, I was living still. While I spent my days and nights under expert medical care, my youngest daughter slept over with cousins, swam in the silver sunlight of waning summer and played in the garden with her brother. Until I was well enough to see her, she cried and wondered, processed and prayed …

{Advent} Arise! Shine! For Your Light Has Come!

The small trailer shivered in the high-desert wind. Frost glazed the louvered windows of my tiny bedroom window.  My sister was tucked into her bed above me; she attained the top-bunk since she’s five years my senior. Our bedroom door framed the small tree that shimmered as Christmas lights flickered off its tinseled tresses. Anticipation kept us awake. We whispered, we giggled. “Go to sleep if you want Christmas to come,” called mom from the other room. Eventually, we acquiesced. When I awoke, the little trailer was quiet, the New Mexico wind had settled down in the valley somewhere and the cottonwoods ceased their creaking. The sky was still smudged with the dark of night, but enough light came through the frozen window to tell me one thing: Christmas morning had come! My feet fell to the floor and I scampered out to the central room of our family home that winter, a tiny 10 foot by 30 foot trailer. I was blind to the cramped shabbiness, I saw only magic. Magic on the  floor …