"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth."

Keiron and I on our wedding day.

Surprised by the title? Want some more?

"...your love is more delightful than wine."

He says to her:

  "How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are doves."

I don't think those doves were crying. Continuing, she says in response:

 "How handsome you are, my beloved! Oh, how charming! And our bed is verdant."

Alright, so we've got some making out, lots of compliments and even some lush lovemaking. Can you guess from where I pulled these quotes? 

Nope, not "Romeo & Juliet" or "Othello". 

 

If you said the Bible, you are correct. Those are verses from the very first chapter of the Old Testament book of the Song of Solomon (New International Version). I remember as a child sitting through a seemingly endless (and boring) Sunday morning sermon, stumbling upon this titillating collection of romantic prose. I wasn't even sure what sex was, but I knew this part of the Bible was far different from the Noah's Ark, Sunday School- type stories I usually read. 

Fast forward to the first year or so of my marriage, and I was trying to think up ways to let my husband, K, know I was thinking of him throughout the day. I started including little love notes in his lunch bag with various verses from the Song of Solomon. Here are a few of my favorite:

"All night long on my bed

I looked for the one my heart loves;

I looked for him but did not find him.

I will get up now and go about the city,

through its streets and squares;

I will search for the one my heart loves.

So I looked for him but did not find him.

The watchmen found me

as they made their rounds in the city.

“Have you seen the one my heart loves?”

Scarcely had I passed them

when I found the one my heart loves.

I held him and would not let him go..."

(From chapter 3)

"Place me like a seal over your heart,

like a seal on your arm;

for love is as strong as death,

its jealousy unyielding as the grave.

It burns like blazing fire,

like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love;

rivers cannot sweep it away.

If one were to give

all the wealth of one’s house for love,

it would be utterly scorned."

(From chapter 8)

You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride;

you have stolen my heart

with one glance of your eyes,

with one jewel of your necklace.

How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride!

How much more pleasing is your love than wine,

and the fragrance of your perfume

more than any spice!

Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;

milk and honey are under your tongue.

The fragrance of your garments

is like the fragrance of Lebanon.

You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride;

you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain.

(From chapter 4)

Next week will mark five years of marriage for me and K. It hasn't been easy, and it's been necessary to turn to the Bible for help on a number of occasions. Along with the more discussed passages on marriage, I've learned the importance of referencing Solomon's luscious love song. Who needs '"Fifty Shades" when you've got the Good Book?

On our second anniversary.

More perfect.

by: Alisha De Freitas

A week ago, I had surgery to implant a permacath into my chest. A surgeon made a tiny incision and carefully inserted it into my jugular vein.

Afterwards, I went from Recovery to the Infusion Room in the same hospital for plasmapheresis. For two hours, I laid on a bed while my blood was pulled from my body, filtered through a machine, and then returned. I will repeat this therapy once a month for the rest of the year.

I have Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy (CIDP). It's an autoimmune disease that attacks my peripheral sensory nerves. In so many ways, it has upended my life. After the birth of my daughter in 2011, it came on so strong I wound up in the hospital for two weeks. I have weekly, at home treatment (IVIG) administered by a nurse. In my fridge, there is milk, grapes and glass bottles of immunoglobin.

Many of my friends have moved out of state, and the ones who remain don't visit too often, if at all. I can't blame them. I don't go to poetry readings, jazz clubs or cafes the way I use to, and I don't visit them much, either. My mother was hospitalized twice in the past month, and I've only been able to visit her once. My brother and his wife are in overdrive, though, managing work, kids and frequent visits.

My almost two year old daughter does not belong to any play groups. We aren't in Mommy & Me or take swim lessons at the Y. I feel exceedingly grateful just managing to take her to the park or Barnes & Noble.

Yet... I am thankful for the lessons I have learned only because I have CIDP. I wanted to share a few here:

• It's helped me get over myself. Sound harsh? Well, it's true. I've struggled with my physical appearance since childhood. I berated my body for it's short stature, small breasts and pear shape. I hated my hips, lips and thighs. I cried over my hair texture and my big nose. I remember a few times, actually allowing overplucked brows or crookedly filed nails to sour my mood. Now, I actually laugh at my former self and my vanity. I have scars a-plenty from IVs and a biopsy. I'll be rocking a patch of bright white bandages for the next six months with a couple of cords (actually called lumen) dangling at the bottom. I now joke that I wish I had one with USB capabilities. In short, illness ain't pretty, and sometimes life isn't, either. It's best to focus on the good.

• I stop to truly appreciate the little things. I love India Arie's "Little Things", extolling the beauty of those things often overlooked in life. When I was working full time, caught up in the grind, I took so much- too much- for granted. A bright sky, a pretty arrangement of flowers, even a great meal would often pass without note. Now? I take it all in. Not knowing when I'll be able to get out again, I take the time to savor a meal at a restaurant instead of scarfing it down. I take my time playing at the park with Zoe, pointing out the colors of flowers and even going on the slide with her. I strike up a conversation with the barista at Starbucks and compliment strangers with cute shoes or a nice hairstyle.

• Not being able to trust myself has quite literally made me dependent on God. Since I was a a teen, I've been pretty self-reliant. I worked steadily throughout college and after, often a couple jobs. I'd pride myself in not taking help. I brought my own clothes, paid my own car insurance, and helped my family pay the bills. I was Neyo's "Miss Independent", not needing a man, family, or friends, and if I'm honest, even God, to keep my day to day on track. There's no wonder then, I eventually found myself drowning in doubt. Now, I know I need God. In the last two years, I almost lost my mother in a fire, watched my health crumble, resigned my job, and lost my sister. St. James tells us:
  

"Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."

          I am being perfected because of my imperfections!

• My life forces me to confront my mortality. Yeah, you read that right. My life reminds me that I'm going to kick the bucket. Pretty morbid, I'll admit, but, yes, I'm thankful for this. Let me make this clear: as far as I know, this illness isn't putting me on the fast track to croaking. My organs are in great shape, so please hold off on the condolences. However, having a tube in my chest, popping handfuls of supplements, and the aches and pains are a very real reminder that this body will not last forever. It has an expiration date. My fried wiring has taught me to live with eternity in mind. This reorientation focuses me on God; the Everlasting, the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End.

This is my confession: I'm a Preacher's Kid, too.

I read with interest my fellow BOLD writer Carmen Fletcher's "Confessions of a Preacher Kid: Chelsea Stanton". I can relate. Me, too.

I actually come from a long ministerial line; my great-grandfather, Clarence, grandfather, Joseph, and grandmother, Bernice, all did pulpit time. In addition, my dad, stepmom, an uncle and a couple of cousins are carrying on the family legacy, and my brother most recently felt the call.

I, on the other hand, have no intention of donning any robe other than for the bath.

The other day, I was e-chatting with a friend from Chicago, who is also a PK. In the midst of decscribing her incredibly busy life, she mentioned belonging to a group of atheists/skeptics. Yesterday, while working on a post for my blog, my interview subject, a NYC vegan chef, shared how her grandfather was a pastor, but how she no longer belongs to any particular religion. She is, in her words, highly spiritual.


Oh, we Pks. Dusty Springfield famously sang, "The only one who could ever reach me/
Was the son of a preacher man/ The only boy who could ever teach me/ Was the son of a preacher man". Common raps in "Go", "Freaky like a daughter of a pastor/ said I was bait for her to master/ Little red corvette now she was faster". In pop music parlance, PK is short hand for undercover freak.

Carmen writes of the "common perception of Preacher Kids is that they are symbols of perfection...". Are we naughty? Are we nice?


Speaking as a PK, I'd say, we are both. Some of us are ministers. Some are atheists. Some don't like such labels. Some like to channel Prince and be that little red corvette. I, am quite comfortable, as previously stated, in my yellow bathrobe.

As I've grown older, I've learned to value some of the aspects of being a PK, such as being fluent in Christianese, having a boatload of Scriptures imprinted on my brain, and being able to sing the great American Christian Music songbook off the top of my head, from "At The Cross" to "I Am a Friend of God". On that last point though, please remember I said "sing" not "sing well". I don't wear choirrobes, either.

If I could give any advice to fellow PKs, it would be, like Chelsea, to make your own path in life. Although I'm a Christian, I haven't been a member of any of my family's churches since I graduated high school. Know God for yourself. Figure out what you believe and why you believe it. And lastly, try to cut your parents some slack. So they forced you to usher/lead youth group/teach Sunday School/go to Vacation Bible School. They aren't perfect, and neither are we.


Alisha De Freitas blogs at East of Eden.

Where is the Love?

A drawing I did for my husband a couple of weeks ago.

Last Sunday at church, my pastor read aloud from John, chapter 13. When he read verses 34 and 35, I mentally froze. It says,

 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

So, I've heard this a thousand times in the past. Love. Love. Love. Wonderful, wondrous, love. I love him, I love her. I love chocolate.

Yet, sitting in that pew on Sunday, I felt befuddled (Yes, I actually felt befuddled. Don't you love S.A.T. words?). I felt convicted. I felt challenged. Jesus said people will know His disciples not by their Mali Music and Michael W. Smith mp3s. Not by the dangling crosses around their necks. Not by those little Jesus fish stuck on their bumpers, either. Nope. They would be known by their love.

Four years ago, I read the very enlightening and informative "unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity... and Why It Matters” by David Kinnamon and Gabe Lyons. I wrote then:

“unChristian” polls thousands of nonbelievers (atheists, agnostics, Muslims, Hindus, etc), with special emphasis on people between the ages of 16-29, to find out how they view adherents of our faith. The results? Overwhelmingly negative. While this is no shocker, what was surprising for me as a Christian reader is just how negatively we are viewed. Christians are homophobic, hypocritical, too disconnected and not spiritual enough. Unfortunately, as someone on the inside, I could relate to some of the “outsiders” complaints. And it’s not just me who feels some negativity towards my own faith; quite a few of my fellow young Christians also feel some ambivalence towards today’s Christianity. While my view of Jesus has never faltered, I have been quite put off a number of times by other Christ followers.

Recently, I watched the documentary "LORD, Save Us From Your Followers" which touches on the same themes.

Okay, so perhaps you're thinking, "But those people are in the world. They don't know Jesus! They don't know love!" Maybe. But Jesus' words should apply all the more. He said "everyone", not just your fellow small group attendees. It bears repeating: "E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E" will know Jesus' disciples by their love.

So, in the words of the Black Eyed Peas, "Where is the Love"? A challenge to you all: What simple act can you do today to show love? Share your random acts of love in the comments!

Alisha De Freitas blogs at East of Eden.

A Servant's Heart

(Babble)

Last week on my blog, I wrote about volleyball star and model Gabby Reece's comments about her role as wife and mother. In a much discussed (and trashed) appearance on NBC's "Today," Reece said, via the Huffington Post:

“I think the idea of living with a partner is ‘How can I make their life better?'" Reece told "Today's" Natalie Morales. “So if I’m the woman and he’s the man, then yes, that’s the dynamic. I’m willing and I choose to serve my family and my husband because it creates a dynamic where he is then in fact acting more like a man and masculine and treating me the way I want to be treated."

Reece recently wrote a memoir called "My Foot Is Too Big For The Glass Slipper," in which she claims, “to truly be feminine means being soft, receptive, and –- look out, here it comes –- submissive.”

There was an immediate backlash, which to me, isn't surprising. Many Christian women today even balk at the idea of submission (except, interestingly, when it's "Fifty Shades of Grey"-type... and I'm going to leave that alone).

While thinking about Gabby's comments, I remembered a passage of Scripture that really exemplifies servitude, and I'm not talking about Paul's much debated writings to the Colossians, either. No, this is from the gospel of John, chapter 21:

Afterward Jesus appeared again to his disciples, by the Sea of Galilee. It happened this way: Simon Peter, Thomas (also known as Didymus ), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples were together. “I’m going out to fish,” Simon Peter told them, and they said, “We’ll go with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus.

He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?”

“No,” they answered.

He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish.

Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” he wrapped his outer garment around him (for he had taken it off) and jumped into the water. The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net full of fish, for they were not far from shore, about a hundred yards. When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread.

Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you have just caught.” So Simon Peter climbed back into the boat and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples after he was raised from the dead. [emphasis mine, adf]

This is an awesome chapter, full of so much meaning. We've got Jesus having risen from the dead, but not yet ascended to Heaven, the reinstatement of Peter after his thrice denial, a miracle, and His command to "Feed my sheep." But just focus on the words in bold. While the disciples were out fishing, Jesus, the Risen Lord, the Savior, the King of Kings, took the time to make a fire on the beach. Then He prepared breakfast. Jesus hovered over a hot fire and fried up some fish, ya'll. Then He served it to them. He had been tortured, crucified, beaten death and there He was, serving.

And unlike Gabby, who chooses to serve her husband and kids, Jesus was serving the very ones who had abandoned Him during His darkest hours. 

In Ephesians 5, we are told to be "imitators of God," submitting ourselves to each other. In I Peter 5, we are admonished to "clothe yourselves with humility". It's counter-cultural, it's not of this world, but to become like God, we must lower ourselves. Gabby might just be on to something.


How do you feel about submission?
In what ways do you serve? Your family? Your church? Your neighbors?  Your enemies?


Alisha De Freitas blogs at East of Eden.

And I...

 (Last FM)

One of my favorite Mary Mary songs- actually, one of my favorite worship songs, period- was never a hit single. I actually never heard it played on the radio, either. Yet, once I heard it that first time back in 2005, I fell in love. Take a listen.

Besides sisters Erica and Tina Campbell's gorgeous vocals and the hypnotizing melody, "And I" contains some incredibly strong lyrics. First, Kirk Franklin sets up the first verse by saying "as we attempt to acknowledge how powerful You are." Yes, we can only attempt to acknowledge God's greatness. Then the song begins in earnest:

There's a name so powerful words can't describe
When spoken demons tremble
And all creation must bow down

 Jesus, the name above all names. Even the demons tremble at Jesus' Lordship. In the presence of such awesomeness, all of creation must worship. The song continues:

Awesome are your ways
Everyday the same
And majesty is your name

And then the hook:

And I give you all my worship
And I wanna sing your praise
And I long to honor you more than yesterday

 That hook, which is repeated throughout the song, inspires and directs me. Recognizing God's greatness- His love, mercy and omnipotence- I become increasingly aware of my own fallen nature. No matter what I possess, it will never compare to the glory of the Lord. So what then, can I offer up, being that frankincense, gold and myrrh has already been given?

Me.

My worship.
Praise.
Body.
Soul.
Mind.
Intentions.
Hopes and desires.
Gifts and talents.
Today and tomorrow.
Money.
Career.
Marriage.
Children.
 
God wants me. God wants you. All of you. Are you willing to give all of you to Him?








-Alisha De Freitas 

read more from Alisha at her blog East of Eden.

Death, no more

Last November, my little sister Joscelyne died.

She was 28, married with two kids, Justin and Sophia.

She loved cooking, baking and singing.

She had earned one master's degree, and was in the midst of completing another.

She loved fashion- shoes, dresses, makeup and jewelry.

She was a complete celebrity gossip hound- Kim K, Kanye, Jigga and Beyonce.

She was my little sister, and just like that, our relationship, with all it's ups and downs, stopped. No "fin" with the rolling credits, no happily ever after. Her death handed me an end, but nothing close to a resolution.

Full stop.

Jos, age 10, and me, age 12

This Easter, was of course, my first without her. All throughout childhood, the two of us wore little matching dresses on Easter. Oh, we were decked out, with little white patent leather maryjanes and lacy socks and gloves. Our father would declare us "Sharp", and we'd march into church feeling like beauty queens. By the time I was 12, I had begun to loathe the whole affair. I was in middle school, and we weren't Tia and Tamera. That picture above was our last year playing Patty Duke.

Sitting in the  pew on Sunday, a portion of Scripture touched my heart like never before. 

If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.

 

But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. But each in turn: Christ, the first fruits; then, when he comes, those who belong to him. Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

I Corinthians 15:19-26

Paul is so blunt there. He lays it out. If we Christians don't have hope in Christ beyond this life, then we must be pitied. This Christianity thing, it goes far beyond nice little tips for being a good person. Nope, it's a matter of life and death. Christ's triumph over death is the heart, the crux of the matter. It is on this that we base our hope.

It is on this- death's defeat- I can lay my sorrow. I wrote before of the "little deaths" I experience at the loss of Jos. One day, one glad morning, I know, death will be no more. Those closing credits will roll, a final resolution.

Full stop.

Jos, age 25, and me, age 28. Easter 2010.

Alisha De Freitas blogs at East of Eden.

Sweet Communion

(photo, my own, ADF)

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat; this is my body.”
 
Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.

-Matthew 26:26-28

Lent came to a close on Sunday, with the waving of palms and shouts of "Hosanna!". Easter is a few days away, and tomorrow is Good Friday, the heart of the Passion. Today is also a day of note for Christians who follow the liturgical calendar. It's Maundy Thursday. If you're unfamiliar with it, that's okay. I had no idea it existed until about four years ago.

On Maundy, or Holy Thursday, many Christians mark the day by having a service which includes washing of feet, reading of Scripture, and a Communion service.

I was fascinated by Communion as a child. Growing up in a small Pentecostal church, pastored by my late grandfather, Communion was a once a month, First Sunday ritual. All the women wore white, and they would dress the altar in white linens as well. My Papa, standing in the pulpit, would read aloud to the congregation about the very first Communion between Jesus and His disciples at the Last Supper. I would try to conjure up images of that scene, and invariably, they would all look something like this:

 

(Source)

Yeah, so not original. But I bet you thought the same thing. Anyway, first Sunday after first Sunday, year after year, after awhile, Communion lost it's specialness. I started to view it as the time that kept us in church fifteen minutes longer than usual. When I joined a non-denominational church after college, Communion was far less frequent, and unlike the wine and matza used at my childhood church, it was grape juice and crackers. I thought even less about an event that Jesus commanded us to do "in remembrance" of Him.

In the last few years, I've given much more thought to the practice of Communion, also known as the Holy Eucharist. I've read over the Scriptures devoted to it, and have come to have more respect and a new found reverence. Contemplating on the physical- Jesus sharing a final meal with His followers, who would all abandon Him in a matter of hours. He knew lies, betrayal, injustice, torture and death awaited. Yet, He sat down with the disciples and broke bread in the hours before His body was broken.

In those precious hours before His death, Jesus took the time to pray, not only for the disciples, but for all of us. His prayer is at the heart of Communion:

My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message,  that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.

-John 17:20-23

In the practice of Communion, we are to come together, in unity, as the Body of Christ. We- all of us Believers- are one in Christ Jesus our Lord.  United through His Blood, we are to show forth love to God, each other, and the world.

If Communion has become routine, I encourage you to read over the verses, and ask God to make it new again to you. Have a blessed Holy Week!

Alisha De Freitas blogs at East of Eden.

Weeping in the "Knight", Joy in the Morning

 (Source)

There's a scene in The Dark Knight Rises that really gets to me. I mean, when I watched it last summer, I was bawling in the theatre. And no, it had nothing to do with the sheer creepiness of Tom Hardy's Bane's voice, which I wholeheartedly believe, is exactly how Satan sounds- at least in my nightmares. Anyway, the scene to which I refer is the one with beaten, back still healing Bruce Wayne attempts to escape his underground imprisonment. In order to gain his freedom, he must some how scale a ridiculously high, circular enclosure. Many, many other prisoners have tried but failed. And fell, to their painful deaths. Yet, our superhero takes up the challenge. He. Must.

So if you're wondering why the heck I'd get all teary over that, let me just tell you, I am a huge Batman fan. What really got me, though, is how I've had that feeling so many times. The feeling that I had to move forward but in order to do so, I couldn't just step, but I would have to take a leap in faith.

Interestingly, prior to Bruce's success, the only other prisoner to have escaped was a young child. Not the big branwy guys, but a little kid. This makes me think of various Scripture verses which admonishes believers to obtain child-like faith.

 

  "Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” 
 Luke 18:17

"And said, 'Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.'"
Matthew 18:3

"But Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.'”
Matthew 19:14

There are times, especially in dealing with CIDP, I feel just as broken as Bruce's back. I feel there is no way I can make it. I should resign myself to darkness. Yet, God beckons me to follow Him, up and out, to become "like a child" and trust Him as I prepare to climb and leap. Oh, and of course, just as Bruce did in the above clip, to make sure to throw a lifeline, a guide, to help others in their ascent. It's important to remember, "Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning." (Psalm 30:5b)


Alisha De Freitas blogs at East of Eden.

Declaring God's Glory through Nature

Daylight Savings Time totally got me this year. Although I'm an early riser by nature, on Sunday, I drowsily awoke to the shock that I had overslept and wouldn't make it to church. Instead, I took my one year old daughter Zoe to a nearby park.

Pushing Zoe in her bright red stroller down a paved path, I stopped to show her the buds growing on the cherry blossom trees. In a few weeks, they'll open to much delight. But I was smiling early. The whole park had that whole early spring vibe. It had snowed a few days earlier and giant, glistening puddles were left behind, making the path alternately shimmery in the sun and brown from mud, The weather was nice enough to skip the heavy coats, but still cool enough to warrant layers. Spring- and Easter- is almost here.

Me and Zoe on Sunday, checking out the fuzzy buds.

Nice days spent outdoors bring to my mind various passages from the book of Psalms. David (and the other writers) saw reasons to praise God for creating the beauty found in nature. 

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands." Psalm 19:1

"How many are your works, Lord!
    In wisdom you made them all;
    the earth is full of your creatures.
There is the sea, vast and spacious,
    teeming with creatures beyond number—
    living things both large and small.
There the ships go to and fro,
    and Leviathan, which you formed to frolic there.

All creatures look to you
    to give them their food at the proper time.
When you give it to them,
    they gather it up;
when you open your hand,
    they are satisfied with good things.
When you hide your face,
    they are terrified;
when you take away their breath,
    they die and return to the dust.
When you send your Spirit,
    they are created,    and you renew the face of the ground."

Psalm 104:24-30

"When I consider your heavens,
    the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
    which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
    human beings that you care for them?

You have made them a little lower than the angels
    and crowned them with glory and honor.
You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
    you put everything under their feet:
all flocks and herds,
    and the animals of the wild,
the birds in the sky,
    and the fish in the sea,
    all that swim the paths of the seas.

Lord, our Lord,    how majestic is your name in all the earth!"

Psalm 8:3-9

 That last passage makes me think of one of my favorite Praise and Worship songs, "I Am A Friend of God" by Israel Houghton.

I missed church Sunday, but not God. Do you have any favorite nature Scriptures? Or praise songs that deal with nature? Share in the comments!

 

Engraved on His palms.

 

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..." Isaiah 49:6a

I've been getting weekly IVIG treatments for CIDP at home for a year now. After taking a couple of Tylenol and a Benadryl to stave off headaches and hives, my nurse (and now good friend) Melissa ties a rubber tube around my arm and taps, squeezes and works my tiny veins to pop up. She then skillfully inserts a small IV, and if things goes well, over the next two hours, I'll receive my medication.

Of course, things don't always go well. I've had vein collapses and tissue blow ups, and sometimes a couple of site changes are needed. I've also gotten use to blue or green or purple bruises taking shape on my hands and arms. They are my little battle wounds, a kind of visible reminder of my fight with chronic illness.

At church on Sunday, my pastor, while giving the weekly announcements, reminded the congregation that throughout Lent on Fridays, there would be Via Crucis or Stations of the Cross. If you're unfamiliar with it, it's pretty much a step by step, often artistically rendered, presentation of the Passion of Jesus Christ, from his trial to his entombment. Around the walls of the sanctuary of my church, there are little plaques depicting each scene. While my pastor spoke, I focused on number 11, or the Crucifixion. I thought about those nails driven through Jesus' hands, the wounds that even after He had risen, were still present. I thought of Thomas, who had to see with his very own eyes those scars, even to the point of touching them, and his exclamation of "My Lord and my God!"

My Lord and my God, indeed. Jesus' "battle wounds" tell the full story. Of the Fall, sin, redemption and the vanquishing of death. They also reveal, as in that verse in Isaiah, the love God has for each and every one of us. You and me, we are engraved on the palms of His hands. Because of our rebellion, he was pierced, yes, but it is by those wounds we are healed.

Meditating on all this, I warmly accept my IV scars. They have become tactile reminders of not just my present battle, but of how the war-against death- has already been won.

Why Lent?

A couple of weeks ago, on Ash Wednesday, a pastor reminded me of the fragility and finite nature of life, and exhorted me to keep the Gospel in my heart. He then spread a thin, oily layer of black ashes in the shape of a cross on my forehead.  I left the church and went about a day of groceries, meal preparation and caring for my rambunctious one year old, still visibly marked. By the way, I'm not Catholic.

Although I now belong to an Anglican church which makes use of a liturgical calendar, I began observing Lent while still attending nondenominational, Evangelical-type churches. I became interested in this period of abstinence and fasting as I read through books on the history of Christianity. I would learn that a number of Protestant Christian denominations- such as the Episcopal Church, Lutherans and high-church Methodists- practice Lent, as do other Christians, such as the Orthodox.

I found a very helpful article on CBN by Elliot Ryan on why Protestants should celebrate Lent, too. Here are some excerpts:

While Mardi Gras has gained a reputation for its hedonism, Lent is known as a time of prayer, repentance, and recommitment leading up to the celebration of Christ’s resurrection at Easter.  Starting with Ash Wednesday, the day after Mardi Gras, and culminating 40 days later, Lent is a time of spiritual preparation for the most important religious holiday for believers.  (Sundays are not included in the observance of Lent as Sundays are supposed to be holy days of celebrating the resurrection for all Christians.)

Traditionally, observers participated in Lent by abstaining from certain types of food (particularly meat, eggs, and milk products).  In some traditions, partial fasts were observed where participants would eat only one meal on certain days.  Many who observe Lent today are not as strict.  Often they choose to abstain from a particular food or particular behavior (such as watching TV, for example) during Lent.  The idea is to abstain from pleasurable activities and instead use the time and energy usually spent in those activities to focus on taking stock of one’s own spiritual condition and repenting for spiritual failures.  This idea seems foreign even to many Christians in our culture of immediate gratification.

The 40 days of Lent are also a time of grief.  All Christians celebrate the resurrection of Christ each Easter.  Unfortunately, we often don’t spend much time grieving over our sins that caused the brutal execution of Christ.  This tradition begins with the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday.  Ashes are put on believers’ foreheads on Ash Wednesday as a sign of repentance.  The practice of putting ashes on one’s head is an ancient sign of mourning that was often done at funerals or similarly sorrowful occasions.  In this case, the ashes represent sorrow over our sins and the pain and death caused by sin.  Perhaps if we are to truly appreciate the great cost to Christ of our salvation, we should meditate on our sinfulness.  This meditation should lead observers of Lent to turn away from their sins and recommit themselves to holiness. 

Perhaps, after we examine our hearts and lives, we will be led to cry out to God as David did, "Hide your face from my sins and blot out all my iniquity. Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me" (Psalm 51:9-10).

You can read the post in it's entirety here.Over the past few years, I have been challenged by observing Lent. In Romans 12:1, St. Paul tells us to present our bodies as a "living sacrifice" to the Lord, for it is an act of "spiritual worship." There is a definitive link between our physical and spiritual selves. As I abstain from eating or drinking certain things (physical), I find myself turning to God in prayer for strength and resolve (spiritual). I present my hunger or appetite for sugary sweets as sacrifices while I press in closer to God through worship, Scripture reading and prayer.

If you've ever found yourself interested in doing the Daniel Fast or some other form of spiritual discipline, I encourage you to consider observing Lent. It's a challenge worth undertaking.





By Alisha De Freitas

Out of those glass bottles

When I decided to write an article for Breath Of Life Daily last night, I also admitted I didn't have clue what it would be about. I ran through a quick list of topics in my mind, and decided against them all. In talking to my husband K last night, I told him I'd probably do something about our 18 month old daughter, Zoe. Yes, it's a totally cheap parental writer's trick; when all else fails, churn something out about your little joy, preferably with anecdotes of messiness, tantrums and tears. Then close with a life lesson learned... by me, of course. 

Well, this here ain't that kind of post. I was going to to do that, but as my Pentecostal, Holy Ghost-filled and fire-baptized 82 year old Grandma would say, "God has other plans." 

On my blog, East of Eden, and it's forerunner, Far Above Rubies, I've made no secret of my ongoing health problems, specifically in dealing with peripheral neuropathy. If you don't know what that is, neither did I, until my neurologist told me I have it back in 2009. By the end of 2011, it had gotten so bad, I wound up in the hospital for two weeks, and in April 2012, I had to resign my job (in this economy!). Stress is deleterious to my condition, and I've spun downward in the wake of my sister's death in November. So, long story short, I've been doing more than my fair share of crying lately.

In Psalm 56, David is dealing with his own stressful struggles. He is at war with the Philistines, and things weren't going so well. He writes repeatedly of being "trampled" by his enemies. He is oppressed and in fear, and turns to God with his burdens. Verse eight is especially moving: "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." The imagery is powerful. God does not only know of David's pain, but every single incident is notable, and every tear is kept.

Reading that verse, I'm reminded of the glass bottles of immunoglobin (IG) I use weekly as part of the therapy to treat my neuropathy. Once a month I get a box of meds and IV kits, including the IG. They are stored in the back shelf of the fridge until use. To the naked eye, they look like little bottles of clear water, but they are invaluable to me, the difference between being able to care for myself and family or being bedridden. Yet, as priceless as the IG is to me, to God, our tears... our tears... are even more precious. 

One of the most frustrating effects of having peripheral neuropathy is the fall risk. My sense of balance is off, as are my coordination and sense of feeling, especially in my feet and legs. A few months back, I almost fell while waiting for a grande skim slated caramel mocha at Starbucks. God must've sent an angel round 'bout me, because of landing flat on my butt, I wound up catching the ledge of a counter, did a little pivot and landed squarely on both feet. It was all so smooth, no one was the wiser, not even the girl standing behind me. David writes in verse thirteen: "For You have delivered my soul from death, Indeed my feet from stumbling, So that I may walk before God In the light of the living." Aha! So even King David didn't like falls (but then who does?). What this verse speaks of is far greater than just temporal physical stumbles, though. God promises us the ultimate deliverance, so that like David, we will be able to walk boldly before Him in everlasting life.

So whether it be bottles of tears, or  immunoglobin, I'll choose as David did, to not fear, but to praise God.




Alisha De Freitas