Can We Handle the Truth?

Today's blog post is inspired by a post I saw on a friends Facebook timeline. He had shared it from a FB Page, called "The Revival". The script has always been one that pierces me because of how many times I've ran across people who think wrongly of how the savior of the world was crucified. Every time, I always think, "If they only knew!"

So, today, I'm sharing a modified version of the post (I've taken some of it away, and added some to it), so as to make anyone aware, that truly wants to know, the reality of the cross of Jesus Christ. It's not what many have chosen to believe, simply because of what they've read, and what they've not read. Please grab a coffee, or whatever drink helps you relax, take a couple of minutes and read. WARNING: You may experience some discomfort...

Scientific Death of Jesus:

At the age of 33, Jesus was condemned to death.

At the time, crucifixion was the "worst" death. Only the worst criminals were condemned to be crucified. Yet it was even more dreadful for Jesus. Unlike other criminals condemned to death by crucifixion, Jesus was to be nailed to the cross by His hands and feet.

Each nail was 6 to 8 inches long.

The nails were driven into His wrist, not into His palms as is commonly portrayed. Had they been driven into his hands, the weight of his body would have caused the nails to tear out between his fingers and would release him from the tree. The nails had to be placed where they could not rip through the hand. The wrist was the perfect place. Also, there's a tendon in the wrist that extends to the shoulder. The Roman guards knew that when the nails were being hammered into the wrist, that tendon would tear and break, forcing Jesus to use His back muscles to support Himself so that He could breathe.

Both of His feet were nailed together. Thus He was forced to support Himself on the single nail that impaled His feet to the cross. Jesus could not support Himself with His legs because of the pain so He was forced to alternate between arching His back then using His legs just to continue to breathe. Imagine the struggle, the pain, the suffering, the courage.

Jesus endured this reality for over 3 hours.

Yes, over 3 hours! Can you imagine this kind of suffering? A few minutes before He died, Jesus stopped bleeding. He was simply pouring water from his wounds.

From common images we see wounds to His hands and feet and even the spear wound to His side... But do we realize His wounds were actually made in his body. A hammer driving large nails through the wrist, the feet overlapped and an even larger nail hammered through the arches, then a Roman guard piercing His side with a spear. But before the nails and the spear, Jesus was whipped and beaten. The whipping was so severe that it tore the flesh from His body. The beating so horrific that His face was torn and his beard ripped from His face. He was unrecognizable. The crown of thorns cut deeply into His scalp. Most men would not have survived this torture. And...he carried the cross he was to hang on, after the beating!

After hanging for 3 hours, he had no more blood to bleed out, only water poured from His wounds. The human adult body contains about 3.5 liters (just less than a gallon) of blood.

Jesus poured all 3.5 liters of his blood; He had three nails hammered into His members; a crown of thorns on His head and, beyond that, a Roman soldier who stabbed a spear into His chest..

All these without mentioning the humiliation He suffered after carrying His own cross for 1 1/4 miles (approximately), while the crowd spat in his face and threw stones. The cross was almost 67 pounds (only for its higher part), where His hands were to be nailed.

Jesus had to endure this experience, to open the gates of Heaven, so that you and I can have free access to God. He gave all of himself for me. For you. How can we refuse the unconditional love He offers?

I think it might be simply because we have never experienced anything so selfless, it causes us to wonder if it’s only a fairy tale.

As someone who has walked on both sides of dark and light, I assure you, God’s sacrifice for us is no fairy tale. It is indeed, very real. Once you experience it, there is no denying it...

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World

Tangled Memories

Most of you that know me, know by now that I decided to face my fears and begin the journey toward health around the first part of June. Not that I've been sick. All my life I have been a very healthy person. Some would say my mental health was in question, but not I. Of course not. *wink *wink. But with doctors orders and strong encouragement from my girls, I finally faced the fear of being alone while simply walking down a lonely, empty, street.

The last couple of mornings the temps have been in the low-mid 40's. Soooooo awesome!!! Especially if you are one that takes early morning walks every day. The summer temps were challenging, to say the least, but I never deny a challenge, so walk I did. Which made these Fall temps embraced without resistance. 

Today, as my legs began to feel numb, and my toes felt as if they were freezing together, I was reminded of a time that was so very long ago. It was during my childhood years when we were outside much of the morning hours AND early evening hours during the winter months, tending to the herd of cows, horses, and pigs. Mom, and a couple of my sisters tended to the chickens and the 2 dogs, along with all the house hold chores. I was so envious of them, since they were allowed time with mom and the types of chores she tended to. I did get to spend a little time with her during the summer days, by helping plant and harvest a very large garden full of everything needed to sustain life, and we gathered eggs after feeding the chickens, and slopping the pigs, while my brothers tended to the hay field and helped out at the sawmill. Most of my time, however, was spent helping dad and doing chores that I felt were meant for humans much stronger than myself. As I got a bit older, like maybe 9 or 10, my mind didn't change about that. That was when I "got" to go to the sawmill and either doodle sawdust or tend to the cut-off lumber pile. Some days, I even went to the log woods to help fell trees and get them loaded onto the back of our flatbed trailer. Maybe that is why my upper torso is so solid with large biceps and a thick chest cavity. 

During the winter months, I would wear 3 pair of jeans (one over the other) and 3 pair of socks that helped my feet not only fill oversized shoes, but also kept frostbite away. Protection was needed for the hours we had to spend in the cold weather that a small person should never have been required to (just my opinion...probably Mom's too). But we did survive. All of us. Even though I'm pretty sure there were times we wondered if we would.

One of the things I remember, as if it were yesterday, was when we finally made it back to the house and began the thawing out process. We had a large pot bellied wood stove that stood in the living room, meant to heat the whole house. It didn't, but at least we were out of the elements. My memory is the pain I felt while getting out of my boots shoes, and socks so that I could warm up next to the fire. Once the attire was removed, my stiff, frozen feet slid ever so gently next to the stove. My toes (all of them) were always so cold they were stuck together. The pain was significant as they thawed. It hurt so very much, but as the blood began to circulate to the tips, the pain became bearable until it was completely gone. That was my memory today as I walked in 42 degree weather, which is much warmer than my barnyard days. Still, it caused the memory of just how much worse it could be.

Filtering through memories, here you will find me...in Mary's World

The Story of My Life: Little Much Afraid

The struggle is real, I kid you not. Today, on my morning walk (about 15 minutes before sunup), the fear was brought front and center as God was showing me glimpses of my existence during the years between little girlhood and big girlhood. Okay, fine. Adulthood...

I had asked Him why my first response is always fear. Distrust. Skepticism. Even though I thought I had relinquished my self-serving, and very self-protecting nature, to His way of seeing life, this crazy fear was deeply embedded many years ago. It's been there since early childhood and grew exponentially as I grew into adulthood. It seems to always be fueled and ready for action at the least little occurrence. It's most likely the reason I'm so jumpy and if you startle me, you should expect a blood-curdling scream that will cause the firmest skin to stretch.  

Time alone during the early morning hours has given me a breath I didn't know existed. Not only physical breath, but I would say even a bit of spiritual breath that renews me from the inside out. This morning felt like a gentle lasso had been dropped over my head and lovingly caressed my shoulders as it poured into me the assurance that I am loved. I felt important to a loving God, and suddenly remembered His promise of never leaving us or forsaking us. I've known this  since early 1974, when I gave up all rights to myself, as I wept uncontrollable in front of a large family Bible (that was never read, by-the-way). Until I became desperate. At the end of my human strength and my way of doing life, I allowed Him in. I think I've written a blog post about that day. About the way God got my attention through His written Word. Through only 2 verses. There was no searching, just flat out communication that put a finger on my situation and how to solve it, that also brought me to my knees. It would be in the archives of this very blog site. 

Truly, He's only as far away as the breath we breath. And, for me, it doesn't depend on how my attitude has been, or what opportunities I've missed, or my reclusive habits that want nothing more than to just live my own life without someone telling me what I "ought" to do, or not do. How I'm "so" whatever. Or "too" whatever. I feel so small, so easily. Insignificant, unimportant, without merit, misunderstood so often. I knew I needed answers from the One who knows the whys. Answers of how to rid myself of this lurking fear that always wants to exaggerate itself and bind my mind so I can think of nothing else.

Today, there were clear answers that I've known all along, but haven't been able to face. From the times of fear induced "play" in my early years, to the commanding presence of a very lost man who felt it his duty to beat me into becoming what he wanted (needed?) even if it made no sense at all. But there was so much in between those years, and beyond even, that only served to confirm there was no-one trustworthy. Other than one woman who was my physical protector, who had herself seen things she shouldn't have. There were a couple of others who fell into the category of trustworthiness, but my sister Becky, was who I depended the most on. Maybe because she was only 4 years older than me and had been my constant companion during our childhood years.

Today, I waited until I could see to put one foot in front of the other, before traipsing out of the house. It was still darkish, street lamps glowing, and sky very overcast. I know the route like the back of my hand since it's one I've walked for almost 4 months...113 days to be exact. Well, I have changed the route up a bit from time to time, but still know it quite well. What would have worried me, not even 6 months ago, was fear of the unknown. The thin shadows of roadside bushes, trees, driveways. The eerie glow of lamp posts in neighboring yards that failed to shine into the shadows. But, not today. There was a tiny twinge when I first left the house, but it laid it's head back down and relaxed, freeing me up to listen. Really listen.

The days are getting much shorter now. And cooler! And I do love the weather the Fall season brings with it. My walks are getting longer because of it. And faster. I feel great, being outside! For as long as I can remember, I've been a "house" person. Just stay inside where the atmosphere is controllable. Sounds sort of like a prison, doesn't it? Even though I have a really great life, great home, people who love me wholly, my relationship with myself hasn't always been the best, because of those pesky feelings of unworthiness. 

The early years of discipline taught me respect of others, as well as a great work ethic. But it also taught me that I wasn't worthy of love. Maybe that's one of the reasons I am so in love with the One who created me. I know His love is unconditional and that whatever journey I take, He will walk through it with me. He knows the brokenness of humanity. He was a recipient of it. He understands all my innermost thoughts. My anxious spirit, at times, and always brings me up higher.

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World

The Girl Who Walks Series - Episode #3

She got a late start this morning. The sun had already risen as she walked past the house. It was barely 7AM, but the streets were awake and beginning to hum. It was so unlike her to allow the shadows to disappear before stirring...

Today would be the day, I decided, to get some answers to all (or at least to some) of my questions. I let her get a short distance down the road before I joined her walkabout. She'd never suspect anything. After all, there were other walkers out this time of day, so I fell in step with her. I know it sounds a bit creepy, but my own curiosity had gotten the better of me. This woman had caused me to expect better things of myself. She inspired me. She energized me. If ever there was a faithful person, she was the embodiment of them. I have seen plenty of other walkers, but none have been so consistently faithful as she.

I was beginning to think this was just a regular walkabout, with nothing in particular happening. So why did she feel the need for protection? I had assumed that whatever she had in her clenched fist was for protection. This morning, she walked with both fists clenched. Maybe she was a bit nervous because she felt more exposed without the shadows to blend her into the humidity of the breaking day. Maybe she hadn't relaxed just yet.

We had traveled about three quarters of a mile, had rounded a curve, or two, and found ourselves heading down a long stretch. I know this road!!! It's the street of the abandoned house. The house that never has any activity. No lights on, yard never cared for, upside down canoe that's covered in grass/weeds, and the black pouch that lays beneath the tree.

As we neared the house, I noticed the black pouch. Torn, shredded on one side, laying open because of the abuse it had received. She looked over at it, paused, and then walked on, as she glanced toward the house. I slowed my pace...

Just as we got closer to two roads crossing each other, I could see her shoulders tighten, as one side lifted just a bit higher than the other. I stepped to the other side of the walkway to see what had caused her anxiety. Coming towards her was two young men on bicycles. The first one appeared to be coming straight for her, with no apparent choice of giving her room to walk. She would have to move off the path, unless she wanted to get run over, because he sure wasn't widening the distance between them. But, she held her ground. Her other shoulder tensed as the object in her hand begin to move into a position of readiness.

They met, with only inches between them. The young man continued his ride without glancing her way. Her hair blew away from her face as the rider raced past her. Her shoulders relaxed, her finger moved from the object in her hand, and her stride lengthened. The second bicyclist acknowledged her with a smile, and a respectful sharing of the pathway, that caused a smile to stretch itself across her own face. It was a smile of hope. A smile of gratitude. A smile of thanks. Was that a spring in her step? It appeared to me these two knew each other, or at least had their paths cross before today. 

We continued our walk without further incidence, until... 

Facing the giants, here you'll find me...in Mary's World

 

The Girl Who Walks Series - Episode #2

 

It was June 9th, 2023, at 5:54 AM, when the mysterious woman entered my world. Day, after day, she has been a constant event. I'm a writer, you see, and my imagination has taken flight since that first sighting. It doesn't seem to matter the weather, she is always there. Early morning hours, always. Some sweltering hot. Others, like this morning, a very cool 58 degrees. Come rain, or come shine, she is my constant.

Today is September 2nd, 2023. Autumn is about to arrive, and because the days are getting shorter, she has begun her constitutional walks much later. Still, she shows up when the sky is just beginning to welcome us to another day.  Today, the beams coming from the street lights disrupt the shadows thrown across the roadway, and reveals a secret is hidden inside her closed fist.

Fall weather has come to our neighborhood, overnight. Literally. I'm not sure how she feels about it just yet. I've only seen her one time in anything other than a sleeveless blouse and her Sketchers Walk On pants (or jeans, on occasion), and what looks to be like the infamous slip-on Sketchers foot wear. Some would say I'm too observant. Is that really a thing though? How can someone be TOO observant? First World issues. I know...

I've lived here for a very long time and know the neighborhood pretty well. It is a friendly one, for the most part. When they get to know a person, at least. But, mostly they keep to themselves when meeting someone like my mysterious walker. I'm pretty sure they rarely acknowledge her presence (if ever), much less speak to her. She must wonder why. Does it cause her to be afraid of them? It's not the deep south, but it is the south! So, aren't we advertised as being friendly? She must wonder. And, what is she carrying in her clutched fist? 

I wonder which route she will take today. Are there other neighbors that watch as she makes her way down the road? Has she walked past the house that looks abandoned, where the grass is never mowed and it's always dark inside? If so, she must have noticed the dusty black van that sits under the carport that looks to have not been used for a very long time. What does she think about the upside down canoe (of sorts), with high weeds threatening to cover it, and the junk that surrounds it? And what about the little black pouch that lays at the foot of the large tree? How much curiosity can she handle? Will she continue to walk past without finding out? How will she get her questions answered? She must have them! Will the man who walks with holstered gun and side kick dog be part of the solution? And are they the reason for the secret weapon in her fist?

So many questions that need answers. Maybe I should become her friend. But how???

Until then, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

The Girl Who Walks

 
I've noticed a pattern emerging in my neighborhood. Not so long ago, my street was pretty quiet and peaceful before the sun came up. I could sit and gaze out my study window and enjoy the street lights glowing through the mist of the high humidity that is prominent in my area during this time of year.

And just like that, things began to change. Don't get me wrong, it's still decently peaceful. Those early morning hours that I love, because it's just me that's up and around, they're still as they were. It's just that a few months ago, as I gazed out my window, with lights turned down low, a form appeared that once wasn't there. It startled me at first. But then my imagination kicked in. It wasn't as if I was out there crouching beside the house, making myself vulnerable to possible danger. I was safe. Safely tucked inside a darkened room where no one could see in. If she had been sent to eliminate me, she'd have to come into the yard. I'd have plenty of time to grab my archaic Colt 45, recently cleaned and ready. She had gotten my full attention. But she walked on...

For the last 2 months I have sat with my cup of coffee, watching the ever changing patterns the current temperature makes as it plays with our street lights beaming out their comforting oras. I have created (in my head only) stories of this mysterious woman. Some are eerily frightening. Others are of the beautiful streets of France on any given rainy day, as passersby carry their red umbrellas over their heads and move into any one of the shopping buildings wanting to spend their money. But, today, the woman who has invaded my street (and quite literally, my thoughts), and has given me more fodder and enhanced my story telling abilities, didn't show. When she had appeared that first day, I thought, "Oh. It's just someone trying to keep mobile in their old age. This isn't going to last long." But, day after day, there she was. I could almost set my clock by her appearance under the stong, steely street lamps. 

However, today I waited for her and she didn't show. At least not on schedule. Did she come by earlier and I just missed her? She's never been 15 minutes late!!! I was beginning to worry as my thoughts took flight. What if something had happened to her as she walked without light? Has she been attacked? Is she in the hospital fighting for her life? Does she need help? I couldn't take the pounding in my head and the increased heart rate as I considered going out just to look for her. I turned my lights up for the first time in a very long time. I needed answers, and they weren't coming while sitting in the dark.

And then it happened! I had no sooner turned the lights on, and there she was, peering in! I jumped. Where had she come from? How long had she been there? I had just looked up and down the street as far as I could see, and noone was visible. The sun hadn't risen just yet, but it was about to. The sky was increasingly becoming light. Just a tinge of light on the horizon, but still dark enough that someone could hide in the shadows. There she was, looking inside my house, now that I had made that possible. I froze. Eyes wide open, coffee shaking out of my cup as my hand trembled. She walked on...

And here you'll find me, still...in Mary's World.

5 Possible Antidotes to Drinking Coffee After 5PM

 

Things I found to be true, as I took my daily walkabout this morning. It was just an hour later than usual. I"ll get to the coffee thing, later...

Memo to me:

1) The young are out showing off their agility, as they come upon you unaware of their presence. Earlier is better. Only 1, or possibly 2, out before the sun comes up.

2) Traffic is heavy on the sidewalks of life, causing the slightest breeze of human presence to make you jump. 

3) People in cars are way friendlier later in the day, even to the point of stopping in the street and rolling down their window, just to greet you with a smile and a "good to see you." Early walkabouts, not so much. Probably haven't had their caffeine, yet.

Last night was an interesting night. I knew it would be, even before pouring myself that cup of coffee to enjoy a brownie (with walnuts), fresh out of the oven. I didn't care. Tomorrow (today) [now I'm sounding like Kamala Harris] is my day off work. I could slide into the morning with ease. Like I said, I couldn't care less what that beautiful brown, aromatic, liquid was preparing for me.

Surprisingly, I was a bit sleepy when I removed myself from the kitchen, so deciding to catch up on some Chicago Fire, while I could, I propped myself up in bed and turned the TV on. Yes, we have a television in the bedroom. There is a reason. No man-cave in this house, so DW gets the big screen, I don't. And it's okay. 

It wasn't long before I was dozing, so removing the prop, I laid down. Two hours later, I was up for a bathroom break (wonder why). Went back to bed, then two hours later (yes, again), I was up. Another bathroom break. Dang coffee! This went on ALLLLLLL night long until it was my usual time of rising, when the caffeine finally exited my nervous system, and I was out like a light!

When my eyes finally opened, I decided to miss my daily walk because of the heat and North Carolina humidity. I checked the humidity of Miami, OK...where we moved from, just out of curiosity. At the time I looked, it was a full 20% lower than here. That didn't help my decision at all. 😑

But...like I said in an earlier blog post, once I get hold of a thing, it's hard to pry outta my hands (mind). So, I faced the music of late night (5 PM) coffee, and put my walking shoes on and headed out. What a difference one hour makes around here!

So, for us older adults, maybe we should hold off the caffeine after 3PM. Just a thought...that I've had for many a year, now. So...the antidote? Here's 5 of them:

1) First off, lower the room temp to 60 degrees (or thereabouts). Just throw an extra blanket over your husband. Cover his head, too. If you have one. Husband, that is...

2) Get rid of ALL light emitting thingys in the room. This includes the tiny white light at the bottom of your TV that lets you know it's still there waiting on you. Also the bathroom night light that's there for impromptu late night visits, and the air purifier light should go, too. Or, maybe just use a heavy-weight sleep mask. 🤷‍♀️

3) Read a book. An entire book...

4) Exercise by doing sit ups...in bed. All night long.

5) Try playing dead...

Recovering, here you will find me...in Mary's World.