Too often I have bent over to sniff a lovely rose only to discover there is no scent whatsoever. None. It is a letdown to miss the beautiful fragrance which is expected to accompany the perfectly formed flower. And it makes me wonder, Abba, how often do You bend to inhale the sweet aroma of the Rose of Sharon in Your children, only to find no fragrance whatsoever? How often do we focus solely on the appearance of “our rose” and neglect to invite You to truly develop the aroma of Your Son in our lives? Do we attend to the “looks” of our flower–service, behavior, rituals, activities…and yet not allow the true aroma of Your Son to permeate our lives and hearts?  Let us welcome Your discipline so that we may authentically exude the powerful  fragrance of Jesus to those around us.

You spoke again of Your impending death to the disciples (Mark 9:30-37) . But on the road, their thoughts and discussion centered on which of them would be the greatest in Your kingdom. You asked them what they were disputing but they remained silent. No matter how clueless or off target we are, You do not give up on us and graciously continue to teach/disciple us. “If anyone desires to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all”. This was a radically foreign premise; to lead one must serve? Then You continue to rock their world by taking a child in Your Arms (how safe and inviting You must have been for a child to go willingly to You) and said,” Whoever receives one of these little children in My Name receives Me, and whoever receives Me, receives not Me but Him who sent Me”. A child?! Receive a child?! A child has no status, no power, no wealth. But You placed great value on these little ones. You placed great value on a service that rarely yields immediate results. You placed great value on a dedication that is often overlooked and not esteemed by society. But it is a service You deem worthy, a high calling, an honor of great significance and importance.

Lead by serving. Highly value the privilege of receiving children. A serious exhortation to us all. Let us not be deceived into thinking or acting in any other way.

When I am weary and overscheduled and feel like I cannot offer a “proper” sacrifice of praise or prayer or reading, You gently remind me of the people in the Bible who knew all they had to do was to reach out to touch the hem of Your garment. You do not increase my burden; You desire to lighten it. Please deliver me from the lies that tell me otherwise.

I am trying to imagine what it was like for Joseph of Arimathea to hold Your dead Body. What did he think as he looked at Your lifeless Form? What did it feel like to carry You? Surely Your Blood must have soiled his clothes and body as he moved You to his tomb; Your holy, perfect, spilt Blood. Did he sense the power of the Blood as he held You?

Unbelievable privilege; man holding the dead Body of the Son of God. Perhaps each one of us needs to “hold Your dead Body” before we are able to truly grasp the depth of Your Sacrifice and the miracle of Your Resurrection.

After returning from their journeys of healing and teaching, You invited the tired, hungry disciples to a quiet place to rest (Mark 6:30-44). As You reached the solitary destination, You saw the multitude that had hurried to meet You there and You were moved with compassion. You did not send them away to adhere to the original plan but instead, began to teach them many things. So, instead of the “promised” rest and refreshment, Your disciples found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of seekers that would soon need physical nourishment as well. I wonder how they felt about this turn of events. When it was late in the day, they approached You to suggest You send the people away to surrounding villages so they could buy food for they had nothing to eat. Your response was somewhat humorous and certainly unexpected; “You give them something to eat.”  “Shall we go and buy 200 denarii (wages for approximately 200 days of labor!) worth of bread to feed them?”  Was their response delivered with sarcasm? Disbelief? Fatigue? Disappointment? They thought they were headed into a time of rest, not additional demands. Whatever was in their hearts, You still allowed them to be part of Your miraculous provision to the masses. With the meager finding of five loaves and two fishes, You fed them all. You didn’t provide scantily; they all ate and were filled. Spiritually at first, now physically as well. And after eating, twelve baskets of leftovers were collected—did each disciple get to hold the evidence of the miracle You just performed? (I think that much exquisite symbolism will be revealed to us in heaven!)

The power and truth of this lesson resonates clearly with my spirit. I don’t know how Your disciples were when they were hungry and tired, but I know how I am and it “ain’t pretty!”. I want to drag my cranky pants self to a quiet place with NO interruptions to eat and sleep until I feel recharged. Yet again, You demonstrate that You alone are The Source of power, refreshment and use; NOT my futile attempts and efforts to revitalize myself. When I am exhausted, spent and in dire need of rest, but You choose a path that does not appear to lead to refreshment, I desire to go willingly. I long to witness, perhaps even be humbly used in the miracles You are still performing.

If ever there was a need to hurry, it would seem getting to the home of a dying girl to heal her, would definitely qualify as one of those times! Yet in Mark chapter 5, he describes how You stopped in the midst of the crowd to tenderly attend to a bleeding woman. Understandably, this confusing delay may have rattled the disciples since they replied to You, ” You see the people crowding against You and yet You can ask,’ Who touched Me?'”. I am guessing they were feeling pressed to rush to the little girl’s side, just like her father had begged of You. But You delayed. You stopped. You spent precious moments touching an outcast, ailing woman and gave her new life. This detour would only magnify the miracle You would now perform for the daughter of Jairus. Now You would not only heal her, You would raise her from the dead! What may have appeared as careless disregard of the cries from a desperate man, was actually setting the stage for Resurrection Power.

Please enable me to relax with confidence, trusting that every single delay and every single detour has precise purpose and power . If I choose to become tense and hurried , wanting to press on to the goal that I see and that makes sense to me, I will tragically miss Your Life flowing through me to touch the people I encounter in the stops.

The ringing phone pierces the darkness and I am awakened from a deep sleep. My heart races as I answer. I hate these calls that come at hours that surely do not bring good news. Another unexpected hospitalization. Another mad dash to rearrange my schedule to be with my in laws. I think of the passage in Mark where the disciples rush to You in the boat crying, “Don’t You care that we are perishing?!”. You awoke and quieted the abrupt, raging storm. And then You asked them why they were afraid and still had so little faith? Painful, sad question I am often asked by You. I do not want to need You to calm the abrupt, raging storms in my life. I do not want to need  the threatening winds to cease before I am able to experience Your Peace. I do not want You to have to ask me again, “Do you still know Me so little?”. I desire, by the power of Your Spirit, to rest in Your Arms, my head on the cushion next to Yours, as the waves crash around us.

Sometimes the bloody violence of the Cross makes me want to hurry past the details of Your suffering. The brutality of Your experiences are not scenes I want to visit. I attest to the power and necessity of the Cross but I hesitate to linger at the savage places of Your Sacrifice; horrified at what You faced because of us. Because of me. But Your Spirit beckons me to tarry at these darkest moments.

I read how  the whole garrison surrounded You (Matthew 27:27) and it makes me sick. The thought of depraved bullies ganging up on a scourged, bleeding, weak, solitary Man is nauseating. Most likely they urged one another on in their cold blooded actions. I hate to think of their cruel hands as they stripped You to place a scarlet robe on You in mock royalty. I recoil at the image of them brutally forcing the crown of thorns into Your beaten Head. They spit on You, slapped You and beat You with the reed they had given You to hold in Your Right Hand. Did You even have the strength and eyesight to dodge the hateful blows? You were so mercilessly abused that when the heavy Cross was placed upon Your battered Body, You were not able to carry it alone. The torture continued as the soldiers ruthlessly drove nails into Your Body. And as You hung, naked and bloody, the jeers didn’t cease. “He can’t even save Himself!”; just one of the many insults shouted at You in defiant, ignorant blasphemy. And You took it all. You did not call upon the revenge, power and deliverance available to You. You would not even take a tiny taste of sour wine; not allowing Yourself to lessen, in any way, the excruciating pain. You fully experienced every second of physical agony as well as the torment of being torn from Your Father, Whom You love beyond description, as our sins dragged You to hell. You endured the darkness for us. For me.

The magnitude of Your Cross defies containment. Words seem a mere gateway through which our spirits pass to view in utter amazement all that You suffered for us. For me.

Help us, please, not to hurry past the tomb, so that we might grasp Your painful and complete sacrifice which frees us from the power of darkness. Let us not hurry past the blood, so we might truly realize the agony You willingly accepted in order to grant us free and intimate entry into the Presence of the King of Kings. Let us not run past the misery, so we might really comprehend the torture You lovingly endured so we may join You and the Father, through the Spirit, forever! Do not let us hurry past any aspect of the barbaric anguish lest we miss any facet of what You did for us. For me.