Hey there, all you peeps with nothing better to do! I've just posted a bunch of new pictures on my Flickr--my favorite "photography" from the past few months. Hope you enjoy...and if you do, please let me know!
Just click on the snappy snaps link in the right column for the fun to begin!
Sunday, April 23, 2006
He loves me, I know it.
As I pull my hair back to wash my face, I can smell the day on my skin. Campfire, damp grass, sunshine. It’s not a bad smell. It smells of happy days, of sunny days, of busy, friendly, early summer days.
No, I know what it smells like…it smells like blessings.
No, I know what it smells like…it smells like blessings.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
The Saddest Day of All Time
He’s dead.
He’s dead. How can he be dead???
Oh, God…He’s DEAD.
He was supposed to be our king. He was going to save us all. But now he’s dead. How can he save us if He’s dead?
Oh, God…HOW CAN HE BE DEAD?
Where is our hope now? He was our hope, but how can he be now? He is wrapped from head to toe in linen, cold, without breath, laid in a cold, dark cave. There is no life in that cave.
And here we sit, mourning and weeping the man who would have been our king. Was he even who we thought he was? Why didn’t he save himself? Why??? He brought people back to life countless times…how hard would it have been to free himself from that cross, to show those hypocrites who he was once and for all? No one could have doubted him then. They all would have fallen on their faces, crying out for mercy to the one they had just crucified. What better opportunity?
Father in heaven, why have You forsaken us? Why did you bring us this man who would be our king, only to take him away in utter disgrace? We saw his works and signs…who but the Son of God could have performed such miracles? And yet you allowed his own people to put him to death. They chose a common criminal over him and demanded his innocent hands be pierced. His was the death of the scum of the Earth. Where is your mercy, O God?
What do we do now, Father? Who will choose to follow his teachings when, in the end, we’re all the same—dead. Oh, they’ll say he was a wise teacher; they’ll say he did great works. They’ll even say he was Your prophet. But with those very statements, they will dismiss him. Who can believe that the Son of God eternal would be as limited by time as the poorest beggar in Judea?
In my heart of hearts, I know that he came for a purpose bigger than his brief time with us, but God, I am so lost now. My heart aches with this sorrow and my eyes fill every time I think of his face. The light in his eyes haunts me every time I try to sleep. Father, he can’t be dead! Your hand was in this, I know. The noon sky was black as night at the hour of his death; the curtain in the temple was ripped in two by unseen hands. Surely You are not finished with him yet. Surely there is more for him here, here with us.
Oh God of Abraham, God of my fathers, hear my cry. Why, God? Oh, why, my Lord? How can he be dead? How can he be dead? Will I ever feel joy again?
He’s dead. How can he be dead???
Oh, God…He’s DEAD.
He was supposed to be our king. He was going to save us all. But now he’s dead. How can he save us if He’s dead?
Oh, God…HOW CAN HE BE DEAD?
Where is our hope now? He was our hope, but how can he be now? He is wrapped from head to toe in linen, cold, without breath, laid in a cold, dark cave. There is no life in that cave.
And here we sit, mourning and weeping the man who would have been our king. Was he even who we thought he was? Why didn’t he save himself? Why??? He brought people back to life countless times…how hard would it have been to free himself from that cross, to show those hypocrites who he was once and for all? No one could have doubted him then. They all would have fallen on their faces, crying out for mercy to the one they had just crucified. What better opportunity?
Father in heaven, why have You forsaken us? Why did you bring us this man who would be our king, only to take him away in utter disgrace? We saw his works and signs…who but the Son of God could have performed such miracles? And yet you allowed his own people to put him to death. They chose a common criminal over him and demanded his innocent hands be pierced. His was the death of the scum of the Earth. Where is your mercy, O God?
What do we do now, Father? Who will choose to follow his teachings when, in the end, we’re all the same—dead. Oh, they’ll say he was a wise teacher; they’ll say he did great works. They’ll even say he was Your prophet. But with those very statements, they will dismiss him. Who can believe that the Son of God eternal would be as limited by time as the poorest beggar in Judea?
In my heart of hearts, I know that he came for a purpose bigger than his brief time with us, but God, I am so lost now. My heart aches with this sorrow and my eyes fill every time I think of his face. The light in his eyes haunts me every time I try to sleep. Father, he can’t be dead! Your hand was in this, I know. The noon sky was black as night at the hour of his death; the curtain in the temple was ripped in two by unseen hands. Surely You are not finished with him yet. Surely there is more for him here, here with us.
Oh God of Abraham, God of my fathers, hear my cry. Why, God? Oh, why, my Lord? How can he be dead? How can he be dead? Will I ever feel joy again?
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