Good Friday

What's so good about Good Friday?

What is sooo good about Good Friday?

Upon the cross the hope of generations hangs...

Life Draining from his body

Air abandoning weary lungs

A mockery Nailed above his bowing head

Unquenchable thirst within his mouth

What is so good about Good Friday

Hated and conspired against by those who sought to please Religion

Betrayed by those he taught, befriended, loved

Baring the wight of all sin on hands more innocent then those of a new born babe cradled in its mothers arms

Forsaken by God....

What is so good about Good Friday?

He cries out "It is finished"

 Over

He Cries out "It is finished" and eternity is shaken

 Done!

He Cries out "It is finished" as in the story might go on but the end is written

"It is finished" broke the chains of evil

"It is finished" replaced the weight of sin

What is so good about Good Friday?

Those words let freedom reign in the heart of all those who would believe them

Prison Chains have no hold over those who are free

Government laws which seek to eradicate beliefs, have no hold over those who are free

Stuff things possessions Have no hold over those who are free

Opinions and words of others have no chance in holding back freedom

Freedom is not where you live

Freedom is not given by people in power

It does not lie in a flag

It does not lie in money

in human "Love"

Freedom is more then a state of mind

Freedom is a state of Soul

and it lasts an eternity

What Is so good about Good Friday?

What is so good Great! Amazing! Infinitely Awesome! Unfathomably Joyful! about Good Friday!?!

IT IS FINISHED!

Except...

Here it is, I am just going to say, doing wrong and sinning is never okay. As  a Christians. doing things that are against Gods word is sin and it is wrong. Period. End of story.
Except...
If it seems like it would be fun...
If it feels right at the time...
If everyone else is doing it....
If my husband has not been paying enough attention to me lately...
If I feel lazy...
If it is just one of "those" days...
If my world just came crashing down around me...
If the kids have had me at my wits end all day/week/month/year...
If that person was such a jerk and deserved it...
Ifit seem like it would be fun for the kids...
If I am in a ton of pain...
If I am hormonal...
If I have been doing good for sooo long I deserve it...
If I feel defeated...
If I just want to be like everyone else and not feel like a weirdo Christian for once...
If it started out innocent...
If I don't feel finacialy secure...
If I really don't care, cause nobody could really expect me to live like that anyway, after all I am not a pastor, or a elder, or even the wife of one of those...
If doing what is right might offend someone...
If I amjust not there yet...
But all the excuses fall away to emptiness,to nothing, to filth when I realise the best excuses never attone for sin, only Christ blood washes that away, blood spilled for all my excuses. I sit in my room once more, crying out once again, Father forgive me! Jesus save me! Holy Spirit renew me and show me truth, even as my earthly human sinful self riles against it!

Dandilion in a church yard

In a church yard grew a flower, well not a flower, a weed... In a church yard grew a dandelion, its bright yellow fuzzy head peeked out beyond the boxed in glorified, tended and intentionally planted flowers. Our little friend, the dandelion, looked in awe upon the regal roses, the graceful lilies, and the clustered daises. Our the yellow bud gazed upon them with contentment, perhaps a sigh may have expressed itself with in her roots, I sigh that would say if it could, "I will not be loved as they are, but there are much worse places for a weed such as myself to live". The Dandelion therefore remained content as that was her disposition to do so.
She, (for the sake of our story our yellow companion shall be a she, though of course flowers have no gender) often looked upon the comings and goings of the church yard, for her face as it were was happily fixed upon that position and observed with interest the passers by.The life of the dandelion is but short and she took in as much as she could in her time. One day she watched as people joyfully entered the church, dressed up in their human finery which more often then not seemed to the dandelion, a cheap imitation of flowers in the garden, but it was not her place to judge the ways of humans. The last to arrive was a woman, who was perhaps not the most pretty of humans to see, or even the most lovely who entered that day, she wore upon her stem (for that is how flowers think our bodies should be named and classified) the most ridiculous of costumes, all white, fluffy and, big like a mushroom who's bottom had grown upon its top. The of course knew dandelion knew mushrooms to be genial in nature, but they were considered a very unattractive form of vegetation to plant life in general.  In spite the unfortunate attire, the woman's face shone radiance and joy so profound that the dandelion wished it could turn it's head to gaze longer upon the features that shone so brightly and captivated the dandelion's weedy self. As the multitude left however the Dandelion was able to see once more the stunning countenance and felt a happiness for the young bride, for that is what she was, though the dandelion would never know it. A man whom the flower had not noticed earlier, but who shared the look of joy, though it was of a more sheepish kind, stepped to the garden and plucked up a rose and pressed it into the brides hand, as the bride brought the rose to her face and breathed in is fragrance, the dandelion wished for a moment to be that rose, but quickly remembered how lucky she was to have grown in such a exciting place, and was contented once again. 
Another day the dandelion watched as people not quite as colourful and not quite as happy trod into the church, some faces shone as if they were going to a place of comfort and joy, others looked as though they were entering to do a chore of some sort. A tall man with kindly and generous features, stood just before the steps of the church, just within the narrow scope of her yellow gaze, he was grasping leaves ( as our friend thought they must be) with the other people as they stepped within the confines of the church, he looked benevolently upon the obstinate children being dragged by impatient parents. There passed between this man and these small ones a look of understanding, as if they were comrades of a kind, and the young ones became less begrudging of the task before them, as the minister commiserated with them through his eyes. An older woman stooped among the flowers in their designated plot, she plucked up a spray of daises here, a lily, and rose there gathering the to her most ample stalk, she was a large woman, for they were to be displayed within the sacred abode. The dandelion wished for a moment that her fate lay with those fortunate flowers and envied for a short time the fame which they would hold, but as she was a weed with a short life, she wisely thought it futile to waste moments on such jealousies and resumed in her contentment in her lot, for although she was perhaps despised by these humans, seen as a burden upon the soil, she was more then blessed in her ability to see that which surrounded her, also she was not a mushroom, for that she thought she might truly have reason to lament.
 The last scene the dandelion had saw was a sad encounter indeed. The same benevolent man, who had so joyfully greeted those who entered the sanctuary over which he had charge, stood with a grave and melancholy expression fixed upon his features.  He stood upon the same spot he had stood only a short time before, as the others like him walked slowly and, sometimes even haltingly towards him. The dew of the morning seemed to cling to the faces that though often young seemed tired, many rested their heads upon the shoulders of this man, who though sorrowful, seemed to remain stalwart.She watched as a beautiful box, one which even the flowers beside her would wish to reside in, was brought in reverently upon the shoulders men bent upon a task. A task that based upon their features was very heavy, not as in wight, but as a soul rending burden, a duty of Honor and, extreme importance. Determination and even grit written on their faces. Lastly a long black pod arrived a pod of the same shape from which the fluffy, upside down mushroom had emerged. But this time what exited the pod was no more then a black slip of a human, to her leaves clung a  small child. Though our sun absorbing friend found it hard to discern who was giving support and who was receiving it the child r the adult.  The elder walked erect and elegantly towards the place through which the box had recently entered as they passed beyond the sight of the dandelion the small child glanced upon her with a curious look as f it knew the yellow weed was watching, but as swiftly as the dandelion thought this the child was gone. She contemplated this look, as whatever human ritual they were partaking in commenced with in the walls, but was unable to make much of it at all. As the humans exited the bigger human who had emerged so elegantly from the large black pod, was surrounded by other  people, her elegance now shattered, and dew streamed from a place the weed could not comprehend, this woman's stem, and leaves shook as if she were about to wilt and die as though a harsh winter had suddenly come upon her. The dandelion was so aptly studying this change of events, it was startled to find it was being tugged at, and before even a moment of time, being uprooted from its former quiet place, for half a second our friend faced indignity for now that she was removed from the earth her life was exponentially shortened, but that emotion was replaced quickly by the overwhelming sensation of touch that she had never felt wrapped around the whole of her stem, she was brought to the face of the small human, who instead of sniffing blew air upon her out of his nostrils, as children often do when imitating their adult counterparts, the warm breath wafted upon her and, she forgot all anger, instead feeling joy and, ecstasy in that which dandelions are few to experience. She then felt a sensation that was exhilarating, and though she did not know it's name  it was in fact. motion and, rapid motion at that. Suddenly the content plant was thrust up toward the human she had most recently being  reflecting on, that is the bigger human to which the child had been escorted by. The life of the dandelion dimmed, for she was fading fast but, the last moment our friend saw the face which had been broken, the human who she had a moment before thought would whither and die, that face gazed upon her own and, the weed saw a beauty that could not be captured by a thousand lives, beauty which could never be held within the most fullest and, loveliest of roses, it was a look of joy,  the dandelion beheld in that face and felt coursing from the human leaves down through her stem, joy. Joy which defied pain the purest, deepest and, saddest joy. Our little yellow friend then died, no longer content but beyond contentment, our little yellow friend felt rapture. Her small fulfilling life now expired. Human dew resting upon her bright head.                

Hot Chocolate

Today I made hot chocolate, I felt good  about it. I made it on the stove, granted I used a pre-made chocolate powder (coffee crisp flavoured) but I did not use the microwave, and this is a close to "from scratch" as this preservative filled cookie gets. Why the grand occasion well it was the first day of snow, and I try hard to create nice memories for my children to cling to,when they eventually realise just how abnormal their mama really is. I also made a cake the other day, and when the kidlets asked who's birthday it was, (as that is usually the only time we have cake), I told them "It's nobodies birthday we are just celebrating October 17" and then put sparklers on the cake to make it seem more festive, and silently prayed it would be a memory they will retain, while the sight of me scarfing down the cake would be a memory they would repress.
So here I sit on my computer sipping my hot chocolate out of a martini glass, cause that's how I roll, it has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that we were out of mugs, that is just a odd coincidence. Enjoying the sound of my kids, talking over their warm beverages, I feel warm content and happy. I figure if I can work one good memory into my children's lives everyday, I'm doing okay, it is just too bad that making breakfast is not really that memorable, or else I would have this thing down pat....

My mothers hands

 I remember when I was a little child and looking down at my chubby little hands all soft and dimply, and seeing them held in, what I now realise where slightly more worn hands of my mother. I remember wishing I could grow up and have hands just like her, I thought as most children do that my mother was the most beautiful woman in the entire world right down to her fingertips. Now as an adult I look down at my own hands and recognise the same prominent veins that the doctors just love come IV time, and the same worn lines along my fingers. I don’t have her perfect non acrylic nails, and her hands are much smaller now then my own, but still the similarities are what make me smile, especially as I hold the chubby fingers of my own children and watch those hands little hands seemingly grow before my very eyes. I know now it really wasn’t her hands or her tiny waist, or her cheek bones which made my mother beautiful and gives her the same glow today in my eyes that she held when I was once a child. The things that make her beautiful are the memories of the all the baking and cooking done by those hands for little to no thanks, or the innumerable amount of times she cleaned up messes I left behind long after I had forgotten them, and the endless instances her gentle hands became firm not out of anger (though that sometimes too) but out of necessity, knowing that punishment is a just as an important form of love for children as cuddling if you wish to raise them into responsible adults. These same hands that wiped away the tears that ran down my cheeks caused from scrapped knees to broken hearts. And most importantly those those amazing hands that clasped together in countless prayers upon worn out knees spoken to the Saviour for my sake. These are the things that make my mother beautiful these are the things I now strive for in my own life. These are the words I hope my own children may say of me one day. I was blessed to have a mother who loved me not just the best way she knew how, but the trusting that the Lord of her heart and, the maker of the stars, the planets, and her precious children, could show her a much better way to love then her own. Thank you mom and all the other mothers out there who know the best way to raise your children, is on bended knee to God.

Prayer? What for?

God Created the universe, from the behemoths of the sea, to the tiny unborn  child within a mothers womb, he made your hair and knows each one, he made the sun the moon and the stars. He is the creator of the galaxies.
You, made pancakes without burning them once.
God knows and has determined the migration patterns of all creatures, from butterfly's to sea turtles, that they may move instinctively to support the continuum of life on this planet. he designed the intricacies of the human mind, and put together your form in perfect order that you may walk, talk, and think, without having to remember to breath.
You, once put a bookshelf together without reading the instructions (to be fair it was a Ikea bookshelf so thumbs up).
From Gods imagination came the oddities and complexity's of love, his mind sprung forth the zebra and the the giraffe, and that weird mole on your shoulder.From nothing he created everything.He set in motion the perfect plan to offer us salvation.
Your still trying to come up with a better way to dunk your Oreo.
In other words God is resoundingly more intelligent, inventive, and imaginative then we could ever hope in our wildest dreams to be, so why do we go helter skelter into all the decisions in our lives instead of getting down on our knees and waiting for perfection to guide us? Why do we tell that wayward relative all the things we think they should do, and offer all our unsolicited advice, instead  of bowing our heads and asking the creator of all hearts to change and guide theirs? What if we woke up tomorrow and took 5 minutes to talk with and praise God and then took 5 minutes to be quiet and listen to God? I think if we gave the one who created the world in 6 days 10 minutes he could change our world and I think that handing over 10 minutes would turn into 20 then 1 hour, then who knows maybe we would be able to listen to and be in communication with God all day, as we go about or lives. And I believe only he could imagine the possibilities of that.

Public notice: Common sense has gone missing

Common sense went missing today. He is well known for his long and harrowing battle against ignorance, which seems to be everywhere now.
Parliament was, and still is, unaware of his departure. Many of it members have yet to meet anything resmbling common sense. The universities, and feminist circles it once helped create, say they have not spoken to common sense in years.
As we seek out our  lost comrade we dwell upon it illustrious and thriving career, the fight for equality, and democracy, and also remember his valiant, though unsuccessful effort to infiltrate the NDP.
Yes common sense is gone, though its absense has been grossly un-noticed by the media, as Lindsy Lohan is posing nude for playboy, and the new Twilight is soon to be released. He will be sought after by his siblings common courtesy, and common decency (who are currently fighting thier own battle against the nursing home crisis) , also his long time friends and colleagues  charity, and compassion. Common senses dearest friend Justice (who is blind) is hoping to help in the seach efforts though he is busy putting out the ever increasing fires of his evil twin Injustice, who is wreaking havoc through-out the world.
Some claim to have seen common sense, though the claimes are being largly ingnored.
Many still cling to the hope that common sense will once again return to Canada though currently no one is holding their breath.