The Moving UpWords

by Jonno

“SLAM!” The front door shook the entire building as the adolescent abruptly entered their apartment. “Oh my gosh! I can not believe this is happening to me!” Lucy exclaimed at the top of her lungs.

Her father, home from work with a case of laryngitis was sitting in his living room chair, glances up and over the top of his newspaper, and then his eyes regain focus on the “world news” section.

“That science teacher is so unfair. First, he gives a surprise test, and tells us that this will make up one quarter of our semester grade. Of course I wasn’t prepared for the test. I think I failed horribly. And to make matters worse, my use-to-be friend Carla tried to look on my paper, and we both got in trouble for cheating on the test. I had no idea that she was looking on my paper. We both got sent to Dean Michaels’ office.

“Dean Michaels finally opened his door, and took us individually. He listened to both sides of the story, and he dismissed me with a note for my next class.

“While we were at Dean Michaels’ office waiting, the bell rang, and I ended up missing half of my Geometry class. Any other day would have been fine, but today was Pythagorean theorem day. Every unanswered question that anyone has about the Pythagorean theorem was going to be answered today. Well, by the time I got to class, unpacked my notebook, and was ready with my hand raised, Mr. Gabriel had already answered my question. He said to ask Michelle who had the information.

“You do remember Michelle, don’t you Dad? She’s the one who kept making us late for our bus because she would always try to get something for breakfast at the corner store. I guess I can ask her for her notes from class. My morning was horrible.

“Lunch was awful too. My sandwich was smashed between my apple and my water bottle. I ate it anyways. My chips were mostly crumbs. Could this day get any worse?”

Lucy continued her rant for another eight to ten minutes. Her father sat silently, safe behind the walls of his newspaper, listening as she went on about the social confusion, the unfair treatment by the teaching staff, the terrible commute home, and the latest fashion fallout concerning her clothing. Finally, “Dad, aren’t you going to say something?” Lucy attempted to catch her breath, then stormed out of the living room and into her bedroom, which seconds later was sealed shut by another abrupt building shaking door slam.

The father sat silently setting his newspaper aside. He took a sip of honey-lemon tea, and headed down the dark hallway to his eldest daughter’s bedroom clearing his throat as he walked. He knocked gently and opened the door. “I can’t talk above a whisper. I heard everything you were saying, but you were on a roll.” He cleared his throat again, and continued sounding apologetic, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. You were letting it all out, but you didn’t give me a chance to say anything back to you. Dinner will be ready just as soon as Mommy gets home. Should be in about twenty minutes. I love you.” The father closed the door behind him.

Does this sound like our prayers? We pray when things erupt in our lives. We pray when things don’t go the way that we want or expect them to go, and expect God to fix everything for us in an instant. We pray when we are inconvenienced by the curveballs that life throws at us, as if life were suited in the opposing team’s uniform.

The prophet Elijah found out that windstorms happen in life and that they blow every which way against him. He found out that earthquakes rattle and shake the very foundation of his faith. He found out that firestorms rage and consume all around him. But, he found out that God speaks in a still, small, whispering voice. He speaks gently as a gentleman would covertly ask a lady for a dance. He speaks softly, but are you listening?

Our prayer lives tend to be a bit one sided, like a monologue. When we’re all done, we say our “Amen” and go about our business or our “busy-mess”. We never stop to listen to what He would like to say to us. The encouragement for today is to stop and to listen. Turn off you mouth, turn off the radio, television, iPod, or CD player, and listen for a while. Stop and listen to our Heavenly Father’s beautiful and powerful voice.

"I have zealously served the Lord God Almighty. But the people of Israel have broken their covenant with you, torn down your altars, and killed every one of your prophets. I alone am left, and now they are trying to kill me, too."
"Go out and stand before me on the mountain," the Lord told him. And as Elijah stood there, the Lord passed by, and a mighty windstorm hit the mountain. It was such a terrible blast that the rocks were torn loose, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.
And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper. (1 Kings 19:10-12NLT)

By Jonno

Once upon a time there was an inventor. The people of the town thought the man was a bit eccentric and strange, however he was likeable and always with a kind word. The elderly inventor had the good intention of creating something to make life just a little easier. He had good intentions for all his inventions.

One morning he stopped by the local meat market to purchase stew meat for supper that evening. The butcher had a weary look on his face. The inventor queried, “Friend, is everything alright?”

The butcher replied, “I am losing someone whom I love dearly. My darling wife is ill, and the doctor says there’s no cure. I’m afraid that I will be lost without her. I apologize, I shouldn’t be telling you all of my problems. Here’s your stewin’ meat sir. Thank you.”

The inventor traveled to his next destination on his “to-do” list. “Good mornin’ Margie. How are the potatoes and carrots today?”

Margie, the vegetable stand girl, looked with tear-filled eyes at her weekly customer, and began to weep. “The potatoes and carrots are lovely, but good sir, we may lose the farm, Papa says. I don’t know what to do. It seems hopeless.”

“I’m sure everything will work out just fine Margie. I know your Papa is very wise, and he’s a prayin’ man too. It’ll be just fine. Thank ya for the potatoes and carrots.” Off he went down the cobblestone pathway, and on to his next stop.

“Hello sir. How’s your inventin’ going these days. I know you’ve come up with some doozies over the years. Whatcha got brewin’?” Mr. Barkley owned the grain mill, and he had everything from wheat flour, to barley, to rice, and grits.

“Well now lad, you know, I’m always looking at ways to help people with their everyday lives; something to make life a little easier. I have good intentions for my inventions. There’s a lot of town-folk in need these days. For them life seems hopeless. I’d like to help in some way.” The inventor paused and pondered, “But for now, I’ll be takin’ a sack of rice.”

Barkley loaded the sack of rice onto the inventor’s cart, and thanked him for the business. “You know, I have some uncertainties myself about these days we’re livin’ in. My son wants to go off and find himself, so he says. The boy is only 18-years old, very bright, and strong. I keep tellin’ him to say, and help me run the business, but he’s not yielding. He’s got such a future ahead of him here, but I think I’m losin’ him to the world.”

The inventor couldn’t remain idle. He had to do something. His latest invention was quite a bit different than his other inventions. They were simple clay bowls, with lids. They were cool to the touch even though the contents were pipin’ hot for hours. They were the perfect portions size for young and old, the hearty and the meager.

The inventor hurried home to start his stew pot to brewing, and to get busy on his latest project. The next day the inventor made a few stops to the same places he visited the prior day. “I brought something for you and your wife. It should make you both feel a bit better, I promise.” The butcher looked through tear-filled eyes and nodded his head.

At his next stop the inventor says, “Hey Margie, you’ll be needin’ this today, and so will your Pa. It’ll keep until you close up tonight, but this will help you indeed.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re a good friend,” Margie asserted.

Down the road a bit, “Hey there, Barkley. Bring this home for you and the boy. Everything will work out just fine.”

“I haven’t given up all hope, so I’ll give it a whirl. I thank ya, sir,” Barkley said waving to the inventor as he had already slipped out of the door, and was on his way.

A week had gone by, and the inventor made his way into town. As he passed the meat market he noticed the butcher laughing and cheerfully helping his patrons. He also noticed the butcher’s wife helping as the clerk, and she too had a smile on her face.
“What has happened here?” the inventor inquired.

The wife ran and gave the inventor a hug, “The stew. It was the stew. It was the bowls that the stew was in. I don’t know, and I can’t explain, but the doctor says that I’m well, and I feel great.” The butcher couldn’t stop laughing. “My husband has a few chickens for ya, on the house as our gift to you. Thank you for the stew, for the bowls, for everything.”

At the next stop the inventor couldn’t even get out his “good morning” when Margie exploded with great news. “Oh sir, you won’t believe it. My Pa and me were eatin’ your stew, and we get a knock at the door. The owner of the deed said that our debt had been paid, and that he was turnin’ the deed over to Pa. We invited him in and gave him a healthy portion of your stew.”

“I’m glad it all worked out for you and your Pa. Please give him my regards. He’s a good man.”

At his last stop, Mr. Barkley was sweeping down the walkway as the inventor approached. “Hey there, Barkley. Good morning to ya.”

Barkley replied, “You know, you must have put somethin’ in that stew of yours, because things turned out just fine.”

“Your son decided to say and work with you?”

“No sir. My son decided to leave, but we took the advice that you had glazed on those bowls of yours. I embraced my son, and let him go on his way. I felt in my heart that he has purpose beyond this shop and beyond sellin’ grains for a living. I joyfully released him into his destiny. He wants to be a preacher, and I’m okay,” Barkley replied. Then, with a bewildered look on his face, he asked the inventor, “What made your put the word ‘Prayer’ on those bowls of yours?”

The inventor smiled and said, “I have good intentions for all my inventions.”

~ ~ ~

When hope seems a far off, and dreams are shattered and swept away, when all that is good is lost in the shuffle, and when your hunger pangs for a loving touch cause you to bend over, remember to take a bowl of the stew called “prayer”. Prayer is cool to the touch; it can soothe your heartache. Prayer puts you in contact with the Father, the Creator, and the Master Inventor. Prayer fills the belly of the hungry; those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, they are filled. Prayer puts the lost on the right pathway, and gives direction and reveals purpose.

Remember, take a generous portion of this stew called “Prayer”.

©2008 Jonno

by Jonno

Dear Reader and Friend,
I know that processing significant events is important. I want to thank you for allowing me to use this format as a vehicle to enable my processing the loss (I consider it “gain”) of my brother Tim. The following story is what I wrote the night before Tim’s Memorial Celebration Service. I read the same during the service. I wanted to share this with you.
En Agape,
Jonno

~ ~ ~

There’s the story of a veteran offensive lineman. He was the best in the league; highly sought after by other teams, in high public demand, and was paid well. He learned over the years about being a team player, and to give his all for his team. In addition to being at the top of his own game, he imparted the benefit of his years of experience, his skills, and all that he had grown into being into his younger teammates, especially the new players. A true leader, he was the role model the other players looked up to.

It was during one game when his team had the ball. When the ball was snapped, the opposing team’s defense employed a blitz upon the quarterback.
Because of the lineman’s determination and skill, the quarterback was safe from the sack. After the players were removed from their pile, there laid the offensive lineman clutching his knee in agony.

The coaches, sideline-men, and players from both teams stood around watching as the team doctor assessed the situation. With a downcast look the team doctor signaled for a motor cart to come to assist the wounded lineman off of the playfield. The doctor looked towards the sideline at the head coach and shook his head subtly. His look told the story that nobody wanted to hear.

Still in agony, and still gripping his shattered knee, the lineman sat upon the cart with tears flowing from his eyes. He would not finish the game, nor this season, let alone finish his career.

“No! I’m not leaving the game! The team needs me, and I need them.” The doctor tried to explain the severity of the situation and the timing of medical treatment affecting the longevity of his career, or the slim possibility of saving it.

“This game is too important. If I can’t be out on the field, I want to give all that I can to ensure that my team wins. I can’t play, but I can scream for my team.”

He did what was against the doctor’s orders. He stayed at the stadium. He stayed on the sidelines. He turned his screams of agony into shouts of praise for his teammates. The fans joined in, and eventually his team won the game.

Then he left the stadium. He went to the hospital, then went home.

His young teammates learned an important lesson that day. The veteran offensive lineman put all he had into the game, both on the field and off. He played the game with all his heart, and carried out the plan of the head coach. He was selfless, and unselfish. He shared all that he had gained to better the next generation of players.

~ ~ ~

When I think of Tim, and all that he went through physically, I am amazed by how much he did not complain. Rather, he turned his cries of pain into cheers for his nieces and nephews accomplishments. He turned his cringing of agony into accolades and compliments. He turned his time confined to a dialysis machine into productive moments of creativity through the vehicle of a Mac Book ProTM.

When I think of Tim, how he endured the many surgical incisions, catheters, intravenous lines, and electrical jolts from defibrillators, and seeing the scarring and rigidity on his one-time healthy, athletic, energetic body, I can only think of how God has brought him through.

People would call and say, “I can’t believe that he’s gone. He always bounced back.” I would tell them, “True, he would always bounce back, but this time, he bounced forward.”

Tim received not only the goal of Heaven’s glory, but also the reward of many crowns for a job well done. He has received a new body, and an up-grade, which is the latest model. He has been “super-sized” in the best way. Rests assure: Tim is healed…completely.

Copyright © 2008 Jonno

by Jonno

My associates and I have all been upstanding citizens, taxpayers, and attend synagogue regularly. The three of us grew up outside of Jerusalem in Bethany, about 4-miles from the great city. I am a blacksmith by trade. My associates and I were in Jerusalem for the celebration of Passover. We come every year, although in more recent times, the Romans have made what use to be a truly festive time, into an evasive maneuvering choreography. We would duck and dodge the foreign soldiers just to avoid potential conflict. They have often come to our shop to order cartons of large nails, and leave without paying for them. I hate them.

I was standing with a few of my associates outside of the palace walls. It was dark, and very, very late. There was a commotion in the streets. People were passing by hurrying to catch a view of the ruckus. We were caught up in the swells and went along with the crowd. I remember seeing a battalion of the temple guard forcefully dragging a bound man into the court area and finally out of our sight.

The word in the streets was that they had caught Him. You know, the Man from the Galilee region called Jesus the Nazarene. They caught Him, and took Him inside. I know only very little about this Man: only that He is a carpenter, and a teacher. I heard that He performed miracles; unlike the so-called miracles the magicians conjure. He healed the lepers, opened the eyes of the blind, restored the limbs of the lame, and even raised the dead. If He did all of these things, why would they arrest Him?

We, like the others in the small crowd, wondered what was happening inside. After about 30 minutes a man came running out offering to buy the friends of Jerusalem drinks. He had just been paid. He didn’t even hide the fact that his newfound fortune was a product of his telling a deceitful lie before a group of the priests.

That’s what they were doing. They were condemning Jesus at a secret trial. One of the Galilean fishermen who had been seen with Jesus stopped nearby. He had a blank look on his face as if he had just murdered someone. “You there,” someone shouted to him, “aren’t you one of His friends; His followers?”

“I don’t know Him!” he painfully replied. He ran into the darkness of the streets.

There was more rustling behind the walls. No one could really see beyond the gate what was happening. It must have been something quite horrible because they took Him from the Temple into the Palace of Herod. Nighttime was almost over by now because the light was just about to break, and the sky was beginning to turn from black to dark blue.

Another hour had past, and the roosters began their daily crowing. A procession was heading to the Roman Governor’s palace. Roman soldiers lined the gate with stone-like faces. The temple guards followed the Chief Priest and the council of accusers into the courtyard of Pontius Pilate. Out of sheer intrigue my friends and I went to the gate to see what we could.

From inside the gate there was cheering and jeering; screaming, and yelling back and forth. Every so often I could catch a glimpse through the slats in the gate. I saw a figure of what use to be a man. His face was so beaten and bloodied. His body looked limp as if He had been dragged behind a chariot for miles. I couldn’t tell whether the color of His robe was died red, or if it was soaked from His own blood. His eyes were swollen shut. The Roman soldier securing Him grabbed a fistful of His hair to hold His head up. I saw his eyes for the first time. I have never seen anything like this before. My view was blocked by the movement of the crowd on the inside, just as an uproar began to chant, “Crucify, crucify, crucify!”

The gate started to open, and one of the locals, a zealot, who had been arrested earlier this week, ran out, free. Barabbas, that’s his name. He had a puzzled look on his face as he ran to his freedom.

The Man that is called Jesus the Nazarene was taken away. So many people crowded the streets that day. The stench of the Roman soldiers was mixed with the dusty air making it difficult to breathe. The charges were being read aloud by the Centurion who led the procession from the Governor’s palace to the hill of the skull outside the city, “King of the Jews”. Pools of blood mixed with the dirt of the road making a muddy trail to follow all the way up the long roadway.

Once I arrived atop the hill, my intrigue now turned to a blend of disgust and compassion. The Romans slammed His horribly beaten body down on the ground and on top of the beam of wood the Jesus had carried. One soldier carried a small wooden carton. I knew the carton because it had my marking on it. It was the large nails that I had been making; the nails that I had not been paid for. The heart inside of me fell straight to the floor of my being. I felt as though everything that I had ever lived and breathed for was now meaningless. I felt a sense of despair deep within my soul.

I couldn’t watch any longer. I turned to begin my descent down the hill. I heard His voice penetrate His broken lips. From the post and crossbeam He cried as He looked upwards into the sky, “Father, forgive them. They don’t understand what they have done.”

At that moment, I somehow realized that this entire episode of human brutality, cruelty, and injustice, and the use of the nails (my nails) directly impacted my life forever. The man named Jesus the Nazarene not only paid the price of my sins, but also paid the cost of my nails.

It’s about God’s purpose that He has for you. Your life has meaning, even though the things you do seem insignificant to you. You have the potential of touching the lives of others, and truly making a difference.

HAPPY RESURRECTION DAY

Copyright © 2008 Jonno – Second Son Multimedia Group, LLC