Okay, so life is funny and all around weird. It's Janna's birthday today (this isn't the weird part or the funny part; it's just a prelude) and I actually remembered which is the funny part because I sadly haven't really communicated with my SSS in a long time. I had made up my mind to call her and sing 'Happy Birthday' to her lastnight but before I went to do it today, I got really nervous, which is the weird part. My stomach was all butterflies and do you all want to know why?
Well, even if you don't, I'm telling you.
It was because I hadn't talked to her in so long that I was nervous...maybe she didn't even want to hear from me; maybe even if she thought she wanted to hear from me, it would be all awkward and once the birthday wishes were bestowed, we'd have nothing to talk about. The fact that the girl that was once my all time best friend might not have anything to say to me and vice versa, terrified me. But...I called her anyways.
And, she answered the phone and I sang my little heart out, followed by 'it's Al by the way'. And she got excited (which I'm hoping she wasn't faining) and we did indeed talk without awkwardness. It was good and nostalgic and a little sad.
Because (and I'm directing this to you, my SSS) God has indeed kept us connected through memories and heart but we're so distant. I felt sad because I don't know what's going on in Janna's life or if she still loves cheese or if she still spits when she talks or if she remembers when we made her try and be quiet for an entire lunch hour and she failed. And I don't know what's going on in Sarah's life and if she still has a computer chair in her house covered in her beloved dog's hair or what color her hair is next week or if she remembers when we were doing 'Get Another Boyfriend' as a lip sync and she was sick and came in to perform it with us anyways. And I don't know what's going on in Brynne's life and what she's taking in school, and how often she battles her curls to go straight and if she remembers when we went over to her house before the school dance in Shoal Lake and waxed our legs and armpits and I broke into a rash.
It's sad when my best friends on the planet; that shared a lot of my best years with me and went through a lot of growing with me, grow without me and make new best friends and have best years without me. I know I have done the same and I have cherished every moment of it; I truely have...but today was a day for mourning and rejoicing.
I mourn because of distance and time and I rejoice because maybe that distance and time hasn't quite eaten up the SSS. This may be just my thought but I'd like to think that we can muster up our friendships. Janna, our conversation meant alot to me today and I'd like to talk to you again; Brynne, Sarah, I would love to talk to you guys too.
And, as Janna has found out, I will indeed be in Manitoba on August 17th. I want to see you all. I love you and Happy Birthday my dear Janna Banana.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Friday, February 02, 2007
Love Affair
I felt sick; not physically though but emotionally and spiritually. I felt pressed, like I was suffocating and in one swift moment, whatever was pulling at me would crush me completely. I was not a generally happy person…I couldn’t remember laughing much since I was a very little girl but this weight, this sadness was much more intense. I’d have fits of rage come from nowhere. Any remnants of people I called friends were long gone, leaving me only with the men I entertained and they were very little comfort.
I heard of the man that called himself King of the Jews from one of my favourite customers; the one that came often and attempted to lift my burden with laughter and talk. He told me this King had made blind men see and had risen those with the smell of Death on them, jump forth and breathe.
“It must be nice to see such a man.” I said, lying there beside him in the little room I worked from.
“You probably could go see him. He’s coming this way.” My customer replied, his hand trailing down my bare arms.
“Why would I need to do that,” I said, suspicion growing in me, “I’m not ill.”
“Mary, you’re not the same…I’ve noticed; you’re different somehow.”
I had thought about our talk a lot but if he was indeed such a man, he would never heal someone like me, who made a living sleeping with many men. I was far too gone for a King to spend time on. Although, I found myself dreaming he would find me; I thought I could see his face. He became my tiny miracle that I held onto when I was working. He became a freedom from the life I was so tiredly bound to.
If I had been one to believe surely in miracles, I may have seen this coming, but it was as much a shock to me as any. As I walked through the streets that afternoon, smothered in the heat, I heard shouts of happiness bellow in the dust. I ran out into a crowd, curious at the noise and my miracle was standing in the middle.
His eyes met mine instantly, like he was waiting all that time for only me. And he walked toward me and laid his hand against my cheek and at the touch of his warm palm against my skin, I was released. I felt light and giddy and I laughed. I laughed until tears welled in my eyes and he held me against him like a brother.
When I stopped laughing, I clung to him, taking in his sweet scent (a mingling of dust and sweat) and I nearly wept. I felt like I had been waiting for this man my entire life and all the others were stepping stones to my King.
He pulled away with a smile and melded back into the crowd. But I was not done; I wanted more of him, I wanted to drink him in; touch him, kiss his cheeks. I wanted him to be a part of me.
And so, I did the only thing I could do. I followed him. I left behind my terrors in Galilee and I followed him onward. Every night, I’d wash his feet and lay down his weary head. I’d feed him and make him as comfortable as possible among the dirt and the stones. I’d fall asleep gazing at him; his beautiful face. I couldn’t wait to get up in the morning so I could see him again and talk to him. I was completely transfixed by Jesus. As time went on, my heart ached for him. I couldn’t touch him or love him the way I wished but I had his care and that was all I could hope for.
***
Mary Magdalene was a prostitute. She earned a living by pleasuring men; something that was dirty and very, very sinful. She was also very unfortunate to be possessed by seven demons which Jesus drove out of her. She was recorded in the bible to have left behind everything and follow him, taking care of he and his disciples. A task which I’m sure, she readily did.
If there was one woman in history that I’d aspire to be like, it would be Mary Magdalene. She had a life that was prosperous but very sinful and she knew it to be so. She was demon possessed and under that best assumption, though she was wealthy, was not very happy.
But then, Jesus comes to her and heals her and in that moment, she decides, ‘yes, this is my future entirely. This man, right here.’ And disregarding everything, she follows him and tends to him and through her earnings, feeds the disciples.
And Jesus takes to Mary. He cares deeply for her and I’m sure, told her so on many an occasion. I imagine it wouldn’t have been hard for Mary to fall in love with the Christ. If I were in her position, I would be madly in love with him also.
Wait, I am in Mary’s position. I’m a horrible sinner who, one day, came to Jesus and said, ‘Yes, this is my future entirely. This man, right here.’ He may not have driven out seven demons but he put himself inside my heart, warding evil things away daily. And he loves us. He looks at us like he must have looked at Mary Magdalene. With love and intensely deep caring. As a man looks at his wife-to-be.
The problem is, I have trouble looking at Christ this lovingly; as Mary must have. I forget sometimes, the immense relationship we have. I put it aside. I know he loves me and he provides a wonderful life for me but I take it for granted. I’m not going to lie; I do. And he waits patiently for me to love him like Mary loved him. And I want to; I really do. I want to ache for him.
***
That morning, early before anyone had risen from their slumber, I made my way to the tomb to spend just a moment with Jesus. I was craving to see his face one last time; anoint him with my oils and say goodbye. My eyes were filled with tears as they often were these last few days.
Even in the darkness, as I neared the tomb, I could see the stone had been rolled away. In a panic, I turned and fled to the town to the house where Simon Peter was staying. I rapped on the door in fury of fists until he answered, his eyes bleary from sleep.
“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and I don’t know where they have put him.” I sobbed, tears tearing at my cheeks. Peter and Simon reached for their cloaks and ran down the path, leaving me weeping at their door.
With all my strength, I ran after them. I reached the tomb as they were turning back and said nothing to them and they did not say anything back but their faces were those of men who had been utterly defeated. I stood at the entrance to the tomb and stared in afraid of the emptiness.
But instead, two men were sitting on the bench where Jesus’ body once had lain. They were dressed both in white and looked so much like angels that I didn’t dare blink, in case they were to disappear like my Lord had done.
“Woman,” the one spoke; his voice was soft like a tinkling of a small bell, “Why are you crying.”
“They have taken my Lord away,” I repeated, a fresh flow of tears coming from me, “And I don’t know where they have put him.”
A sudden sound of footsteps made me turn. A man was standing there, looking at me very concerned as if I had lost my very mind, which, seemingly, I may have, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him so I may get him.”
“Mary,” The man said. His voice was all too familiar and his eyes became the eyes of Jesus. The man before me was my love.
“Rabboni!” I cried, leaping at him and throwing my arms around him, tightly. As tightly as I dared. He smiled but pulled away from me.
“Do not hold on to me for I have not yet returned to my Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” He whispered.
I released him slowly; looking at him like a dream that fades when you wake up. My body yearned to hold him. I ached; I could feel it in my very bones. The creation of my muscles was solely for loving my Lord.
***
Imagine, Mary who loved Jesus with all of her heart was parted from him and got one more chance to see him. How excited she must have been! I can’t see why she wouldn’t have wanted to hold him until time escaped them.
That’s the kind of meeting Jesus wants with us when we get to Heaven. He wants us to love him so dearly that we don’t want to let him go…that, like Mary, we would do anything to keep hold of him. He wants us to be crazy, blubbering people for him. He loves that about us.
So, if I were to choose someone to aspire to be, I want to be Mary Magdalene. I want to ache and be crazy and cry for Jesus. I want to be the woman who would leave everything behind and follow the man I love forever. I want to one day be in Heaven and be able to touch him for the first time. To hold onto him like I’d never let him go and have him wrap his arms around me and physically feel it. And not only that, I want everyone to feel that way. I want to share this wonderful King with everyone so that they may love him as Mary loved him. I want to have a love affair with God.
I heard of the man that called himself King of the Jews from one of my favourite customers; the one that came often and attempted to lift my burden with laughter and talk. He told me this King had made blind men see and had risen those with the smell of Death on them, jump forth and breathe.
“It must be nice to see such a man.” I said, lying there beside him in the little room I worked from.
“You probably could go see him. He’s coming this way.” My customer replied, his hand trailing down my bare arms.
“Why would I need to do that,” I said, suspicion growing in me, “I’m not ill.”
“Mary, you’re not the same…I’ve noticed; you’re different somehow.”
I had thought about our talk a lot but if he was indeed such a man, he would never heal someone like me, who made a living sleeping with many men. I was far too gone for a King to spend time on. Although, I found myself dreaming he would find me; I thought I could see his face. He became my tiny miracle that I held onto when I was working. He became a freedom from the life I was so tiredly bound to.
If I had been one to believe surely in miracles, I may have seen this coming, but it was as much a shock to me as any. As I walked through the streets that afternoon, smothered in the heat, I heard shouts of happiness bellow in the dust. I ran out into a crowd, curious at the noise and my miracle was standing in the middle.
His eyes met mine instantly, like he was waiting all that time for only me. And he walked toward me and laid his hand against my cheek and at the touch of his warm palm against my skin, I was released. I felt light and giddy and I laughed. I laughed until tears welled in my eyes and he held me against him like a brother.
When I stopped laughing, I clung to him, taking in his sweet scent (a mingling of dust and sweat) and I nearly wept. I felt like I had been waiting for this man my entire life and all the others were stepping stones to my King.
He pulled away with a smile and melded back into the crowd. But I was not done; I wanted more of him, I wanted to drink him in; touch him, kiss his cheeks. I wanted him to be a part of me.
And so, I did the only thing I could do. I followed him. I left behind my terrors in Galilee and I followed him onward. Every night, I’d wash his feet and lay down his weary head. I’d feed him and make him as comfortable as possible among the dirt and the stones. I’d fall asleep gazing at him; his beautiful face. I couldn’t wait to get up in the morning so I could see him again and talk to him. I was completely transfixed by Jesus. As time went on, my heart ached for him. I couldn’t touch him or love him the way I wished but I had his care and that was all I could hope for.
***
Mary Magdalene was a prostitute. She earned a living by pleasuring men; something that was dirty and very, very sinful. She was also very unfortunate to be possessed by seven demons which Jesus drove out of her. She was recorded in the bible to have left behind everything and follow him, taking care of he and his disciples. A task which I’m sure, she readily did.
If there was one woman in history that I’d aspire to be like, it would be Mary Magdalene. She had a life that was prosperous but very sinful and she knew it to be so. She was demon possessed and under that best assumption, though she was wealthy, was not very happy.
But then, Jesus comes to her and heals her and in that moment, she decides, ‘yes, this is my future entirely. This man, right here.’ And disregarding everything, she follows him and tends to him and through her earnings, feeds the disciples.
And Jesus takes to Mary. He cares deeply for her and I’m sure, told her so on many an occasion. I imagine it wouldn’t have been hard for Mary to fall in love with the Christ. If I were in her position, I would be madly in love with him also.
Wait, I am in Mary’s position. I’m a horrible sinner who, one day, came to Jesus and said, ‘Yes, this is my future entirely. This man, right here.’ He may not have driven out seven demons but he put himself inside my heart, warding evil things away daily. And he loves us. He looks at us like he must have looked at Mary Magdalene. With love and intensely deep caring. As a man looks at his wife-to-be.
The problem is, I have trouble looking at Christ this lovingly; as Mary must have. I forget sometimes, the immense relationship we have. I put it aside. I know he loves me and he provides a wonderful life for me but I take it for granted. I’m not going to lie; I do. And he waits patiently for me to love him like Mary loved him. And I want to; I really do. I want to ache for him.
***
That morning, early before anyone had risen from their slumber, I made my way to the tomb to spend just a moment with Jesus. I was craving to see his face one last time; anoint him with my oils and say goodbye. My eyes were filled with tears as they often were these last few days.
Even in the darkness, as I neared the tomb, I could see the stone had been rolled away. In a panic, I turned and fled to the town to the house where Simon Peter was staying. I rapped on the door in fury of fists until he answered, his eyes bleary from sleep.
“They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and I don’t know where they have put him.” I sobbed, tears tearing at my cheeks. Peter and Simon reached for their cloaks and ran down the path, leaving me weeping at their door.
With all my strength, I ran after them. I reached the tomb as they were turning back and said nothing to them and they did not say anything back but their faces were those of men who had been utterly defeated. I stood at the entrance to the tomb and stared in afraid of the emptiness.
But instead, two men were sitting on the bench where Jesus’ body once had lain. They were dressed both in white and looked so much like angels that I didn’t dare blink, in case they were to disappear like my Lord had done.
“Woman,” the one spoke; his voice was soft like a tinkling of a small bell, “Why are you crying.”
“They have taken my Lord away,” I repeated, a fresh flow of tears coming from me, “And I don’t know where they have put him.”
A sudden sound of footsteps made me turn. A man was standing there, looking at me very concerned as if I had lost my very mind, which, seemingly, I may have, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him so I may get him.”
“Mary,” The man said. His voice was all too familiar and his eyes became the eyes of Jesus. The man before me was my love.
“Rabboni!” I cried, leaping at him and throwing my arms around him, tightly. As tightly as I dared. He smiled but pulled away from me.
“Do not hold on to me for I have not yet returned to my Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” He whispered.
I released him slowly; looking at him like a dream that fades when you wake up. My body yearned to hold him. I ached; I could feel it in my very bones. The creation of my muscles was solely for loving my Lord.
***
Imagine, Mary who loved Jesus with all of her heart was parted from him and got one more chance to see him. How excited she must have been! I can’t see why she wouldn’t have wanted to hold him until time escaped them.
That’s the kind of meeting Jesus wants with us when we get to Heaven. He wants us to love him so dearly that we don’t want to let him go…that, like Mary, we would do anything to keep hold of him. He wants us to be crazy, blubbering people for him. He loves that about us.
So, if I were to choose someone to aspire to be, I want to be Mary Magdalene. I want to ache and be crazy and cry for Jesus. I want to be the woman who would leave everything behind and follow the man I love forever. I want to one day be in Heaven and be able to touch him for the first time. To hold onto him like I’d never let him go and have him wrap his arms around me and physically feel it. And not only that, I want everyone to feel that way. I want to share this wonderful King with everyone so that they may love him as Mary loved him. I want to have a love affair with God.
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