Burying Hatred

In past two days, my ears caught a news story that a fellow Nutmegger offered a family plot gratis to bury the body of Tamerlan Tsarnaev, as the funeral home tending the body cannot find a place that would accept it for decent burial.

The one condition Paul Keane requested is that it be done in memory of his mother, who taught Sunday school. Among her teachings was Christ's message: Love your enemies.

There has been much outcry and protest about this particular burial. Tamerlan can no longer do us any harm; he has already met his Maker and faced the only true Judgement there is.

Why do people still attack the corpse like a pack of feral dogs? Have we become like the terrorists we abhor?

The funeral home has come under attack, and Keane has also since his noble offer. I wonder, have the acts of terror instilled such hatred and fear into our hearts? This Nation was founded on Christian values.

When Christ came into this world, there was no room for Him. He was born where they kept the animals.

When Christ died as a criminal, there was no tomb for him. But Joseph of Aramathea, whose heart was touched by Yeshua / Jesus, offered his own unused plot to bury the body.

Would these same protesters hurl insults at the innkeeper and Joseph, and insist that no one should do business with them again because of the Compassionate acts?

I am not saying Tamerlan is anything like Christ. But I am saying that Keane's offer and the funeral home's efforts are based on Love and Compassion that Christ inspires.

Both are following in the steps of Joseph of Aramethea, helping a distraught mother to see her son's body decently buried.

The King will reply, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."                      (Matthew 25:40)

"I tell you the truth, when you refused to help the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were refusing to help me." (Matthew 25:45)

Which to follow

Love or hate?

This is choice

We all must make

~ ESA

Bumper Sticker

While I walk to my job, I had to travel into the nearest city recently. On the way in, I encountered rush-hour traffic.

While my old Jeep crawled along, trying to navigate into the adjacent lane before the current lane became a one way trip into the river below, I encountered "I will NOT let you cut in ahead of me" driving. One driver shoved her way around my Jeep's nose, virtually riding the bumper of the car before her.

Fortunately the semi-truck driver behind her honored my change-lane signal. As I waved my thanks to the truck-driver, my eyes fell upon the bumper sticker on that woman's car. It was for the local Christian radio station.

The thought "That's not a very Christian way of acting" immediately jumped to mind. Then, just shy of the Holy Spirit smacking me upside the back my head, that impression was corrected by the reminder that I also have a Christian radio station bumper sticker too.

What kind of example do I make when I am in a hurry, or down, or angry, or judgmental... ?

Two days after Christmas, I will drive my mother into the heart of New York City to park as close as possible to Rockefeller Center so she can see the Christmas tree and attend the Radio City Rockettes show. Will I ride the bumper of the car before me, as my mother shouts directions from beside me?

Or will I let people - likely equally stressed - merge in?

What about other aspects of my life? When do I slow down and let another life merge into mine, helping reduce some of their stress?

The truth is that we represent what we believe in, whether or not we have a bumper sticker on our car or any other symbol we wear on our person. Our actions teach others, far more than our words ever will.

What do you say

Along life's way

Including today

~ ESA

Please Don't Be Angry...

Those who know me well, know I truly enjoy rhyming on Twitter. There are days when I find myself too busy to tweet or write. But there are also other times I need to steer clear from Twitter because, inside, something is not right. While I am still not that comfortable sharing some inner struggles with my readers, this wanted to be shared...


Most of my readers are at least familiar with the Gospel accounts of Yeshua/Jesus the Christ. Many will agree that He loves all of us, even shared company with those who others believed were the dregs of society. He wept with some; He laughed with many. But He would get angry too...


The accounts that spring to my mind are times when His temper flared. He mocked, yelled, even trashed a temple market place. When I look back over the accounts, I find that Christ didn't get THAT mad at every person's sins / mistakes. What really fired Him up was when those who were called to bring people to God (or at least played that part in society), were not doing what they should. Instead, those people were lapping up the benefits of the spotlight, the best seat, the riches, the belief that they were the favored/chosen ones well above all, worthy to judge and belittle the rest. Yet they saw no blemish within themselves.

In a round-about way, that's what brings me to periods of silence on Twitter. I Love Yeshua/Jesus with all my heart. I don't want ANYthing to come between us, even my own stubborn stupidity at times. I understand the ramifications of taking on the twitter name of @JesusSister. While I love Him as dear as a little sister loves, admires, respects and wants to imitate her big Brother, I also know my place: that is OUTside the spotlight.

As any who are in the spotlight can tell you, regardless if it's the entertainment industry, political arena, office politics or even the family favorite: the spotlight feels good. Kudos and praise from others are very, very sweet, like a rich dessert. But like a dessert's calories, the spotlight has a price too.

When someone speaks on affairs of the soul, of God, or starts the path to uplift the spirits of another, we have a responsibility. We need to continue on a path that let's GOD shine - not us. It is so easy - so very, very easy - to be caught up in the euphoria of public praise, even just a few people's high-opinion, that we can start thinking ourselves above them, better than them. So very smoothly we transition from a voice guiding someone to the loving arms of God to the very same hearts and minds of the pharisee's that Christ raged against.

There are days such sweet praise encourages me to continue to share the blessings and nuggets. At the same time, I grow very frightened for I do not want to become like the Pharisee's or similar modern-day preachers and prophets.

• Wow wow wow, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you SO much : )
• TY, dear one. Lovely words, as always. You truly are a positive influence on many!
• I sooooo ℓσνє your poetic gιfтιиg. It cheers and encourages my нєαят. May God bless u in those spectacular of ways. ツ
• That was beautiful, TY!
• Sincerity of Heart in it's fervency demonstrates the Love of God for all to see...this you do Little Sister,this you do! :)
• Your tweet made my day and gave me hope, thank u sister
• You really know how to lift a sister up. ツ
• Ur words r divine......:)))
• she is smart
• Amen! And thank you for this.
• a message to the Soul so fair.. -you do the fine rhyme
• You have been blessed with the gift of being able to write what other can only feel but have no words for.
• caring heart, abounding in His Love!
• Love your tweets!! :)
• @JesusSister is such a blessing. Her poetical gifting is simply marvelous. Please #ff her.
• Please follow @JesusSister ... Follower her as I follow Christ..... #agape

I think the last one nails where I am trying to go with this. It frightens me! Glory & praise should be for God, not me. Yes, I do need the encouragement and I sincerely appreciate the kind words sent my way. I know they are from good hearts who are not trying to entrap me. Please don't think I am saying that.

But at the same time, I need to watch myself all the closer when such sweet praise comes. I can not lap it up. I cannot grow fat with it. I cannot sit in the spotlight for the Song in my heart that I sing isn't from me alone.

Humility.

I need humility so bad some days it hurts within and tears flow. I really don't want Christ mad at me. I love Him too much. The spotlight here should never be so sweet that I want it instead of Christ's smile. Instead, I turn to Yeshua/Jesus, away from Twitter, and wait patiently until the sparkles fade and I can sing notes clearly again. Without Him, all my words would be only to bring myself praise, and thus wither on the vine.

Without Christ, my Song will turn bitter
I see myself above brothers and sisters
Instead of beside them where I belong
Where Christ still is today...

- ESA

Convert!

Following Home for the Holiday blogpost, there has been a word bouncing around my head: Convert. I read a tweet where someone suggested I was trying to convert Jews to Christianity, which I denied. I still stand by what I said: I am not called to "convert." Yet what I should have added: I am called to SHARE!

One time at a large fair near us, I was curious about a group that had a tent with "Jesus" written in negative (where parts of the outline were in black and the letters were the same color as the background). Above it read a sign: "Can you see what it says?" So I walked up and said I could. They asked three more riddles, giving me the answers and then I was called into the presence of the woman in the back of the tent. She told me how I was saved by Jesus, how I should now confess all my sins, repent, read the Word and Believe! She read a passage from one of the four main gospels and then had me bow my head while we prayed together for forgiveness. Not once did they ever ask if I believed or was a fellow follower of Christ. Then she instructed me to write down something along the lines of: "Thank You, Jesus, for saving me and opening my eyes today." I, being stubborn, wrote down what was in my heart, "Thank You for the opportunity to take a moment from a fair, and turn to You with another in prayer."

The woman was outraged!

This was NOT what she wanted to see. She scolded me and said that she wanted me to write it over. She even crumpled it up and tossed it away! I noted the stack of written testimonials she had behind her. I refused and got tossed out of the tent. Why didn't I write the words she wanted? My eyes weren't opened that day; I was a Christian already. Or did my eyes open a bit more following that experience?

What I saw saddened me: sharing the Good News (definition of "Gospel") and Love of Yeshua / Jesus had become a ... video game. It was more important to score "points" by counting the number of people you "converted" than it was sharing what we are called to share. Even Atheists use the word "convert" when they convince another to believe as they do.

In complete honesty, I don't think God or Christ gives a fig what "religion" you are. How we behave, how we treat each other and how we work on our relationship with God are what gives us our measure in this life. 

Gandhi was a remarkable and noteworthy follower of Christ's teachings; he was also a Hindu! I have no doubt he is sharing in Christ's feast in Heaven among many others. 

I believe also that we are called to share. Yes, we can share the Word, but the actual tool we should use to teach is a far greater one: our example. Do we share God's Love for another? Do we reach out in compassion? Do we help another to their feet or step over them as we climb the mountain? Do we condemn another to hell (or wish them there) or do we forgive them and try to see some good inside them despite what the world tells us is there? Do we forgive another even when they don't apologize or "repent"? Do we divide what we believe are sinners and saints or do we Trust God, as Yeshua / Jesus trusted, and let God's Wisdom make the determination? Do we Love all, or just Love the people who we believe deserve our love?

We are not God; nor are we God's Judges. Why do we then continue to divide the world along religious lines and insist that if another is not inside our circle; they are to be condemned? The adversary seeks to divide. For only when we work together can humanity do far more than the sum of our individual efforts. God seeks to unite us; Christ calls us to be brothers and sisters - as ONE. Which calling are we following?

Instead of "converting", we should let God's Love flow through us, showing compassion to another. We should let Christ's Forgiveness flow through us, forgiving each other, where we truly find our own forgiveness. We should let God's Mercy be a light that shines in our actions. We should teach through example...   after all   ....politicians and salespeople use words.

Love one another.

Feed the sheep.

Forgive.

- ESA

Home for the Holiday

It is sad when there are so many dividing lines in the world. When I stumble across the ones in my own life, I sit back and wonder why they are even there. As I have just mentioned to someone on Twitter, while I was raised Christian, I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood. So wishing others a Happy Hanukkah did not seem wrong to me at all... until I was accused of possibly trying to convert them to Christianity.

*Sigh*

The home where I was raised had a Mezuzah beside the door, like every other house in my neighborhood. It was there when we first moved in. When my dad explained what was inside, it reminded me of the words I read in our Old Testament. No biggie - same writing / same God.

While we were one of three families with tree and Christmas lights, in a neighborhood of over 300, I wondered why we didn't have a Menorah glowing in our front window like all the rest. It was explained that we were Christian, not Jewish. That was the first dividing line.

Around our Easter celebration, I actually looked forward to matzo in the supermarket - I used to nibble them row-by-row as a child for a snack. There was also my neighbor's famous matzo ball soup when we sat down to the Passover Seder with them, unless it fell on Easter, at which point we had family gatherings for our holiday that day. Another fine dividing line.

In December, there were many craft and holiday flea markets held selling goods. My mom was a shop-a-holic. So after-school we were dragged to many different places to attend these events. They were many in the local temples, one at our Catholic school in the gym, and one in a parish hall from a Mormon Church. While I and my siblings towed behind my mother from table to table at these events, I had plenty of time to examine the stuff that hung from the walls. I can't read Hebrew, nor could I then. So I asked my mother about the writing in symbols that looked closer to Chinese in my young eyes than the Greco-Roman letters in which I read/write. She explained they were Hebrew and that is what the Jewish teachings were written in. We don't speak or read it because we were not Jewish. Another dividing line.

When I was still in grade school (where I attended Catholic school from grades 1-8), I received my Confirmation. Friends of ours attended it, even though they were not Christian. We also attended their Bar/Bat Mitzvahs too. In fact, several of our class trips in the later grades were to the temple to learn about Judaism. While I heard rumors that the Hebrew grade school did the same as part of a cooperative program with our Church, the majority of the kids in our area attended public school. They found our ceremonies strange and bizarre while we had some vague notion of what theirs were about. After all, Jesus, the focus of our own religious education, had celebrated Jewish holidays and practiced Jewish customs. But my neighbors understood little about our customs and holidays. Another dividing line.

High school wasn't fun for me; I attended an all-girl Catholic Academy. But unlike grade school, I had to take two school buses. I was picked up by the local high-school bus, that rounded up ALL the high-school children in the area - public, Catholic and Hebrew schools. The majority of the public school kids were Jewish. While there was more than one Catholic high school kids in my town attended, overall, in our neighborhood, we made up less than 10% and had to wear these atrocious uniforms. I believe the Hebrew school had uniforms or a dress-code too, but they were not as glaringly obvious as the plaid skirts, ties and school color blazers and sweaters with the school emblems on them. A very obvious dividing line.

We ALL were dropped off at the public school. Then the public school kids went inside (or at least had to be inside by the first bell). The rest of us stood outside as our second bus would travel from town-to-town picking up the kids for our respective high school. While this may have made sense to some administrator, it was torture for us. We had to wear clothes that distinguished us as "separate" from the others, and we were major targets for bullies, teasing and bad-mouthing both on the bus and at the public high school. Why? Because we were not Jewish. They outnumbered us; we were supposed to always forgive, so they assumed there would be no retaliation as well. We had no other way to get to our school; we had to share the ride on "their" bus. At the public school, we had to stay put while they had the opportunity to walk away when they wanted to. They would ask: Why were we living in the neighborhood anyway? It was a JEWISH neighborhood! Christians were not welcome. Even the local "Y" was a YMHA, not a YMCA.

Why were we there? My father worked hard for a living, went to night school to get a law degree and then worked long hours in "the city" (New York City) to earn a good enough living to have a big house in a nice neighborhood for his family. There was no application indicating what religious affiliation we had to have to buy the house. That would be illegal - this is America, home of religious freedom. Right? The other Christians we knew had homes half the size or smaller. Why could we not live in that neighborhood in a big house for a big family?

In the years to follow, I observed further divisions. It was OK to have friends across that religious line. It may even be acceptable to date across the dividing line, if someone better is not available. But one would never assume it's OK to marry across the dividing line... "Think of the kids; they would be confused," was an argument I heard many times - from both sides of the fence. Yet it's the same God...

*Sigh* That was three to four DECADES ago: over a generation.

I don't hold grudges; I am called not to. What was in the past stays in the past - as it should! Hate and division only begets hate, war and violence. None of which I want.

Times have changed, thankfully for the better. In my lifetime, I have seen a growing acceptance across many lines - race, religious and sexual preferences being predominant. There has become a stronger division in political and income lines in these past few years, though. My heart longs to see these reversed too...

I followed my mom back to Long Island Monday, as we are visiting with friends and family here this week as part of our holiday travel. On the way we stopped at the local strip mall to pick up a few items. In the large window before me, the local florist had a winter-scape display with a large menorah predominantly at the center with the correct number of candles aglow. Tuesday at the bowling alley as we were heading out the door, I spied the manager turning the bulb to "light" the last candle as sunset dimmed an already rainy afternoon. I am still a Christian and will always be, but these sights made me feel like "home for the holiday" more than I can express, as much as the scent of a freshly decorated Christmas tree.

We are all brothers and sisters in this world. One race, one humanity. Why do we keep dividing ourselves?

-ESA

Christmas Letter from Jesus/Yeshua

This belongs with the other two posts below. Again, this is an email received that I wish to share. While it is not my intention to negate the messages of the other two, I wanted to give my readers additional food for thought during the Christmas season.

-ESA

____________________________________________________________________

It has come to my attention that many of you are upset that folks are taking my name out of the season.

How I personally feel about this celebration can probably be most easily understood by those of you who have been blessed with children of your own. I don't care what you call the day. If you want to celebrate my birth, just get along and love one another. 

Now, having said that, let me go on. If it bothers you that the town in which you live doesn't allow a scene depicting my birth, then just get rid of a couple of santa's and snowmen and put in a small Nativity scene on your own front lawn or front windows. If all my followers did that there wouldn't be any need for such a scene on the town square because there would be many of them all around town.

Stop worrying about the fact that people are calling the tree a holiday tree, instead of a Christmas tree. It was my Father who made all trees. You can remember me anytime you see a tree. Decorate a grape vine if you wish, as that demonstrates my relation to you and what each of our tasks are.

If you want to give me a present in remembrance of my birth, here is my wish list. Choose something from it: 

• Instead of writing protest letters objecting to the way my birthday is being celebrated, write letters of love and hope to those in prison, hospitals, and/or soldiers away from home. They are terribly afraid and lonely this time of year. I know; they tell me this.

• Visit someone in a nursing home or someone home-bound. You don't have to know them personally. They just need to know that someone cares about them.

• Instead of writing the President complaining about the wording on cards his staff sent out this year, why don't you write and tell him that you'll be praying for him and his family this year. Then follow up... It will be nice hearing from you again.

• Instead of giving your children a lot of gifts you can't afford and they don't need, spend time with them. Tell them the story of my birth, and why I came to live with you down there. Hold them in your arms and remind them that I love them too.

• Pick someone that has hurt you in the past and forgive him or her.

• Did you know that someone in your town will attempt to take their own life this season because they feel so alone and hopeless? Since you don't know who that person is, try giving everyone you meet a warm smile; it could make the difference.

• Instead of nit picking about what the retailer in your town calls the holiday, be patient with the people who work there. Give them a warm smile and a kind word. Even if they aren't allowed to wish you a "Merry Christmas" that doesn't keep you from wishing them one.

• While many feast on Thanksgiving and Christmas and nibble cookies and other treats between the two, many others are hungry, eating cat food or moldy food from the "bargain" racks at the back of the supermarket. Use some of the funds you would buy luxury treats for yourself and pick up a case of canned soup or boxed pasta to donate to the local food bank. The shelves are emptier each year as more people can't afford the basics for their families.

• If you really want to make a difference, support a missionary. They take my love and good news to those who have never heard my name. Many also provide means for clean water, better shelters, education, means of income... things many who read this take for advantage in their lives.

• Here's a good one. There are individuals and whole families in your town who not only will have no "Christmas" tree, but neither will they have any presents to give or receive. If you don't know them, buy some food and a few gifts and give them to local churches, police stations, and many charitable organizations who distribute them for you. If you keep your eyes open, many stores now have boxes near the registers waiting for these gifts.

• Finally, if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to me, then behave like one of my followers. Don't do things in secret that you wouldn't do in my presence. Let people know by your actions that you are one of mine.

Don't forget, I can take care of myself. Just love me and do what I have asked you to do. I'll take care of the rest. Check out the list above and get to work; time is short. I'll help you, but the ball is now in your court. 

And do have a most blessed Christmas with all those you love and remember.

Feel free to share; this was sent by a friend.

I LOVE YOU!

~ Jesus / Yeshua

Over the Wall (True Story)

With recent news from the Walk On Wallstreet/99% Movement, there is an old story that came to mind. It is a true story dating back to either the 1940's or 1950's in New York City's Central Park. My grandfather was a "cop" who literally walked the beat in those days. I do not know if he was part of the following event, or heard about it in his precinct. But the event is reported as true... and not that uncommon an occurrence (at least in those days).

____________________________________________________________________

Late one night, two cops were walking the beat along the perimeter of their precinct in Central Park. One of the boundaries between two precincts was this wall that reached just over their heads. Huddled at the foot of this wall, the two cops found a homeless man, wrapped in layers of all the clothes he had with his meager possessions piled around him. They could tell from the snow falling on him, that the man was dead, and the body cooling. His passing must not have happened that long ago as rigor mortis had not yet set in.

The two cops held a quick consultation about what to do. The protocol was to bring the body back to the police house and process it. However, tonight was Christmas Eve and their shift was just ending. If they brought in the body now, they would be there for HOURS filling out all the paperwork, waiting to see if anyone would I.D. the body, and so on. Kids would be waking up early to unwrap presents and wives were waiting at home. There was no time for this.

So one took the shoulders and the other took the feet and, together, they tossed the homeless man's body over the wall into the other precinct.

Well, it just so happened that on the other side of the wall, two other cops were also walking the beat. There was a cry of protest. A scuffling. And a moment later, the homeless man's body was seen sailing over the wall back into their precinct. The others didn't want to extend their shift either.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some may find this funny. I know my dad did. He would laugh as he told it, often after drinking a bit too much. When we were kids, he taught my siblings and I to laugh at this too.

Now I find it deplorable!

This was a man - a fellow human being - who died cold and alone on Christmas Eve! They callously threw this man's body back and forth over the wall like an overstuffed ping-pong ball.

I do not know what my readers think when they observe the recent protests. It also doesn't matter if you side with them or not. I hope you, like I, take this as an opportunity to take a good hard look at how we treat others around us, particularly the BOTTOM 1%.

What would you have done on that Christmas Eve?

Do unto others as you would have done unto you.

Do not do unto others as you would not have done unto you.

Whatsoever you do to the least of these, that you do unto me.

- ESA

Sorry Excuses

There have been many times in my life when I've used excuses. Some were legitimate excuses, "I'm late; I was in car accident on my way here." Others were lame excuses I either used to get out of something or to placate someone.

The lame excuses arise because I’m ashamed. The shame stems from the realization that I acted poorly, did something wrong, or didn't do something I should have done. "No, boss, I didn't do the work you assigned me; I was busy with something else," is an excuse I'd often use after I was caught chatting with a friend or playing a game instead of doing real work.

Sadly, this is something that is not only prevalent in society, but it can even be celebrated when one who is very skilled at coming up with creative excuses is praised. Be it so; it's still wrong. The excuse only hides the shame; the shame is still there, buried. One way or another, we will eventually have to face the reality of WHY we did or did not do things, and the shame will spring up in our faces unexpected, raw and even painful.

In addition, lame excuses hide the real reasons we do things. This means we cannot learn or grow from the experience. We continue doing what we should be ashamed of doing. For example, I continued to chat with friends and play computer games instead of getting the work I should be doing done first. It nearly cost me my job, but I continued to lie to myself with these excuses, and that hid the reality that I had a problem. I did not learn until my job was threatened and then reality came crashing in like a ton of bricks.

Even more recently, I've also discovered that good acts can be used as lame excuses. For example, at one point I was taking the time to help one friend through withdrawal, consoling someone else, and working on a project for a third. Then I bit someone's head off. I said, "Sorry, but I'm helping one friend through withdrawal, consoling someone else, and working on this project. That is the reason I bit your head off."

At first, this appears like it's a legitimate excuse, like the car accident above. But let's look at this from a different perspective. I was doing all three things independently and without anyone's awareness save the people directly involved. These were good works I had been doing in secret. But because I now used them as an excuse, only for the sake of alleviating the shame I felt, I had trumpeted those good works (see below) trading all of the value of what I had done for the mere patch to cover that bit of shame I felt.

On Twitter @Jesus_ posted a nugget of wisdom: "Just say sorry, don't complicate the matter by using excuses." I can see now, why that is true. Christ also mentioned that we should simply say "yes" or "no" and everything beyond that is of the evil one (Matthew 5:37) who can use it to advantage. The same can be said of said of apologies; simply say "sorry." What advantage does the evil one have with a few extra words? Evidently from the case described above, those extra words cost me the value of the good works as I have called the spotlight to them.

In our world, we're tempted to add "but" followed by whatever we can think of that will cover our shame or placate the recipient of the words - even if the recipient only ourselves.

Don't complicate the matter by using excuses.
Don't give away good works.
Keep it simple.

-ESA

Sound the Trumpet

Earlier this week, I had an eye-opening experience.

Our office building (with a handful of businesses with one to four employees each) decided to collectively gather donations of clothing, baby items, toiletries, school supplies, etc. to send down to flood-stricken Georgia.

While I was packaging up the boxes to be shipped out on Monday, one of the women who works in the building came down the stairs and watched. She made very certain I knew which of the bags were from her.

Within one bag I found the receipt, which I just handed to her without glancing at it. Then the woman started itemizing each and every item she donated AND THE PRICE of each one. Then she added after summing up her contribution, "I see that some people only brought in used clothing to donate. *I* went out and BOUGHT new stuff. After all I believe one must really SACRIFICE in order for the good deed to count." With that she strutted up the stairs.

I was disgusted by her behavior. I know times are lean and people can only contribute what they can afford. Some donated used clothing, but others had purchased new items as well. For the bulk of the contributions, none but the giver knows who placed them in the box. But this woman made it sound as if her contribution was far greater than any other.

A friend of mine had the right train of thought; he said "She got her reward." Like Christ said of those who clashed the cymbals as they made their way through the street calling everyone's attention to their fasting or prayers, those who make a "big to-do" over what they do call the spotlight to themselves. That one little moment that the spotlight touches them IS their reward. That's it. If that truly is all they seek, then let them have that spotlight.

But for those who seek more than a moment of fleeting fame, let them do things in secret. If not in secret, at least don't call attention to what you do or shout about what you've done for all to hear. The acts, deeds, works and words WILL speak for themselves so others can see the good of those things. And in the life to come, God will know who performed those things and did not call the spotlight to them.

The rest is just stardust that blows off our skin and clothes in the coming storm.

Works that are done in secret
Wonders of the next life
Forever

-ESA

When Former Friends Try to Become Your Enemy

I was going to post this last night, but I lent my laptop to my husband after work, so I needed to wait until this morning to do so.

Yesterday, someone sent me a transcript of a chat with another who was once a very close friend of mine. In fact, this former close friend is the very same person of which I speak when I first started posting under this blog name. There was a point reached where he gave into the hatred and anger and I would not walk down that path at his side, so we parted ways.

It appears he is still bitter about that.

In the aforementioned transcript he told my other friend some of the things I shared with him, but used lies, half truths and twisted what was true in such a way to purposely skew the information. I could easily see he was trying to drive a wedge in my friendship with another. I've seen it very often in my life and in the lives of others. Why do some people do that? Why can people not be happy for others but follow the belief that "If they don't want me as a friend, no one else should be as well?"

Sadly, I'd still like to be his friend, I just will not walk down the same path into darkness and destruction, anger and hatred and cries for vengence against one and all... It's not in my nature. My heart still carries Love for him and he is in my prayers every day.

Further, he also told my friend that he'll be posting a video of him burning a bible soon. He's aware that I look at his YouTube account and that my friend and I speak, so I wonder if this is his way of saying "make sure she watches it!" I don't know if I'm just assuming way too much of my influence on things, but of late, he's been "bashing" all the things that he knew are close to my heart. Christ and my faith are always close to my heart and he's been bashing both more frequently.

At first impression, I thought I would be outraged upon hearing it, as that is the response I've seen in others. But I'm not. I'm saddened. Very saddened that things have come to this.

I'm also a bit bemused. Growing up any religion, one often hears the stories of persons being persecuted for their faith. If my assumptions are correct, here is a case of a faith being persecuted because of a person. Now I feel REALLY bad (but still have to chuckle over the absurdity of the situation).

Will I rebuke him or lead an army of followers to his video so he will "get it in the neck" as he put it in the chat? No. I will keep my peace and not forward my knowledge of the link to anyone. If he wants to shout in an empty room to the surrounding silent shadows, let him. Most people can see the emptiness in his exclaimations from the replies I've seen where he's badmouthed Christ elsewhere. So I choose not to stir the embers of a dying fire.

Why return hate for hate.
It only begets hate.
Love instead.

- ESA

Father to Son (Video)

This was on You Tube for months and was recently taken out by WMG.

This video I made because the words sounded just what God would say to Yeshua/Jesus just before His crucifixion.

Song: Day is Done - Peter, Paul and Mary
Images: Photobucket

All rights are retained by the respective artists. I do not, nor ever have, received funds for this. I produced this out of the Love in my heart.



- ESA

The Reindeer Tale (Story)

(c) 1995, 2008

The cold, wet wind howled through the small Pennsylvania town, promising more snow. Joey peered down the road. There was still no sign of his mother. The snow-covered roads were slick, and the old station wagon barely ran in the cold weather. Joey tugged his knit skull cap down, keeping the wind off the back of his neck.

Peter, his little brother, stood beside him on the icy steps of the local school. Mary and Matt, their neighbors, waited with them for Joey’s mother to take them home. Peter was relating the story that his teacher told her class that day.

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Joey said stubbornly. “Mrs. Maybel just tells you little kids things like that because they have nothing to teach just before Christmas break.”

Peter glared at his brother from between his scarf and knit hat. The bright blue pom-pom on top danced in the cold wind. “I think it’s true.”

“Me too!” Mary spoke up from under her scarf. She was in Peter’s class and usually sided with him in these arguments.

“I believe Joey,” Matt argued. “Who ever heard of animals talking on Christmas morning? It’s all make-believe. It’s just a story Mrs. Maybel made up.”

“Is not!” Peter shouted.

“Is so!” Matt and Joey countered.

“Is not!”

“Is so!”

“NOT!”

“SO!”

“Here she comes,” Mary cried.

The sign that read, “Caution School Children,” crested the hill before the old, battered station wagon rose into view.

“I get shotgun,” Joey called.

“Not fair,” Peter whined, “You rode shotgun to school. It’s my turn.”

“Too late. I called it.”

“I want to ride shotgun,” Peter shouted as he shoved his brother.

Joey shoved him back, and Peter fell right into a snowbank. Mary helped him rise to his feet. But by then, Joey was in the front seat next to his mother. “Hurry up, Peter! I don’t want to miss the Power Rangers.”

Pouting, Peter climbed into the back seat and pulled the heavy door shut behind him.

“Don’t forget to buckle up, kids. The roads are pretty bad,” their mother called from the front seat. “So, kids, how was school today?” With a shudder, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.

Peter fumbled with the seatbelt for a few minutes. The padded mittens made it difficult. He tugged the scarf down away from his mouth and removed the mitten with his teeth. “Miffus Maybel thaid that animufs talk on Chrifmuth.”

“What was that, Peter dear?”

“Our teacher said that animals talk on Christmas morning,” Mary supplied.

“I told them it isn’t true,” Joey said, “It’s just make-believe.”

“Oh? How do you know?” his mother asked with a grin.

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re not outside early Christmas morning, are you? Maybe the animals do talk. And you just haven’t heard them.”

“It’s true?”

“I don’t know,” his mother said with a shrug, “I’m not outside early Christmas morning either. Maybe they do talk. Or maybe it is just a story.”

* * *

The four children stood together in the woodlands. The snow hissed as it fell through the leafless branches. “Hey, Peter?”

“Yeah, Mary?”

“If the animals do talk like you said, what will you ask them?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. What about you?”

“I don’t know either.”

“How are you clowns going to ask them anything?” Matt inquired.

“We’re not allowed outside after dark. There’s no way our parents are going to let us out after midnight.”

“We just don’t tell them,” Joey replied. “You know, sneak out.”

“These woods are scary at night,” Mary said.

“Don’t be such a ‘fraidy cat, Mary,” Joey scolded. “These woods are right behind our houses. And there’s deer and other animals out here at night. We’ll just sneak out and meet here.”

“You sure we can do it?” Matt asked. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“We won’t,” Joey said confidently. “Trust me.”

* * *

The tolling bells chimed from the church in town, proclaiming the start of Christmas morning.

When the last sound of the bells faded beyond the rolling hills, Joey slid out from under his covers. Peter was already out of his bunk and pulling on his boots. Both had worn their jeans and sweaters to bed, ready for their adventure. They fluffed pillows and pulled the covers over them to make it look as if they were still in bed.

Within a few moments, both were bundled up and out the back door with flashlights in hand. As they trudged through the ice-crusted snow to their rendezvous spot, they could make out the brilliant circles of light from Mary and Matt’s flashlights.

All four children had dressed warmly, leaving only their eyes exposed to the biting wind. “Where to now?” Matt asked.

“Let’s go deeper into the woods,” Joey suggested as he led the way with his flashlight.

The children had not gone far when they heard voices in the darkness ahead of them. “Hey! Watch those lights. It’s killing our night vision.” A few eyes glittered in the light from Joey’s flashlight.

The other children pointed their flashlights in that direction and saw a herd of deer grazing. The does nervously moved behind the buck. And the buck lowered his head menacingly at the children, dark-tipped antlers coming within inches of their flashlights. “Again, would you get the light out of our eyes?”

The children obediently lowered their flashlights. The snow on the ground softly reflected the light, enough to make out shapes in the darkness.

“Thank you, children,” said the buck as he continued to graze on the low-hanging tree branches.

The children exchanged wide-eyed looks as their mouths hung agape behind their scarves.

Mary was the first to speak, “You... you can talk.”

“Of course we can, child,” one doe replied. “We always could. You just can’t understand us until these first hours of Christmas.”

“How come Santa’s reindeer can talk all year round, and you can only be heard now?” Peter asked.

“Saint Nicholas’ reindeer are special,” the doe explained.

“It’s a good story,” the buck added.

“Let me tell it. Let me tell it,” another doe pleaded. The buck nodded elegantly and the doe began….

+++ +++ +++

“Many years ago, somewhere in Europe -- I forget where -- there was a herd of reindeer living in the woods just beyond a small village. One day, the herd discovered an abandoned fawn. It was a miracle that he was found so easily, for his coat was as white as the pure snow he burrowed himself into. With the newborn stag’s parents nowhere to be found, the herd decided to adopt him.

“It was strange that one so young was found early in the winter -- Christmas morning in fact. But there were does in the herd who were heavy with unborn fawns and able to give the newborn stag the milk he needed. And on cold winter nights, the herd curled around the young one, to shelter him and keep him warm.

“Near the end of winter, the wolves came down from the mountains, as they did each bad winter. The bucks and does taught the young stag to keep downwind from the wolves. When the wolves finally scented the herd, though, several strong bucks kept to the rear of the herd, keeping the wolves away from the does and the young.

“The seasons turned, and the white stag was raised and well loved by all in the herd. But as he grew in size and strength, he never lost his white coat like the fawns lose their spots. In fact, his coat only seemed to grow more brilliant -- as if the moon had come to rest in his hide.

“One day in the fall, just as the young stag was getting the first of his antlers, something strange happened. There was a grizzly in the area who had gone mad with pain. A careless bow hunter had hit him, and left him suffering. He attacked any animal that came near him, and he suffered all the more when his movements made the shaft further open the wound.

Once the herd knew about the wounded grizzly, they made sure to keep out of his way. But the young white stag went off on his own. He approached the grizzly slowly. The bear’s red-rimmed eyes spotted him and he bellowed a terrible growl. The stag stood still, letting his clear eyes gaze into those of the bear. The bear’s madness began to fade, then pass. The stag then brushed his muzzle against the bear’s wounded side. The shaft fell out and the wound healed.

“Just then, the herd found him and one of the does stepped forward carefully. ‘There you are, young one. Step away from that bear. Didn’t we tell you he had gone mad?’

“‘But he’s alright now,’ he argued. ‘Can you not see that?’

“With amazement, they realized that the bear was healed. Only a small scar remained where the wound had been. ‘Come with us now, young one,’ a buck said quietly. ‘We’re off to find winter grazing, and we don’t want you lost out here.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ the white stag replied and took his place in the herd.

“‘What were you thinking of?’ one of the does scolded. ‘We were worried about you.’

“‘I didn’t mean to worry you. I was only doing my father’s work.’

“The members of the herd exchanged puzzled looks. None knew what the young stag had meant.

“Late that winter, the wolves came again. The stag by then had been taught to defend the females and younger members of the herd. When the chase began and the wolves howled their joy in the hunt, he took his place at the rear. But when the wolves drew closer, he stopped and turned to face them.

“‘He’s going to get himself killed,’ an older buck said. He turned to defend the herd beside the white stag, antlers lowered.

“But the white stag held his head high. ‘Brothers,’ he called out to the wolves. ‘This herd is not yours to hunt.’

“The alpha-male wolf paused and called back across the snowy woodland, ‘Brother, we are hungry and meat is scarce. You have many fine members in your herd. It’s our right and nature’s way that we have at least the weakest from your herd.’

“‘It is your right to hunt, brother. But I have chosen this herd for a special purpose. You shall not hunt here.’

“The alpha-male thought the answer over and replied, ‘As you will. We shall hunt elsewhere.’

“When the young stag turned, he saw the questions in the eyes of his herdmates. ‘I shall leave you for a time,’ he said, ‘But I shall find you when you’re needed. I thank you for raising me.’ With a few bounds, he disappeared into the thickness of the woodland.

“It wasn’t until a few years later that the white stag returned. His coat still gleamed white, and a full set of antlers crowned his head. ‘There’s someone in the nearby village that needs your help,’ he said. ‘A man by the name of Nicholas Claus brings food and toys to the poor children. And each year his burden grows heavier.’

“Since it was Christmas Eve, the herd agreed to help Nicholas. But as they shyly approached his cabin at the edge of the village, they remembered that men couldn’t understand their speech. ‘Stall him until midnight,’ the white stag suggested, ‘and then you can explain your intentions.’

“And that is what they did. A few does lured away the mule that Nicholas used to help carry the food and toys. Some spread the toys around the yard, careful not to damage any. Another hid a sack behind the stable.

“Soon Nicholas and his wife were outside, trying to chase the reindeer off and collect the scattered items. ‘Isn’t it strange,’ Nicholas’ wife said, ‘that the reindeer don’t run away.’

“‘Look there, dear,’ Nicholas said as he pointed at the white stag. ‘That’s the one I said watched me last year.’

“For a few more hours, the couple chased the reindeer about the yard. It soon became a game, and they couldn’t help laughing at the reindeer’s antics. But then, the village church bells rang in Christmas. ‘Enough already!’ Nicholas said. ‘I need to get these gifts to the children.’

“‘We’re here to help you do that,’ one of the reindeer said.

“‘Well why didn’t you say so earlier instead of scattering these gifts?’

“‘Christmas morning, sir. We couldn’t be understood by you until then.’

“‘Oh-ho! That’s right. So what are we waiting for? Let’s get you loaded up. The lot of you will save me several trips back home this night.’

“‘Here, dear,’ his wife said as she dragged some bells from the storage shed. ‘If we put these on the reindeer, the children will hear you coming and know that you haven’t forgotten them.’

“‘Splendid idea!’ Soon the reindeer were loaded up with sacks of gifts piled high on their backs and bells strung about their necks. Nicholas stopped at many villages that night. And everywhere he went, he brought joy to the children. Many children were asleep by now. And they wouldn’t know that he came until the next morning when they saw the gifts he had left.

“The reindeer helped Nicholas through the night. They returned to Nicholas’ home just as the first rays of dawn were lighting the winter sky.

“The white stag waited with Nicholas’ wife and nodded proudly when the herd returned. ‘You’ve done well tonight. This day I will give you two gifts. First, the speech of this herd and its descendants will be understood year round. This way you can work with Nicholas throughout the year. Second, as Nicholas’ work grows to cover the entire world, you shall receive a second gift. Those of this herd shall receive the gift of flight to help bear the burden, but only during my hours -- between midnight and dawn on Christmas morning.’”

+++ +++ +++

“And that,” concluded the doe, “is the story of Saint Nicholas’ reindeer.”

The four children stood in awe, motionless in the soft glow reflected from the snow at their feet. At that moment, a faint silvery sound of jingle bells could be heard above the treetops. The children looked up. Even Joey’s eyes took on the well-known wistful look as he silently mouthed the word, “Santa.”

The buck smiled at the children, “We speak and they remain silent. Go back to your homes, little ones, you know how Saint Nicholas feels about children being awake.”

Matt was the first to recover, “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Deer, uhm, whatever your name is. Let’s go Mary.” He tugged on his sister’s sleeve until she followed him up the path back to their home.

“Yeah,” added Joey, “like he says.” He gave a curt nod in the direction of the deer. “Thanks.” He turned to start his brother moving but found that Peter was already trudging through the snow back toward their home.

When Joey caught up with Peter, he saw that his brother’s eyes sparkled in the reflected light of his flashlight. “Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?”

“To tell Mom and Dad what we just heard.”

“Are you NUTS!?!”

Peter stopped and turned to face his older brother. “No.”

“Well, you are if you tell them.” He rapped his mittened fist on his brother’s head for emphasis. “Remember we’re supposed to be asleep in our beds. If you tell them we’ll get into trouble, you moron!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter replied as he turned and started trudging up the path toward their back door. “Mom and Dad should hear the story too. Everyone should!”

- ESA

A Smile Moment (True Story)

Hello, Folks,

I had a smile moment at work yesterday I thought to share.

I have the attached image printed in 8-1/2x11 color on the wall right next to where my laptop screen is.

Yesterday, a DHL delivery man came to my office so I could sign for a package.

While I scrawled my signature, he looked around my office (like most people do), but instead of spying the huge poster-sized and framed Escher print on one wall or the blanket-sized tapestry on the opposite wall (most people ignore the three-state's worth and federal required HR posters plastering my main wall - LOL), his eyes were drawn to this little print beside my laptop screen.

Then he commented that he liked the image of Christ embracing the little girl.

When I opened my mouth to respond in the pause, he jumped back in and added, "You know, it's a nice image when you're down. But whenever you have an enemy or someone who's giving you trouble, you should also picture that person in Christ's embrace as well."

Then he smiled, took the correct spelling of my last name and walked out.

I believe this is a nice thought to pass on... :-D

- ESA

Lion and the Little Mouse (Story)

One day a little white mouse was scurrying about trying to prepare for the cold dark winter days ahead. She was a tiny thing, even for a mouse, but she had a very big heart. Before making her own preparations, she stopped to help others first. By the time she started her own preparations, there wasn't much left in reach.

The little mouse ranged further and further from the safety of her home looking for what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. On one of these long journeys, she broke through the tall golden autumn grass and found herself practically nose to nose with a lion that had been resting there. Her whiskers quivered in fear and a piercing startled squeak leapt from her throat on its own volition.

Her squeak must have awakened the sleeping lion for he opened his golden eyes and gazed calmly at her. Realizing she had just disturbed the King of all the Animals, the little mouse hunkered down and lowered her round white ears. "I- I'm sorry, Your Great Majesty, for disturbing your rest," she timidly squeaked and quickly turned to scamper off.

The lion's quick paw came down gently but firmly on her little white tail pinning her there, regardless of how fast her paws scrambled against the ground. The poor little mouse was now terrified and she froze in horror with the realization that she was now trapped.

The lion smiled gently and picked the little mouse up by her tail and lightly placed her on his other paw, bringing her closer to his penetrating gaze. Though sunlight sparkled from his own whiskers, the little mouse couldn't peel her eyes from the sharp white teeth that were now clearly visible.

A gentle chuckle rose from the lion's broad chest. "Don't be afraid, little mouse. I am not hungry nor do I toy with you. What brings such a little mouse so far from her home?"

"Oh, please, Your Majesty! I was just preparing for the dark winter days ahead. All the supplies within reach were already gathered near my home so I had to go further out this year seeking what I need. Please just let me go and I'll be on my way. I did not wish to disturb you."

"And why did you not gather what you needed before now, little mouse?"

"I helped some of my friends and neighbors to make sure they were ready for the cold dark winter days ahead. That is why I had a late start. Again, kind Lion, please let me go and I'll be on my way."

"Not so fast, little mouse. Why did you not seek help of your friends and neighbors when you set out to gather your own supplies?"

"I am still young and able. I do not wish to be a burden to anyone as long as I am able to do for myself."

"Ah!" commented the lion. "But now you are far from home and alone. But you are not truly alone; for I am here. I will help you."

"You?!?" squeaked the mouse curling her tiny ears back along her head. "Why would the King of all the Animals want to help a little mouse like me?"

The lion smiled knowingly and lowered the mouse to the ground. "There may be a day when I need your help."

Puzzled the little white mouse tilted her head back to look up at the lion that towered over her; the sunlight danced in his noble mane so very, very far above her. "If there is ever a time when you need my help, I am willing to do so. But you do not need to help me now, Noble Lion."

The lion's smile broadened and his golden eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge. "Even if you believe that now, little mouse, I will help you. It will make your quest easier and you will be ready for the cold dark winter days ahead."

And so the lion helped the little white mouse, lifting her high so she could reach what she needed to survive the cold dark winter days ahead. He even carried the little mouse and her supplies back to her home.

"I thank you, friend Lion," squeaked the little mouse from her doorway. "And if you ever need any help that I can provide, I will gladly do so. But I still cannot think HOW a little mouse like myself will be able to help the King of all the Animals."

The lion smiled knowingly and nodded his acceptance of her thanks and timid offer of help. "We shall see what the future holds."

Some days later, the lion was out on patrol. The nearby man's village was growing and pushing the animal’s territory into a smaller and smaller area. It was near sundown on this day, and the construction site had been abandoned by the workers for the day. Curious as to what they were doing to the land that was once lived in by the animals he ruled, he wandered among the buildings and poked his whiskered white tipped nose here and there sniffing.

It wasn't long before his great forepaw came down on a small steel roofing nail. At first it didn't hurt as much, but the more he tried to work it out, the deeper the nail bit into his paw. At last the pain was too great and an agonized roar escaped his throat.

All the animals heard their King's roar of pain. They all ran, scampered and trotted toward the sound. But each and every one of the animals stopped at the edge of construction site. None would dare enter where humans have tread, even to help their King.

The lion by then was in such pain he couldn't walk the distance back to where the animals were. "Please, help me!" begged the lion. "The nail has bitten deep into my paw and I cannot get it out!"

None of the animals moved, but the crowd observing their King's pain grew as more and more animals arrived at the scene.

At last the little white mouse also arrived. She had to weave in and out of all the other animals to see what the commotion was about. When she saw her lion friend hurt in the middle of what man had made, she turned to the other animals. "Can't you see he's in pain? Why has no one gone to help him?"

"Foolish little mouse!" growled the black panther. "That's man's world. Even I will not go there. If that lion decided to enter into man's world, he's on his own. We will not risk own hides to help him."

The little mouse's whiskers quivered in rage. "How can you say that? Isn't he your King as well as mine? I don't care where he is, I'll go over there and help him." With a swish of her long white tail, she scampered over the embankment and entered the construction site.

In a few minutes she was once again before the lion, her sides heaving from the long run. The lion looked down at the little white mouse with pain in his golden eyes and he looked back across the way at all the gathered animals. "Why is it only you who has come to my aide?" he asked.

"They don't want to enter man's world; they're afraid." She looked around herself with wide panicked eyes. "I'm a bit frightened too, but I remembered my promise to you. I'll help if I can. But I'm so little I don't know if my services will do you any good."

"Yes, you can help, little friend." The lion stretched forth the forepaw. "There is a nail in my paw and it hurts something fierce."

The little mouse scurried over the great paw and tilted her white head as she studied the nail. "It's such a little nail. It's actually a bit smaller than I am." She stood up on her hindpaws and gripped the nail with both forepaws. Then she pulled with all her might.

The lion hissed a moment as the nail pulled free and then sighed greatly in relief. "Thank you, little friend. That is much better." He lowered his shoulder to the little mouse. "Get on my back, little mouse. I will carry you home. You have come a great distance to help me."

She gratefully hopped on his shoulder and climbed the rest of the way to his spine where she comfortably settled herself at the base of his golden mane. As she rode back through the construction site, she noted the look of all the gathered animals. They were not happy. Though they did not want to help the lion, they were not happy that she received special treatment because she did. She felt even more timid and her tummy started to flutter. "Friend Lion......" she began hesitantly.

"Yes, little mouse?" answered the lion as he gazed over his shoulder at her.

"Can I ask something of you... I'm very grateful for all your help before and for the ride now, but what I did was such a small thing. Please don't treat me any differently than the other animals."

The lion paused and fixed the little white mouse with his golden gaze. "But you are the one who came out to help me where no one else would go."

"To me it doesn't matter. I'd help you out of friendship, not for a reward. Please, Your Majesty, I'm just a little mouse, shy like all my kind. Don't you see the way the others glare in my direction. I'm not comfortable way up high like this. Just let me be me and free, that is what I desire."

"If you are certain, so shall it be, my little friend."

So once again, the lion carried the little mouse to her home and let her scamper down to her front door. "I shall not forget this, friend, even if everyone else does. Call on me if you ever need help again."

The mouse smiled warmly. "Thank you, friend Lion. And if I can ever help you again, don't hesitate to call on me."

And they were good friends ever since.

- ESA