Prejudice

I received a text message from my "little sister" (19 years old) recently. I am glad she did not to take it personally, but I wish others would stop teaching prejudice.

"The saddest thing happened today. A girl called me not pretty... because my skin isn't white. That's not the sad part, I can deal with racism -- the sad thing is she's 6 years old.

"It's sad because when I was 6, all I was worried about was what my Barbie dolls would wear. I don't recall judging someone by skin color. My Barbies were all colors from all different parts of the world.

"I was taken aback by what this little girl said. So taken off guard that I couldn't get upset. I just sat quietly. She said I'm ugly because my skin is brown. I didn't know what else to say. She's 6 and this is her mindset already."

My response was this: "Prejudice is not natural; it is taught to kids. I pray for that child and her family. Imagine all the hate that must exist in that home. How can someone truly be happy and experience God's unconditional Love with all that hate?"

~ ESA

Eight Days (Story)

Written last year, here is a story that starts on Thanksgiving eve, when a winter storm likewise hit the Northeastern US.

~ ESA
_______________________________________________________________

EIGHT DAYS

The winds howled wordlessly outside. All the local trees had the last of their leaves torn mercilessly from the branches. Driving rain and heavy wet snow covered the northeast the day before Thanksgiving.

In the small riverside town of New Hope, PA, the residents feared the worst. The waters of the Delaware River rose alarmingly as the downpours continued. Some abandoned their holiday plans to move to higher grounds.

Up on the hill, a small Jewish synagogue prepared for both the storm and for the celebration. Wednesday night was not only the eve of Thanksgiving; it was the first night of Chanukah this year.

As the winds and blinding precipitation increased Wednesday morning, the lights around their small community were winking out, even before the full onset of daylight. Wednesday had become a dark day indeed.

The Rabbi of the local synagogue was a practical hands-on woman. She went out into the driving rain and started the generator. The lights in the little shul slowly blossomed into life again.

Shaking the rainwater from her hair as she stepped back inside, the Rabbi pulled out her cell phone, praying the reception from the cell tower would hold a while more.

"Hello?" the synagogue's Administrator answered.

The Rabbi identified herself and updated the Administrator on the situation. "The question in my mind," she added, "is how long do we have?"

"For lights, water pump, and minimal heat we have enough propane to last three days. Maybe less."

"Three days," the Rabbi signed, remembering Hurricane Sandy. "I pray this storm is not as bad."

"Will you cancel tonight's celebration?"

The Rabbi laughed at the challenge, "Of course not! This is Chanukah!"

The nor'easter continued through the day. While the winds died down in the evening, the widespread devastation in Eastern PA included their little town. Limbs were down everywhere. Power lines snaked across lawns and streets. Power was out and calls to PP&L discovered that the major trunk lines into the area were destroyed. New Hope, being a small tourist community, was nearly last on the recovery list.

The town needed to rely on its own resources for the next few days...

Being a hardy lot, the residents had weathered many snowstorms and outages before. Even if many of the roads were blocked, the residents came out on foot in droves Wednesday to assess the damage and to help each other.

By the afternoon, the Administrator had called the propane supplier in Harrisburg, PA. Then she called the Rabbi with the bad news. "With the roads into our town closed, they cannot get us anything. We were originally scheduled for a delivery Friday, but now it looks like it will be sometime next week."

The members of the synagogue helped each other to the little shul on the hill Wednesday evening, some even walking a mile or so through the last of the rain and blowing snow as the sun remained hidden behind darkened clouds.

At the end of the service, the Rabbi announced that the synagogue was ready to help any who needed a shelter. Even more, hot showers and hot meals would be provided.

The administrator approached the Rabbi with her brows drawn down in a worried scowl, "When I said three days, Rabbi, I meant heat, lights and water pump only. If we start to use the propane for hot water and cooking, we have less than a day's worth of propane! Our pipes will FREEZE! You know temps are predicted to plummet Thursday night!"

The Rabbi nodded. "That is EXACTLY why I opened the invitation. There are many in need. We should not turn them away."

The Administrator grumbled that there will be a price to pay, but the Rabbi caught her sleeve to grab her attention, "One more thing: Tell no one about the propane issue."

That night, seven families moved into the temporary shelter set up in the synagogue's community room. Hot soup, juice, coffee, tea and showers were made available. Even crayons and coloring pages were ready for the children.

The next day, the Rabbi got a call from the local Christian Church. They had fourteen families sheltering there, and their fuel tank was practically empty. "We have enough to cover Thanksgiving meals, but we'll be in the dark tonight. Can you help?" the minister asked the Rabbi.

"If we still have lights, send them up the hill," the Rabbi responded, wondering where they could get the fuel themselves. She sighed, "We will do what we can. All of us are in G-D's hands now."

The Christian Church's generator sputtered to an end around noon Thanksgiving Day. The church's volunteers served the community a hot dinner in a cooling room lit by candle light. With no generator to bring water up, they relied on portable toilets and paper plates. The kitchen pots and pans would just have to wait until there were resources to clean them.

Members of the Jewish community helped relocate the fourteen families from the church to the synagogue. An additional three families joined them as their gasoline generators died during the day. Twenty-four families crowded into the little shul's community room. Somehow, the water continued to flow, the heat, hot showers and hot food continued to be available, and the lights remained on.

The Rabbi wandered out to the generator just as the sun was making its final approach to the horizon. She rapped the propane tank with her knuckles near the bottom. It sounded sadly empty. She bowed her head in dismay. It was a matter of minutes now. There were no other shelters in the community with lights.

She wrapped her coat tightly around her as she walked back to the building. It was time to light the second candle on the Menorah.

By the morning, the Rabbi was dumbfounded; the generator continued to chug through the night. The smell of hot coffee and hot breakfast greeted her as she went through the community room, asking how everyone was doing.

She also made discrete inquires if anyone changed the tanks during the night. No one had. In fact, all were clearly unaware that there was no fuel.

She went outside and checked the tank. It was still the same tank, right down to the identifying number stamped on its side. She rapped it once again; it still sounded empty -- completely empty.

The temperature climbed from the freezing numbers through Friday. So the community got to work clearing the tree branches and shoving the dead power lines to the sides so they could travel the local roads.

Pick-up trucks ventured to the main roads into town. Some had huge swaths of limbs down as though a tornado or down draft plowed through the Deleware Water Gap's Forest. Others were washed away completely by the flash floods that ran down the steep hillsides. They were, indeed, cut off for some time to come.

The residents of New Hope took matters in stride.

As Friday evening's and Saturday's Shabbat ceremonies were held, a few new curious faces joined those in the synagogue.

While black-Friday shopping was a bust, most of Main Street was cleared by Saturday. Shop-keepers were still out of power and heat, but they used the natural light pouring in through the windows. Some even braved the elements and set out tables on the sidewalks to lure shoppers.

By Sunday, the world seemed to have forgotten their little town. PP&L still reported that they are doing their best to repair the trunk lines to get the power to their local substations. Penn-DOT reported that road clearing and repairs would begin on Monday.

Through all this time, the propane tank at the synagogue continued to supply the generator, heat, hot water and kitchen, defying all rational explanation. The Rabbi and Administrator kept this to themselves; they did not want to worry those sheltering there.

Sunday night, after lighting the fifth Menorah candle, those crowded into the little shul stared at each other as a loud reverberating noise filled the air. They gathered at windows and outside as a cacophony of roars grew in volume. Then over the mountain they saw the National Guard helicopters. With no place to land, they guided people to a location using spotlights. There they carefully lowered crates of supplies to the ground.

Food, bottled water, blankets, medical supplies... the volunteers quickly sorted through the contents in those crates. The Rabbi ran to one of the soldiers who was on the ground coordinating the supply drop. "What about propane? Any propane?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the uniformed guard shouted back over the roar of the hovering choppers. "Not this run. Maybe on the next trip. You should see the devastation. We've got towns cut off all over Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont have towns buried in snow."

The soldier studied the faces of the community, "Are there any evacuees? Anyone who needs medical attention outside your town?" The Rabbi shook her head, "As long as there is the insulin and the other medical supplies we asked for, we should be OK. What we really need is propane. I don't know how long we have before we get the power back."

The soldier nodded, "I'll relay your request, ma'am. It's a good thing you had full tanks when the storm hit."

The Rabbi shared a lopsided smile with the solider, and replied quietly, "The truth is we didn't; we only had enough for one day..."

Monday night, a new family showed up at the little shul. A few hisses and whispered comments were passed among those gathered when the family climbed out of the car. The mother and her two teenaged daughters were wearing hijabs.

Several members of the synagogue stormed through the Rabbi's office door. "We have a problem, Rabbi. There are those here that would rather stay at home and freeze than to shelter a Islamic family under our roof."

The Rabbi looked up from the pages she studied on the desk before her. "Are we not taught to help our neighbor?"

"But these are Muslims, Rabbi! They are not our People!"

"The Christians we brought under our roof are not Jews, yet we sheltered them."

"That is different. We have done a lot of work for our community with them. We know them. This family... is different; they are strangers. There is no mosque in New Hope! Let them go across the Delaware to find help. They are not welcome here."

The Rabbi closed the book on her desk and wordlessly met the eyes of each and every person gathered there.

Then she quietly responded, "We were strangers in Egypt. Yet Our G-D heard our cry and led us out of Egypt to Israel. This family is now crying to G-D. They are cold and hungry. When we were cold and hungry those 40 years in the desert, did G-D abandon us? No! G-D sent us food. Now we have a family whom G-D in His Wisdom has led here, with whom we can share G-D's Love and Providence."

One of the men growled through his beard, "Remember, Rabbi, you are an employee of this synagogue's counsel. If you push this upon the community, you will find yourself out of a job before the end of December!"

The Rabbi sat back, then resolve filled her heart and soul. "If that is what this synagogue community wants, then I will accept what G-D has in mind for my life." She gestured toward the propane tank visible through her window. "Do you see that tank?"

Those gathered were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. One of them inquired, "What about the tank?"

The Rabbi smiled a knowing smile. "We only had enough propane for one day."

She fell silent to let the meaning of the words sink in. That fuel had lasted for over six full days and still continued.

One of the women began to cry. One of the men hit his knees and began to pray. The others wordlessly shuffled out of the Rabbi's office and began to spread the news.

The Rabbi went outside to greet the newcomers personally, welcoming them to their little hilltop shul.

On Wednesday, Penn-DOT finally cleared one of the roads into town. The Administrator put in the call to the propane supplier; they would be there the next day.

As the final candle was lit on the Menorah that night, the generator outside sputtered and died. Those gathered in the synagogue blinked in the darkened room. Only the menorah provided light for the room, and those gathered gazed upon it in silence and wonder.

Then the lights came back on. Not from the generator; the main trunk lines into town had been restored, and the small town of New Hope, PA was back on the main grid.

The Rabbi walked toward the light switch as tears streamed down her cheeks. She snapped off the electric lights and in the soft glow of the lit Menorah, she began the ritual prayers.

Let We Forget...

This weekend, America celebrates Memorial Day.

While there is ever-increasing focus on the military, I'd like to take a moment to also note - and thank - others who give life and limb in a different line of service.

Firefighters

Both paid and volunteer firefighters are the primary responders to fires, accidents and many other calls, ranging from routine to bizarre.

They put their life on the line many times, from entering blazing buildings and forest fires, to working at roadway accidents on rainy nights, to entering icy waters.

In addition to helping fellow man, they are also called to rescue animals from family pets, to farm livestock, to a wide variety of wildlife.

Some leave loved ones in the middle of dinner or the dead of night to answer the call, and never come home again...

Police

Police officers and auxiliary volunteers, put themselves at risk, from high-speed chases and gunfire, to domestic fights and bomb responses, from mass evacuations to search and rescue.

Many officers are killed in line of action; some even when they simply walk to help a disabled motorist and are struck by a distracted driver.

EMT and Paramedics

These ambulance crews are mostly volunteers across this country, yet they put themselves at risk on a regular basis.

They race through traffic, where impatient drivers may ignore the siren and jump out into their way; they work roadside at accidents with cars whizzing past.

Many don't realize that these dedicated men and women also go into very dangerous situations, such as over the side of a cliff or into dangerous neighborhoods to help the fallen or sick.

I didn't realize the extent of danger until a New York City Paramedic friend walked up in bullet-proof vest. She told us that on many calls where someone was shot, the bullets are still flying when they arrive...

Rescue Workers and
First Responders

This includes those who go into dangerous situations immediately following a tornado, flood, hurricane, tsunami, earthquake or similar.

They brave churning waters, collapsing debris, open gas lines, and/or flames to help complete strangers. 

In times of emergency, often these people are NOT the trained emergency responders, but simply caring hearts who first arrive on the scene and realize that someone needs help! 

And the most important...

The Peacemakers and
Human Rights Activists 

These bold hearts who stand up for others, often those who cannot do so themselves. Some face ostracization, job loss and prison; some pay the full price with their lives.

Over these recent years, there are many reports from around the world where people die protesting against unfair or inhumane leaders and/or laws. 

 We in United States should not forget our own similarly fallen. Our largest generation, the Baby Boomers, lived through a time when many people ~ men and women, black and white ~ were injured and died simply because they stated in words and non-aggressive actions that treating another human being differently is WRONG. 

Some, likewise, died on American soil while protesting for Peace during a time of war. 

On this Memorial Day Weekend, in addition to fallen military, may we remember those who have NEVER raised a hand to harm another, but lost life or limb in helping others and in making this a better world. 

Not just those in the United States, but all those around the world...

In Memoriam

~ESA

Awaiting His Return (A Passover/Easter Story)

Amit was jostled by the crowds near the city gate. Short for her nine years of age, she couldn’t see what the commotion was about, but her young ears caught the exclamation, “He’s returned! Rabbi Yeshua (Jesus) returned to Jerusalem!” 

Her heart leapt in joy. He came back! She vividly recalled the last time she saw him: the gentle voice and smile that lit his eyes as he told the children stories. 

Squirming her way through the myriad thicket of legs, she dodged her way through the crowd, toward home. Dashing headlong across the small courtyard, she threw all her weight against the heavy wooden door to open it, stumbling into the cool dark interior. 

Rushing to the hearth where two small bread loaves cooled from the morning’s baking, she carefully wrapped the better of the pair in a clean cloth. Cradling the still-warm loaf, she stepped out of the two-room home into the bright desert sunlight, pulling the door closed behind her. 

She ran through Jerusalem’s narrow streets back to the gate, but the crowd was gone, leaving only dust motes sparkling in the sunlight. With a rising panic, she glanced around and discovered a path of palm branches strewn in the street, clearly indicating the procession’s direction. 

Green branches crunched under her worn leather sandals as she panted up that street. The scent of newly cut palms rose from the dust, mingling with the scents of humanity and animals common to the city of her birth. 

When she finally caught up with them, Yeshua was dismounting the young donkey he rode into the city, and a great crowd of followers and curious onlookers gathered. 

Using her small stature to advantage, she clutched the loaf close to her heart and ducked between the people, pushing her way to the front where he stood. 

When one of his followers stopped her, Yeshua spied her and said she could come forward. 

With reverence and the unconscious grace only the young can exhibit, she approached smiling and held out her gift. “Here, Rabbi, it’s the first I’ve ever made!” 

The cloth was now dusty from its journey, but warm to his fingertips as he accepted it; the aroma of fresh baked bread drifted out from the folds to greet his nose. He smiled kindly with twinkling eyes and lowered himself on one knee, meeting her gaze levelly. “Thank you, Amit.” 

“I’m glad you came back, Rabbi Yeshua. I knew you would return to Jerusalem.” 

His smile broadened and he placed his hand lovingly on her slim shoulder. “I tell you this, child. I will always return to those who believe.” 

She grinned back and replied, “Thank you, Rabbi.” She bestowed a kiss on his bearded cheek and then simply turned and pushed her way back through the crowd towards her awaiting chores. 

+ + + 

The following days passed in bliss; she rushed through chores as her father attended Rabbi Yeshua’s teachings. Then she gathered with the other children to hear wondrous stories. At night, her family listened as their father recounted the Rabbi’s message. 

Four days after the memorable entrance, she helped her mother clean and prepare their home for the Pesach. She loved this holiday and even helped bake the matzo and set the Seder Plate for that first night. Her father read from the Haggadah and asked the youngest child the traditional questions, starting with “Why is this night different?” 

The family prayed together and sang the familiar songs, eating with the dishes reserved for this special holiday. All the while, Amit wondered where Yeshua celebrated the Seder that night, and how long he would be in Jerusalem. 

The next day arrived with a tumult in the streets. Her father departed early and returned quickly, demanding that she stay home with her siblings. “Do not even venture beyond our gate, Amit,” he admonished, knowing her tendency to be headstrong. 

“Honor your father’s wishes, Amit,” her mother added as she draped her head-covering over her head and shoulders, following her husband down the street. 

With her mother gone, Amit drew the water, tended the fire, baked the matzo, ground the grain into flour, and other household tasks she could do. 

Her curiosity grew as the hours passed. At one point, she heard a great crowd moving through the city. Laboring to get the ladder against their home, she clambered onto the rooftop. But the crowd was too distant to see anything of interest as it traveled down the hill and out the gate. The girl sighed disappointed and returned to her chores. 

Three hours later, she shivered and looked up from the small grinder. The sky had grown ominously dark; sunset was three hours away. Fearing a storm, she told her siblings to shutter the windows. She also prayed to God that if the storm was bad, her parents would find shelter; they were away a long time. 

Gathering bowls with wheat kernels and flour, she started across the courtyard. But before she reached the doorway, the ground violently shook, throwing her to her knees; bowls and contents clattered to the ground, spilling her day’s work. 

Heedless of the loss, she shouted to her siblings above the unknown roar and frightening shifting and explosions of stone and mortar from the surrounding buildings as though she suddenly found herself beneath a giant’s grinding stone. Hearing dismayed cries; she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over heaving ground to the door-frame, bracing herself there. 

Her two siblings inside clung to each other, crying with wide, terrified eyes. Maintaining her grip on the doorpost just below the Mezuzah, Amit threw an outstretched hand toward them and grabbed a sleeve, yanking the pair through the door with a strength she did not know she possessed. 

As the three tumbled to the ground, the earthquake ended as abruptly as it started. An eerie silence surrounded them; their coughing exceedingly loud in the air thick with dust under a dark, ominous sky. As the event began to register in her nine-year-old mind, she clung to her siblings and wept with them. 

Not long after, their parents scrambled up the rubble-strewn street, entering their courtyard. Relieved to find their children alive and their home relatively intact, both parents clutched their offspring to their breasts and thanked God. 

After a while, Amit found her voice and asked, “What happened, Abba?” 

Her father gently grasped both her hands, meeting her curious gaze. “Today they crucified Rabbi Yeshua.” 

She stood there, shaking her head wordlessly; silent tears streamed down her dusty cheeks. She mouthed the words “No” and “Why” but no sound escaped past the lump in her throat. 

He embraced her, stroking her hair as the words sank in. 

After a few moments, she snuffled and pulled her head back, asking, “But Rabbi Yeshua will return, won’t he?” 

He gently shook his head, tears welling in his own eyes. “He’s gone, child. He died today.” 

“But… But he said he’ll always return to those who believe…. He said so….” The last words were a whisper fading into the dusty silence. 

He tried to draw his distraught daughter back into his embrace, but she pulled away. 

With all the determination she could muster, she marched to the side of their home and uprighted the fallen ladder, climbing back onto the rooftop. 

Shaking his head, he mounted the ladder and poked his head above the roofline.

The child stared toward the city gate through which Yeshua was escorted to Golgotha. Evening fell early under the dark sky, but there was an inner light shining in his young daughter’s eyes. 

He gently asked, “What are you looking for, Amit?” 

“I’m watching for Rabbi Yeshua’s return, Abba.” she quietly replied. 

Tears rolled over his cheeks into his beard as he climbed onto the rooftop, standing beside her. Wordlessly, he placed his hand on her slim shoulder, watching with her as the environs slowly grew darker. Sunset approached; it was time for his wife to light the candles and for them to recite the Kiddush. He helped his daughter down from the roof and inside. 

+ + + 

All through the Shabbat, Amit was quieter than usual, much quieter. She was deep in thought with a determined look that never left her features. 

When the first three stars appeared that evening, she approached her father, “Rabbi Yeshua has been gone for over a day now,” she started matter-of-factly. “He’ll be hungry. Let’s prepare some food we can leave out for him to eat when he returns.” 

Her mother was about to countermand her wishes, but her father solemnly nodded his assent. She practically skipped to the chicken coup in the courtyard, gathering the eggs to boil. As the hearth fire cooked the eggs and slowly heated the baking stones, she helped her mother prepare the matzo and the evening’s meal.
A few hours later, Amit wrapped a warm shawl around her head and shoulders and gathered the basket containing a skin of wine, the hard-boiled eggs and freshly-baked matzo. Her father held a lit lamp aloft, illuminating the dark road before them. 

While she had been out after dark before, for some unknown reason this night felt different, and her skin pimpled with a chill as the words of the first Pesach question echoed through her mind, Why is this night different?  

The familiar streets and known lamps in their stands, as well as the flickering light in the unshuttered windows and open doorways did not appear changed, but it felt as though she was seeing it all for the first time. 

He escorted her down several streets; the aromas of the evening meals and fresh-baked matzo filled the early night air, mingling with the scents of wood smoke and heated lamp oil. 

Those scents faded as they exited through the city gates lit by smoking torches and made their way into a nearby garden. 

There he paused and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Child, I’m taking you to the place where they laid the body of Rabbi Yeshua after he died on the cross.” 

She nodded gravely; her determination only growing stronger. 

So he gestured with the lamp which path they should take. 

In a quiet part of the garden, there was a freshly-hewn tomb with a large stone rolled before the entrance, sealing it shut. Two bored guards entertained themselves with a dice game under the light of fluttering torches on poles to one side. 

Her father gestured for silence and took the basket from her, passing her the lamp while indicating that she should hide its flame. Hugging the ground, he slowly and carefully made his way along the rocky outcropping opposite where the guards sat. 

Still several feet from the tomb, he gently placed the basket in a nearby bush and quietly retreated to his daughter’s side. Firmly grasping her hand, he led her quickly away from the guards. 

When they were a safe distance, she returned the lamp and whispered, “Did you leave the basket where Rabbi Yeshua would find it, Abba?” 

He smiled and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Child, if God in his wisdom led a serving woman to find the infant Moses in his basket among the river reeds, I’m certain God can help Rabbi Yeshua find that basket we left for him.” 

She studied his face in the lamplight as they walked quickly. “You believe Rabbi Yeshua will return too, Abba.” It was not a question. 

He paused and lowered himself to one knee, meeting her gaze levelly. “Amit, my daughter, I have heard of the many wonders Rabbi Yeshua has done. I believe he was, indeed, sent by God to our people. If he told you he’d return, perhaps… just perhaps he will. We shall see.” 

He stood upright, affectionately squeezed her hand in his and together they headed home in mutual peace and understanding through the night air filled with Pesach songs. 

+ + + 

In the darkness before the dawn, someone gently touched Amit’s cheek, awakening her from a deep sleep. A soft voice whispered in her ear, “Be quiet, child, and come outside.” 

Careful not to disturb her siblings sleeping in the same bed beside her, she slipped out from under the warm covers and shivered in the chill desert night air. Barefooted, she left the sleeping room and padded across the main room past the banked hearth fire and out the open door. 

Under a moon only days past its full face, Yeshua stood smiling at her as he stood there in brilliantly white robes. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and drew her unkempt hair away from her face. “Rabbi? Is that you?” she whispered. 

His teeth showed clearly in his beard as he grinned broadly. “It is I, Amit,” he whispered back. He held out the empty basket. “Thank you for your gift.” 

She accepted the basket and was about to reach up to bestow a kiss upon his cheek, but he stepped back. “Touch me not, child, for I have yet to go to my Father.” 

She pouted. “You are leaving Jerusalem again?” 

“For a time, but I will Return to those who believe. I will always return.” With another smile and a friendly wave, he passed through the courtyard gate. 

Racing to the gateway, she looked up and down their street, but he was nowhere in sight. Closing the gate, she clutched the basket to her heart and told herself, “He’ll return someday, and I’ll be waiting.”

Brony Jesus

This post is primarily a response to a tweet someone sent my way today. I posted this picture with a prayer for healing and family support. The response was, "Is it appropriate to have MLP with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ? No." 

I believe the person tweeted this without truly seeing the bigger picture. So I wanted to take the opportunity to explain.

The prayer that was connected with my tweet is for an 11-year-old boy who was bullied badly at school because he liked to watch My Little Pony. The bullies drove Michael to such a point of desperation that he attempted to take his own life.

For the past month, his parents have been desperately praying at his bedside in the hospital while Michael remains in a coma. In the last few days, a glimmer of a miracle unfolds as Michael started breathing on his own again.

Yeshua / Jesus the Christ is our Lord AND our Healer. To picture this child in the arms of our Beloved Savior and ask for his healing is the most respectful and loving thing my heart and soul pictures.

Anthropomorphics have been used throughout time to illustrate humanity beyond the color of our skin or our genetic background; whether it is a meek lamb in Christ's arms or a blue pony. By going beyond one physical human depiction, the image embraces ALL of humanity, including a small boy who struggles for life inside a North Carolina hospital.

I had offered the image to that child's family, so it may uplift them and give them hope when this is what they had to see day after day as they desperately prayed at their son's bedside...

It was bullies that refused to accept the fact that a small boy likes to watch a TV show "targeted to girls." Even though the parents have done as Christ teaches and forgave the bullies from the start, they themselves continue to see abuse and bullying. 

It may be a bully that insists that the above image of Christ is sacrilegious and disrespectful. I trust, however, that the person did not see the larger picture.

I believe that Yeshua / Jesus the Christ loves EVERYONE - no matter where we are, no matter who we are, no matter what we look like.

I pray others come to see that as well.

~ ESA

Valentine Card

On February 10, 2009, I received a package in the mail addressed to me at my work office. I opened it with the rest of the mail and pulled out the card pictured here. As you can see, it was unsigned.

The outside reads "You hold a special place in God's heart and a special purpose in this world..." The inside reads "...and that makes you irreplaceable."

I nabbed my webcam and took pictures of the outside and inside of the card to send to a friend with whom I was chatting when I received the card. The response to my comment that it wasn't signed was simply, "Does it really need a signature?"

Some of my readers may suspect this friend had sent the card to me. No. This person did not know my work address.

In addition, I will admit, that there were other cards in the package. It was part of a card solicitation. Yet...

That was the first card out of the package, and it had remarkably touched my heart in a way I cannot put into words. To this day, it is still within the pages of my journal. These were words I really needed to hear at that moment. I never received any additional solicitations nor contacts from this card company (and I get a LOT of repeat ones from other card companies).

It also touched me that it arrived right before Valentine's Day. The other cards were a birthday, anniversary, get-well, and bereavement card. By simple coincidence, I pulled this card out first from somewhere in the middle of the envelope's contents.

Or was it coincidence?

I know God works within my life. When something strikes me as "Wow! God just sent me a message, or touched my life somehow," I don't question it. I smile and thank God for the blessing, the reminder, the help.

None of us are alone; God Loves us, is with us and cares for us - each and every one of us the same.

There is no "To" name as well on the card. I think this is perfect, just as it may have been intended. This card is for each and every one of us. We are ALL Special to God. We ALL have a special purpose in this world. We are ALL irreplaceable.

God Loves us ALL.

God Loves YOU!

Happy Valentine's Day!

~ESA

Share the Love

Valentine's Day has very much become a couple's or lover's holiday. Sadly, there are far many more hearts in this world that contain a great wealth of love, but are not part of a romantic couple.

Where I work, there are those who have very caring hearts, but not one has a special someone to share today's heartfelt holiday. Those that have kids, have children that are adults and long since moved out with sweethearts of their own.

These are only a handful of many, many more people who have been deluged with advertisements, mentions, and decorations for a holiday that they feel - quite frankly - left out. No one deserves to be left behind.

We should celebrate the Love in everyone's heart. I ask my readers to join me in some Valentine's Day mischief. 

We can leave a flower, some sweets, or even just a note with kind words. Even the simple words, "You are loved" can touch a heart like nothing else on a day like this holiday.

Like the card mentioned in my next blogpost, it can be unsigned. God loves them; sometimes they need to hear that they are loved. Nothing more needs to be said. :)

Please bring a bit of light into another's life today. Valentine's Day is a celebration of Love - not only a sweetheart holiday.

We all have love inside us.
Let's celebrate it
With all! :D
~ ESA

Letter from Christ

This was passed on to me via email, and I wanted to share it with my readers as we celebrate Love this Valentine's Day week. :D
~ESA
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Dear Humanity, 

I miss you; I want you near me once again. 

Your LORD isn't one that enjoys punishing the wicked; your LORD doesn't like to hold his hand back and see you weep.

Your LORD wants to watch over you as a young mother bird would watch over her baby birds; I want to be called your Salvation, your Deliverer.

I want your eyes to look Heavenward and jump for joy when you hear the trumpets sound. I want you to be sure in where you stand -- not guessing.

I don't care how many tears I shed; if they end yours then I'll cry a thousand times. I've looked over your bad times and good. I've cried with you; I've even laughed by your side.

Time is running short, and I want you near me once again. I take no pleasure in punishing and leaving you behind; nor do I enjoy knowing you're in pain and I can stop it.

I've fought for you and defended you many times; when I died naked on the cross it was because I love you. 

I still love you, you are GOD'S Creation; His Spirit is within you.

Don't tremble when I draw near; instead open wide. Let me hold you and embrace you in my arms. 

I love you.

~Yeshua (a.k.a. Jesus)