megiddo

“That’s wrong,” Tera says, and I see indignation settling in her eyes. Her voice is quiet, but fierce. “There’s nothing joyful about that. Nothing. Why are people taking pictures?”

From our position above the ruins of Megiddo, I look down at the circle of stones—the “high place” where untold numbers of infants cried and breathed their last—and my heart agrees. This is a place of abomination.

Our guide has just described the culmination of Israel’s idolatry, carried out long ago on the platform below. Drawn into paganism, they satisfied their idols’ blood thirst by offering up their first-born children.

“They had medicinal means of abortion,” he explained. “But often, if a girl conceived before marriage, she would carry out the pregnancy instead of opting for abortion. Then she’d bring her newborn here and sacrifice it to the gods, figuring that by fulfilling her obligation with this unwanted baby, she wouldn’t have to give up one she loved later.”

I see that girl in my mind. She walks the steps quickly, aware of the weight in her arms, but already hardened to its miracle—hardened too to the sounds of his cries, and the softness of his skin, and the potential of his life. She lays her burden down, and turns her back on innocence, and retreats again to her life.

How could anyone make that decision, and take that journey?

How does anyone do it today?

“History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new” (Ecclesiastes 1:9 NLT)

Healing Hearts--for those dealing with the trauma of abortion.

full

I've been battling sickness all week, but I had just enough energy to write a new post on our women's ministry blog this morning. But that's all I've got. So here's something from a few years back. I hope you all have a wonderful Valentine's Day ...

Earlier today, I said to Dave, "Check on me tonight, will you? When you get home, say, 'How's that chapter coming? Did you get it finished?' I need the accountability."

Dave gave me that look, the expression husbands the world over don whenever they find themselves being soft-spoken into a no-win situation. I saw fear in his eyes. I tried to erase it.

"I won't get snappish or crabby or defensive when you ask. I promise."

He stood there thinking, remembering. I have a feeling I've made that promise before. I have a feeling I've broken it. Without commiting to anything, he left the house--quickly, and without looking back.

When he returned awhile ago, he didn't ask. So I offered. "You know, I'm going to need a little grace on that chapter," I began.

He scoffed. Not a bad, mean, hostile scoff. Actually, it was a tad on the timid side; just enough to hint "I told you so," but undefined enough that he might be able to pretend he was only coughing, should I call him on it.

"No--I really do have a good reason," I said.

He looked at me, waiting.

"Well, first off, I was asked to do an edit. Quick turn-around. They needed the article right away . . . as in today."

He didn't blink.

"And I spent the afternoon at the school helping with Tera's party. And after we got home, Zac needed a ride to the Y."

Nothing.

"And . . . and it took me a loooong time to form the meatloaf into a perfect heart shape."

Know what? That one worked. He loves meatloaf, and he's not averse to heart-shaped food, if that food happens to be served on, say, Valentine's Day.

I'll put in an hour or so on that chapter after I'm finished here. Honest. You can check with me later, if you feel brave.

For now, I feel like blogging. I'm just too full not to. I've had a perfect day, and it has to come out somehow. So here goes:

--I awoke to snow on my car. Not much, but enough that the air smelled winterish and wonderful.
--My husband took me to lunch; at the conclusion, I had the most perfect puff-pastry swan filled with light-as-air cream.
--Clouds rolled in.
--Clouds rolled back out.
--I heard from an old friend.
--I heard from some new friends.
--I found what I was looking for at the library.
--My meatloaf came out perfectly; the potatoes had just enough cream cheese and butter; the peas tasted like I'd just released them from their pods.
--Zac's working on his third plateful and making appreciative, gluttonous noises, Larry's laid out like a bear skin rug near the wood stove, Tera's doing homework on the hearth, and Dave's sitting next to me on the couch, not holding me accountable.
--There's just enough breeze that every so often, the wind chimes on the porch tinkle.
--I'm loved.

I hope you know you're loved, too, tonight. I hope your day was wonderful, and you spent time with someone you care about.

Happy Valentine's Day

can't hold it in

I found this video on YouTube tonight while looking for a David Crowder video. The info says this is a guy walking down the street in New York City who can't keep his praise to himself.

I don't want to be silent either.