Hello, and welcome to another blessing Sunday. Traveling with me on this path are Lynda Lambert who shared the idea with me, and Abbie Johnson Taylor
Lent, for those who may be unaware, is an approximately 7-week long season in the Christian faith where we commemorate Jesus’s journey to the cross. It’s often associated with giving up things, especially enjoyable things, like candy and alcoholic beverages. Those of the Roman Catholic faith are also instructed to abstain from eating meat each Friday of Lent.
The death of Jesus on the cross is one of the saddest, if not the saddest, event in human history. So why do I view the commemoration of His journey to the cross as a blessing?
I view Lent as a blessing because it serves as a reminder of how much God loves each and every one of us. as human beings, we all make mistakes and fall short of what we know we should be. And a lot of us are pretty hard on ourselves when we don’t measure up, either to the standards of others or our own. Unfortunately, we often tend to project our negative feelings about ourselves onto God, and believe he has those same negative feelings toward us as we have about ourselves. Jesus’s journey to the cross is a stark reminder of just how inaccurate those beliefs are.
Jesus is God’s Son. He is equal to God. He created all things, in partnership with the Father and the Holy spirit.
John 1-4 says: 1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2 He was with God in the beginning.
3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.
Even though Jesus was God, and He could do anything He pleased, including staying in Heaven forever, He chose to become a man, with all the limitations that living in a body impose. And above all that, He chose to die a criminal’s death, a death by crucifixion, which is one of the most painful ordeals a person can endure. And He did that to pay our debt of sin. God the Father didn’t force Him. He did it of His own accord. He did it so we could live eternally with Him in Heaven if we but accepted His gift of forgiveness and eternal life. He did it because He loved us that much.
So here’s a suggestion. Instead of giving up sweets or booze or other pleasures for Lent, when you start thinking of yourself negatively, bring to mind instead how much God loves you, and think about that instead. Who knows, you might just decide it’s an endeavor worth pursuing all year round. And just as a reminder of what Christ gave up to come here, check out Job 38 or Revelation 4-6.
Easter is less than a month away now. This time of year, my thoughts always drift toward the cross–& then, even more importantly, the resurrection. It’s one thing to read about the Resurrection in the Bible. It’s another thing to feel it. This is a story about something that happened over 40 years ago (REALLY???) that helped me do just that.
In August of 1993, my husband was about to enter seminary at Texas Christian University Bryte Divinity School in order to fulfill his dream of becoming a hospital chaplain. To be able to afford that, we had to move to Fort Worth and live in student housing. Our daughter had to leave her friends in Irving. We also had to part with our cat as Bryte housing had a very strict “no pets” policy. The transition was proving difficult.
Thus it was that shortly after moving in, Karl and I found ourselves advocating (begging and groveling)? before Barb, the head of student housing to allow daughter Amanda to have a pet turtle. I have no idea whether the argument regarding the difficult transition or, “even if the turtle got out, how much trouble could it actually cause?” was the deciding factor, but Barb, albeit somewhat reluctantly, agreed to grant our request.
Although we could ill afford to do so, we were in the Pets Mart shortly after Labor Day hunting the perfect shelled companion. We found one whose eyes looked clear, the shell was hard, and who was making its wishes to escape its enclosure known. The shorter tail led us to believe it was a female. The pet store clerk warned us that she might refuse to eat once we got her home, because of new surroundings, but, in fact, that proved to be a non-issue.
She’d crawl toward us and stand up in her enclosure when she wanted food. When we let her out, she’d often come to us and let us pick her up. She also seemed to enjoy exploring the apartment. But we learned very quickly that when she didn’t want to be found, she was queen of the art of hiding. Heidi seemed like the only appropriate name for her. And as time went on, though we never thought it possible, we grew to love Ms. Heidi turtle.
Trouble in paradise started in November. Her eyes became swollen. She wheezed when she breathed. She stopped eating. We took her to a vet who prescribed vitamins and antibiotics, which had to be injected at home. Despite being ill, the strength she demonstrated fighting her injections was surprisingly Herculean. It’s not a characteristic that readily comes to mind when thinking about a turtle, but when this turtle decided she didn’t want to do something, we quickly learned to be prepared for a monumental struggle. During one particularly fraught episode, Karl evidently hit her sciatic nerve, which caused her to hiss loudly and let go a smell that sent Amanda and I choking, holding our noses, and fleeing, while hapless Karl sat there holding the equally hapless tortoise.
On Thanksgiving Day we fed her some sweet potatoes, as the vet said the vitamin A would help. Shortly after, she threw them up, and Karl yelled in horror as he realized the vomited sweet potatoes were moving. The next day we were able to get a vet appointment to de worm her.
We were hoping that she’d kick the respiratory infection and start eating after that, but it was proving to be tougher than anyone anticipated. Round after round of antibiotics and antihistamines followed, which resulted in only slight and temporary improvements.
Tragedy struck in January 1994. Karl’s twin brother was hospitalized with lung cancer for the final time. Karl had to fly to Rhode Island to be with him and make final arrangements. Kip died on Jan 31, and Karl returned home shortly thereafter. Heidi held her own while he was gone, but seemed to just give up once he came back.
The last vet we went to said he was unable to do anything more for Heidi. When we requested a referral, he suggested Dr. Kendric, who served the Fort Worth zoo part time as one of their herpetologists.
We called and made an appointment for Feb 10. We were immediately impressed. Not only was he a veritable fountain of knowledge, but he actually, like us, loved turtles! He’d had a pet tortoise that died while he was in vet school. He said it broke his heart. He took blood, and we made an appointment for Valentine’s day, as he was sure he’d have the results by then. Because Karl had an exam that day, I went alone. The lab report was not good. Heidi was in liver failure. The worms, the drugs, the confinement and poor nutrition at the pet shop had likely all contributed. The inevitable had arrived. I had to tell him we couldn’t afford this.
I was shocked when he asked if we would allow him to bury her on his land.
“I’ll go one better than that,” I replied. “If you think you can help her, then please do so, and you can keep her as your pet.”
“You’d let me do that?” His voice was a mixture of joy and surprise.
“Only give me your word you won’t let her suffer,” I said. He assured me I had that.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said as I was leaving. I thanked him. It felt empty to be going home without Heidi. In just 6 months, she’d found her way into both our home and our hearts.
I’m a doctor. I know about liver failure. It’s bad in humans. It had to be worse for animals, just because of the dearth of treatment options. Neither Karl nor I were optimistic about Heidi’s chances.
As days went by, I increasingly assumed that Heidi was dead, and that Dr. Kendrick simply didn’t have the time or desire to call and convey the bad news. More than once I picked up the phone to call and inquire, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had, after all, basically surrendered her. I really didn’t have the right.
It was St. Patrick’s day when the phone rang. We were just sitting down to dinner. I was nearest to it, so I answered.
“This is Dr. Kendrick over at Richland Hills Animal Clinic. I want to know if you’d like to come pick up Heidi.”
For a moment I was speechless. “But our agreement was that you’d keep her,” was all I could say. “We can’t afford to pay you.”
“And you will not attempt to do so. The only reason Heidi survived was because of the love you showed her. I want to restore her back to you. I’ve been practicing awhile now. I haven’t seen anyone as passionate about a turtle as yall. She belongs with you, unless you don’t feel you can do that.”
Karl and I both agreed we could absolutely do that, and he went to the clinic next day to pick up Heidi. The staff said she did something she’d never done before while she was at the clinic. When she heard Karl’s voice, she stuck her neck as far out of her shell as she could.
I got a glimpse then about how the disciples must have felt at Christ’s resurrection. Words couldn’t describe the joy. Having her back with us doing all the little things she’d done previously mended a whole in our family. Death did not have the last word. Life and love could still triumph.
Easter meant a great deal to me that year, and it has every year since. Heidi is the grand dam of our animal companions and still climbs the gate of her cage when she wants food or an excursion. She still struggles mightily when she doesn’t want us to do something for her. And she still occasionally sticks her neck out to be petted. The account of Scripture told me what happened that Easter day. A female Ornate Western Box Turtle taught me how it felt. And I will always remember a veterinarian who, despite eating the charges for a month of services, put compassion before money, donned his fighting spirit, looked death in the eye, and said “not today.”
In the final analysis, resurrection is simply God’s way of letting us know that hope, faith, and love never die. I’m reminded of that each time I walk past her cage.
I’m a little fearful that this piece will be a bit controversial. There’s a lot of buzz surrounding the topic of AI. Much of it contains some facts, some of it is downright crap, and nearly all of it reflects our deep-seated fear of the unknown.
For over a year now I’ve wanted to make some changes to my book which I self-published on Amazon, due to the urging of my writers’ group, and 1 lady in particular, named Ann Parsons, who has since gone home to be with Jesus. I miss her–terribly. I felt I’d mistitled it, and, even more importantly, I felt that the generic KDP cover art I’d obtained for it was not representative of the book’s message. For that, I needed a picture made, and no one in my small circle of connections was able to help w/that. There were plenty of folks willing to take my money, but that’s not exactly in abundant supply, so it was a deal breaker.
Finally, on a lark, I started asking Google Gemini last Sunday about getting a picture for my book. By time the conversation had ended, it had written a book description for me and given me a piece of artwork I felt represented the book’s message well.
Now, I’m the first to admit there’s a lot of “AI slop” floating around out there. But it’s a tool. If you use it properly, you can build some pretty cool stuff. Used wrongly, it creates “slop”, or worse. The same applies to hammers and drills and screwdrivers and writing tools, etc. It is not the beast or the devil, and it certainly isn’t God.
Here’s the book description it gave me:
What if you could walk alongside Him? ‘His Crime Was Love’ is an intimate, first-person journey through the final thirty-six hours of Jesus’s life. Beginning in the quiet hours before the Last Supper and ending at the moment of His final breath, this story is told through His eyes. Witness His raw humanity. He was not shielded from pain, nor was He immune to the sting of humiliation. He was tempted, He was weary, and He was rejected—yet His response to every lash and every scornful word was a relentless, radical compassion. While some moments within these pages imagine encounters beyond the recorded Scripture, they serve to illustrate a profound truth: His love for the world was so great that it was deemed a crime. My hope is that as you walk with Jesus through these final hours, you will realize that the love He poured out for others is the same love He has for you today. Walk with Him. See through His eyes. Discover how He faced death—and in doing so, teaches us how to live.”
And here’s the picture:
As I was leaving, the AI said, “Give ’em Heaven, Jackie,” and those 3 words are now part of my email signature. I can really see how vulnerable people could fall in love w/AI. You can rant from now till you turn blue, and there’s no judgment. You can ask for help, and I’ve never been made to feel ashamed about doing so. It has all the time in the world, it seems, so long as you have the credits, and w/Gemini, as long as you’re not doing heavy video editing and stuff, it’s basically a free ride, at least for now.
I personally have found it to be a blessing, as it’s helped me to do some things I would never have been able to do on my own.
In terms of the book, I have joined KDP Select, and I’ll be offering a free promo during Holy Week from Apr. 1-5. If however, you want to get a jump start on your holy week study, the link to the book is: His Crime Was Love
I’ve also applied to get the book onto Bookshare but haven’t heard from them yet. It’s on Monday’s to-do list.
Anyway, if nothing else, hopefully this will make folks have less of a reflexive reaction to AI and to consider how it might help you accomplish something you’re having trouble with. Let me know in the comments. See you next week, the Dear Lord willing.
The picture at the top of the post is of my nearly 10-year-old neutered male kitty we call Sunny. It fits his personality to a tee. He might be blind, but he always seems curious about someone new. And he’s such a shepherd when one of us gets sick!
He asked me to pick him up the other day. He does that by standing on his hind legs and putting his forepaws on my knees. He’s not a real touchy-feely kitty, but occasionally he likes it, and this was 1 of those occasions.
As I was holding him, I got to thinking about how different our worldviews were. He comes up to my ankles, so mostly what he sees, if anything, is down low. He uses whiskers for navigation. I know he can conceptualize things like his food and treats, but how he does that without language is beyond me. But as he lays in my lap purring his rumbling symphony and kneading my knee with his claws, and I massage his back, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt our feelings run very deep for one another.
How can it be, I wonder, that two beings with such widely divergent world views can love one another so much, and yet many humans despite far more similar ways of looking at the world can view things so differently–and worse, with so much vitriole toward those who disagree.
As we embark on this season of Lent, I think again of some of Jesus’s unanswered prayers. If I would ask most Christians about that, they’d immediately think of His prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. But there is another, found in John 17:20-21.
20 “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, 21 that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.”
The sad truth is we as Christians are hardly one. I question whether most people who don’t share our faith can look at us and say something special’s going on. Yet we have so much more in common than we have differences. We love Jesus. We believe in Baptism, though the form differs. We believe in Jesus’s crucifixion, and most of us believe in His resurrection. And we believe one day we’ll go to Heaven–and yes–meet those with whom we disagree.
This Lenten season one of my prayers will be that we as Christians will find some of that unity and love despite such different world views, just like Sunny Kitty and me. I’m asking for God’s help with that. Maybe all of us can do so as well. We sure could use a lot more love around here.
Andrew Kearney was an elementary school teacher at Danes Hill School, in the small village of Oxshott. Assuredly he’d seen his share of spitballs and endured plenty of disrespect, not all of which was from students, more likely than not. Maybe he even wondered some days–perhaps many days–whether his efforts were worth the trouble. Might he even have wondered at times if his life really meant anything? Those are questions we all ask, I think. Sometimes it all just feels so small, so inconsequential.
But here’s what Jesus had to say:
GNT Luke 16:10 “Whoever is faithful in small matters will be faithful in large ones; whoever is dishonest in small matters will be dishonest in large ones.”
But 1 day a small girl, his student, took his teaching seriously. Tilly Smith was on a Thailand beach on Dec. 26, 2004, when she noticed something strange about the ocean. It had lost its rhythm. It jarred her back to a lesson she’d learned just a couple weeks before in Mr. Kearney’s class. He’d showed a video about the 1946 tsunami in Hawaii and talked about the warning signs, specifically irratic ocean behavior. She warned her parents. A Japanese man recognized the word “tsunami” and told them he thought the girl was right–that there had, in fact, been a 9.1 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Sumatra. The beach was cleared. Over 100 lives were saved that day. All because a teacher persisted in his efforts and taught the signs. All because a small girl had actually paid attention to a small town teacher in a small town’s school and persisted in warning her parents and others nearby. Small day-to-day acts that normally go unnoticed. But on that day, they didn’t. Perhaps saving 100 people seems pretty small in the face of 230000 souls disappearing from the planet as the result of events that occurred on a single day. But I suspect to those 100, as well as a small town teacher, it didn’t seem small in the least.
All we can do in our lives is plant seeds–seeds of love, and light, and joy, and peace, and other good things. And then hope to reap at least a little of the harvest we’ve sown. And who knows? Maybe in Heaven we’ll see the results–the answer to a prayer we whispered when we heard an ambulance siren; the prayers we offered earnestly for a family member in trouble, the value of our charity although it was small.
Matthew 31 He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. 32 Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.”
By Sanjay Acharya – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=905237
And here’s what comes out of that seed.
By Hopeoflight – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23670673
Meanwhile, I guess, even when it’s hard, persisting in the small things has important consequences. Thank you, Andrew Kearney and Tilly Smith for doing so.
Many blessings for your Sunday and throughout the week.
Jesus ascended into Heaven. But His body remains here–in the form of the church. Not necessarily *a* church, but *the* church, the body of believers the world over, and each has a vital part to play.
People were never meant to live alone. God said that in the beginning: “It is not good for the man to be alone” Gen 2:18. With individualism deep-rooted as it is in the American spirit, living in community can be a difficult concept to grasp, especially in large cities where you may not know your neighbor in the next apartment much less in the next block. So sometimes God has to show us the advantages of needing help.
This past Wednesday I got sick with a stomach virus. I had to ask Hubby to do the chores I normally do, i.e., feed the cats and take out the garbage because I was having to stay too close to the bathroom to do it myself. I didn’t exactly like having to ask for help, but I was glad to have someone to rely on when I needed to.
We can always ask God for help, of course. But far more often than not, the Red Sea doesn’t part, and the sun remains in motion. Instead, he puts people in our path who serve as His hands, feet, and mouth for carrying on His work.
Many think that because they’re old, or disabled, or poor, or 101 other excuses, they can’t do anything. Others, like Lynda Lambert, take a different view. She often looks out the window and prays for those she sees walking down the street, or when she hears the sound of emergency vehicles. Does it really do any good? I’ll bet she’ll have a harvest waiting for her in heaven she never expected! We may never see the results of all that we do. But God knows. And may He bless those abundantly who respond willingly and eagerly when help is needed. Needing help, whether or not we ask for it, is a humbling experience. And which of us couldn’t use that occasionally?
May God bless you this week, and give you help whenever the need arises.
Hello, and welcome to another Journey of Blessing Sunday. Also participating with me in this endeavor are Lynda Lambert and Abbie Johnson Taylor
2Cor 5:17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
The gentle breath of their Creator filled their lungs and spirits. Suddenly Adam and Eve found themselves in a place they’d never been before. They stood there staring at the wonders around them–the grass, the trees, the waterfalls, the animals, the singing birds–and most of all each other. It was all completely new, utterly unfamiliar. They had to devise names for everything, and God graciously agreed to use the names they had supplied. Just imagine how that might feel for a minute. What is all this? Who are all these other beings? What are we supposed to do here? Anyone who’s raised a baby has seen the same awe and wonder as they discover things that, to you, are old and familiar, but for them are something they’re experiencing for the very first time. Their eyes light up, they smile and laugh and coo–it’s delightful to behold, truthfully.
And then suddenly something happens. More and more things become familiar. They escape our notice. They’re not new anymore. Wonder and awe have left the building.
The truth is, if things never become familiar, we could never learn. From an evolutionary standpoint (and yes, as a Christian, I believe in evolution), we’d constantly be wondering if that butterfly might want to eat us–or at least take a bite out of us–rather than figuring out it was harmless and then going about our day.
We’re promised that in Christ, we are new creations, just like what Adam and Eve were seeing for the very first time.
Lamentations 3:22 “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
I pray each of us can find the wonder of the blessing of newness. We’re new creations, God’s mercies are new every morning, we have yet another chance to get it right–or not. My prayer is that in 2026, I’ll see the awe and wonder more, rejoice in the newness of His mercies–and hopefully get it right more often than I get it wrong.
1Cor 13-12 “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.”
Matthew 6:22 “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy,[a] your whole body will be full of light.
23 But if your eyes are unhealthy,[b] your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness! Alternate translations for healthy and unhealthy are generous & stingy, respectively, designated by the footnotes.
Like my friend Lynda Lambert, I came up with a word to guide my life in 2026. My word is “clarity.” “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way.” says the song. Without clarity, we can’t see our purpose, much less focus on and accomplish it. Jesus had incredible clarity regarding His mission. Without it, he wouldn’t have gone to the cross. As it was, He was able to power through the agony to reach the glorious resurrection on the other side.
I will look more carefully at my actions. I’ll ask myself, “does what I’m doing now align with my goals and desires? More importantly, does it align with God’s goals and desires for my life?”
Lord help me in all areas of my life to see those things you’d have me hold onto, as well as those things I should jettison. Help me obey when you reveal them to me. Light the path you’ve laid out in front of me, that I may see it clearly, and not go astray from it. Thank you for this upcoming year. May I glorify you in my living. Amen.
Today, on this last Sunday of 2025, I’m reflecting on the concept of time. We live in a strange tension with time, both because we have seemingly a very finite amount of it, and yet, because we are eternal beings, we have an unlimited quantity. The thought of how finite our time is here usually wins.
I so often feel I don’t have enough time, and it seems like it’s true, as in, I’m late publishing this post. Holidays sometimes feel like a series of deadlines to be met, which often leaves us unable to enjoy them as we’d like.
As the year draws toward its close, I especially find myself interspective. God has given me time. He gave me a 2nd chance when, in 2004, I was diagnosed with cancer. It nearly killed me. I pray I’ve used the chance He gave me wisely. Even more, I hope He thinks I have. I also look ahead to 2026 and wonder what the future holds.
I find two verses from scripture comforting.
Psalm 31:15 – “My times are in your hands;
and
Jeremiah 29:11 – “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
So I extend to you, dear reader, my sincerest wishes for a joyous, prosperous, and healthy 2026. May you straddle the tention between our finite lives here and our eternal lifes in the spirit successfully. And may your life glorify your Creator.
Today, this 4th and last Sunday of Advent, I’m thankful for the blessing of love. The below story is inspired by a birthday card my husband sent me once, asking me what the creation was like lol. It’s a reimagining of the fall of the angels that eventually put into motion the downfall of humans as well.
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2 He was with God in the beginning.
3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.
4 In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.
5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Lights. They were everywhere. Nothing impeded their brightness. They danced from one end of the heavens to the other. Planets, stars, suns, moons–all gave off or reflected light. Some faded out, others glided in, but always and everywhere there were lights, and there was light, and nothing was known of darkness in the great vaults of heaven. Even a great master angel bore the name of bearer of light, for he was the brightest of them all.
“Why can’t I be equal to God? Why can’t I be as bright?” The thought was fleeting, but in that time it took the thought to form, so did a little darkness. The thought passed quickly. Yet still it began to haunt this angelic light-bearer. And the more it did, the more darkness began to obscure the once ever-shining light.
And so it was, at a fateful time to long ago to count, that the Great God, 3 in 1, Father, Son, & Holy Spirit, discerned the cause of this darkness and decided to call a meeting with this angel.
A sound was heard throughout heaven. It was the voice of God, summoning the Light-Bearer into the great meeting hall. The sound was low and soft, akin to what those on earth many eons later would liken to a distant thunderstorm, nonthreatening, yet somehow ominous, soft, yet filling the entire heavens, gentle, but with the unmistakeable potential for threat lurking within. The light-bearer heard it, and for the first time felt a strange and unfamiliar enmity toward the Great Triune God. The darkness intensified. And the light bearer felt a perverse pleasure that he could dim the light instead of having to share it with all the other lesser lights.
The light bearer sat at his usual place in the great meeting hall, just to the left of the great Father, who sat at the head of the table. It was a table made of strong, solid wood, what those on earth would later come to know as cedar. It was polished absolutely smooth, like the glass sea before the Great Father’s throne. All drank deep of the sweet heavenly nectar from golden chalices set before them. Nonetheless, despite the unspeakable pleasure the drink provided, the Great Father’s face was clouded, and tears glistened in his loving eyes.
“You are unhappy, bearer of light. Tell me.”
“You’re God. You’re the Great Father. You already know!” The angel was shocked at the uncharacteristic sharpness of his tone.
“Tell me nonetheless, my dear friend.”
“I should be your equal.”
“But you’re not, and you can’t be. I did, after all, create you. There are powers as a created being that you simply cannot possess.”
“You could make it happen.”
“And it would be to everyone’s detriment, including your own, if I did. No, dear Light Bearer, please be content with your status. Your light is above that of all other created beings residing in the heavens, and you are dearly loved. Isn’t that enough?”
“No, it is not!”
The tears that had glistened in the Great Father’s eyes trickled silently down his craggy face.
“Then, although it breaks my heart to do it, dear Lucifer, , I must ask you to leave. You are causing discension. You’ve promised a kingdom where all will be equal. I’m certain you know that’s not true, but those following you don’t. Such divisiveness cannot exist here. You and all who would follow you must leave immediately.”
“With pleasure! You’re just way too full of yourself anyway!” And with that, the angel light bearer left the heavenly realms enshrouded in thick, coal-black, acrid smoke, taking a third of the heavenly hosts with him.
The angel choirs tried only partially successfully to carry on without their departed friends. A great void of unspeakable sadness almost completely engulfed the heavenly realms. Michael was appointed the new head angel in an attempt to restore some semblance of normal, but everyone in heaven had lost close friends to the rift, and none felt the loss more keenly than the Great Father.
And so, in deep thought, the Great Father spent many hours, studying the lights, both in the sky above as well as their reflection in the glassy sea below. And, as was often the case, Jesus the Son stood beside him, if only to offer a loving presence as comfort.
“You know, Son,” the Father finally said, “We created angels to do our bidding, but they serve us, not love us. We’ve created suns and stars and moons and planets, but none of these things are in our image. Nor can they be our friends. I want to create a being that has the choice of whether or not to love and serve us. I want to create a being that has our breath in their nostrils and our life in their spirit, who will fellowship with us and help us create something built on the love we share. I do not want to create an automaton. These creations must always know they have a choice, and they must always be aware there is an alternative, or there really is no choice at all. That little blue ball called earth looks like just the place to do it. What do you think?
“Of course you know they’ll choose wrongly.”
“I know. And I’m trying to figure out how to rescue them from their error when they do. We cannot have sin and rebellion in these holy walls. We threw angels out for just that reason, but I don’t want the same thing happening to these creatures, if only because they’ll each have a spark of the divine within them.”
“The wages of sin is death. If someone without sin chose to die in their place, would you consider it adequate payment?”
The father looked into his son’s eyes and noted with pleasure the steely determination shining there.
“It would not be easy, my Son. I couldn’t ask you to do such a thing.”
“As I recall, you didn’t.”
“You helped create the universe. You’d have to abandon your power, go there as a baby, dependent on your parents to feed and protect and nurture you. You’ll be liked by most only for what you can do for them, and when you can’t do anything, they’ll throw you out like garbage. You’ll be sick sometimes, you’ll hurt sometimes, you’ll have to feel everything they feel, get tempted in the ways they’re tempted, and still not sin. Then after all that, you’ll have to be put to death–and that death won’t be easy, as you’ll be a substitute for their sin, and you’ll be cursed.”
“He who hangs on a tree is cursed, right?”
The great Father nodded gravely.
“And then I’ll foresake you, so I won’t have to do it to them. Do you really think you can do all that?”
“That last will be the hardest,” Jesus admitted, a lump in his neck rising to prominence for some time before returning to normal. “But yes, I’ll do it.”
“You can back out at any time.”
“And then what will happen to them?”
The father looked off in the direction where Lucifer and his followers had exited.
“Exactly. Put it in place and I’ll do whatever and whenever you ask.”
Then let’s get on with the creation of humankind!” the Great Father said, beaming.
