tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28112824543761658222024-03-08T13:00:01.901-06:00Happily AfterHappily After is dedicated to anyone who thinks life is difficult, but believes there is a way to find joy through suffering. Happily After, the novel, is in the works. Till then, enjoy a collection of devotionals and random musing that tell the story of how we can be happy, even after despair.Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-31049815514530545142011-07-26T11:24:00.000-05:002011-07-26T11:24:27.755-05:00Ode to a Tree<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-size: large;">I see you out there</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Don’t think I don’t</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Standing there, arms stretched up to the sun</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Soaking in the Vitamin D</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Swaying with each movement of the breeze</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Mocking me</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Taunting me</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And I am undone by jealousy</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">I push my rolley chair back and pick up a fax</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">You sway forward as if moving with me</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">You almost touch the glass window that separates us</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Then you sway back</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And I notice how blue the sky is</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And how black my plastic desk phone is</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And I sigh</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">You sway again toward the window</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Are you inviting me out?</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Don’t you know </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">That I am as rooted to this reception area</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">As you are to the ground?</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course you know</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And you’re mocking me again</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">I put on my sweater </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Protection from the waft of artificially cool air </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Your fluttering </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Surrounded by natural air</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And I know it smells like lavender with hints of ozone</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">I should quit my job and join you outside</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">I won’t</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">You’re laughing at me again</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">But I’m laughing now too</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Because when I put on my sweater</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">I remembered</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">In a few months you will still be rooted to the ground</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">But the ground will be covered with snow</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And your arms encased in ice</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">While I will be toasty warm</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">With my toes wiggling under the space heater</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">And I won’t envy you anymore</span></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-76585222443270179422011-07-02T11:59:00.000-05:002011-07-02T11:59:38.985-05:00Devotional on Complaint<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why should a man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lamentations 3:39 NKJV</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">How would the sinner answer this question?</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because it isn’t fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God is supposed to be loving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he loved me, he wouldn’t hurt me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To punish me for sins, which he created me to want to do, and which everyone else does, isn’t fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he is really a loving God, he will forgive me when I mess up.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">How would the repentant answer this question?</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because it isn’t right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I already confessed my sins so I shouldn’t still suffer for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am supposed to be forgiven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What good is forgiveness if I still have to suffer for my mistakes anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave up a lot to come to Jesus and it wasn’t so I would just still be punished for my sins.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">How would the saint answer this question?</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because I am his child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may mess up now and then, but I’m not nearly as bad as the people in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are people in the world who are murderers and thieves and they don’t get punished for their sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am his child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the people in the world see that even God’s children suffer when they sin, why would they ever want to come to Christ?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">How would the Savior answer this question?</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Surrender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus didn’t complain when he was lifted up to suffer the punishment for my sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t fair; He didn’t deserve to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t right; He hadn’t sinned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the beloved Son of God, the only holy child of God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he faced the punishment for the sins of mankind he asked, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why should I be punished for sin?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He answered his own question with a declaration of surrender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">How would my relationship with God transform if my response to the punishment for my sin were surrender?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Into your hands, my God, I commit my spirit.</span></i></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-15671092547223362092011-06-11T10:27:00.000-05:002011-06-11T10:27:22.027-05:00Every Summer Morning<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Every morning this summer the bass from my neighbor’s car wakes me up at seven.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">He parks his two-toned cream and brown car along the curb because his parents’ cars fill the driveway and their extra belongings fill the garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure the car was living a Sandford and Son existence when I was born because the only things that seem to work consistently well are the speakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What kind of man clings to something so old and ugly as if it has value?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The kind of man who can’t do better, that’s who.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you are in your thirties and still living with your parents beautiful, functioning cars aren’t your priority in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this case, as best I can piece together from living next to him for fifteen years with only occasional nods and half smiles as communication, his priorities are: first – smoking pot, second – loud music, third – sitting in his garage on a metal folding chair, fourth – a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere much farther down the list is a belt.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Each night, once I have tucked myself in and drifted sweetly into a dream I awaken with a startle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sound is far away at first, but as the car nears his house my windows start rattling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then as he sits in his car for ten minutes my ceiling fan will swing from side to side, dancing to the beat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The length of time he sits in his vibrating car depends on the night of the week, Mondays – not so long, Saturday – at least a half hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way, I know the torture is over when I hear his car door slam shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I am asleep again time passes quickly and the next thing I hear is the sound of his bass, the only difference is now the sun is peeking into my bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His morning routine isn’t the rushed hurry to the car and speeding down the street I do when I’m going to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lingers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He starts the car and sits in it for five minutes, long enough for me to give up any hope of going back to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drives off slowly so the resonance from his bass fades one thump at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I get out of bed and reach for the Excedrin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-953661163930210852011-05-21T13:35:00.000-05:002011-05-21T13:35:27.098-05:00Waste Not, Want Not<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-size: large;">What do you do when a purple cow wanders into your dream?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he tramples a line of people waiting to use an ATM you turn him into a metaphor for consumerism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he knocks over the display of Waterford crystal on the second floor of Macy’s, he’s a parenting lesson.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">When your mother calls you at ten pm to discuss the details of her best friend’s nephew’s third divorce you could fake a fire in your kitchen and hang up or you could get out your pencil and notepad to exploit his suffering for your secondary character development.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Inspiration comes from three places, each having its own benefit and its own danger: dreams, life experiences, and scripture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Dreams tap into fantasy, the unbridled, untamed explosion of action and color that break the rules of social behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These ideas take your story to unexpected places, but our memories don’t hold the details.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing from a dream can feel like trying to grab a cloud; you know you are catching some of the substance, but you can’t retain the whole.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Life experiences are an unavoidable source of inspiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our human successes and failures are the shared, universal experience and connect our writing to other people, making it relatable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The danger of this muse is that our experiences are knitted together with our emotions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing from experience requires a determined effort to exploit our own sorrow and joy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally, it is scripture that inspires the spiritual elements of our writing.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scripture gives us truth and bridges the great distance between our temporal world and the immaterial realm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Art and literature can never be complete without tapping into our spiritual nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The danger of scripture based inspiration is that we risk alienating a portion of our audience.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: large;">My favorite writers fearlessly incorporate various sources of inspiration into their work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the next time your three-year-old flushes three rolls of toilet paper down the upstairs toilet creating a Noah-level flood and collapsing the kitchen ceiling don’t surrender to temptation, weeping and rending your clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Channel the tidal wave of emotion into a compelling chapter where your protagonist is washed over the stern of a Victorian Era steam liner. </span></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-52680163352256794492011-05-07T13:01:00.000-05:002011-05-07T13:01:09.442-05:00In Front of a Church<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where a man raped me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was wearing black track pants and a pick sleeveless shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was drunk and sitting on the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I jogged past almost tripping on his foot and thought how fortunate for him I sidestepped his leg. I could have hurt him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought I looked like a victim.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where I almost died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My torn clothes fell off my body and my blood mixed with the dirt on the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, even though I felt entirely alone, someone was watching me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been working late in the office of the church, writing a sermon on the Good Samaritan and had gotten thirsty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the kitchen sink, leaning over to fill his glass, he looked out and saw me, barely visible under the streetlight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where a man saved me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rushed through the doors yelling into his cell phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said the paramedics told him not to move me, and he wouldn’t leave until they came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he prayed for me, words so sad I stopped crying for myself and cried for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He begged God to let me live.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where I began to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother pushed my wheelchair and knocked on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of us knew if it was okay just to go in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We waited for two minutes and almost gave up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he opened the door, caught his breath, and hugged me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He taught me to pray.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where a man kissed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had prayed for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had promised to help me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he looked up through teary eyes and kissed my cheek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said good bye but didn’t mean it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I’d be back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where I fell in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Day after day my mother wheeled me down the sidewalk that connected my house to the church on the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He would open the door with a smile and we would talk for hours. </span>With each trip I fell more and more in love with the man who had save my life and prayed with me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In front of a church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where a man married me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promised to love him and help him serve God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He promised to love me and protect me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We kissed in front of the door as our friends and families cheered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he pushed my chair to the sidewalk into a new life.</span></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-26280986642167917202011-04-30T13:41:00.000-05:002011-04-30T13:41:34.133-05:00The Greatest Book<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Therefore many of His disciples, when they heard this said, “This is a difficult statement; who can listen to it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>John 6:60</i></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A great book should alter the reader in fundamental and eternal ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should canvass the recesses of the human heart, searching for seeds of apathy and inhumanity, then lift the seeds to the surface and rip them out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should wound and heal, break and repair, melt and reform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh profits nothing; the words that I have spoken to you are spirit and are life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>John 6:63</i></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Profound and meaningful truths can never be swallowed with a spoonful of sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They burn our lips, set fire to our bellies, and erupt back out in violent, unexpected ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our bubbles are fragile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wrap ourselves with thin, transparent layers of reality and convince ourselves we’re safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sit, bubble after bubble, worried we are going to pop and have to face the pain outside ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great book, like an oversized black boot, steps down on the sea of bubbles and crushes our weak shells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are exposed.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">As a result of this many of His disciples withdrew and were not walking with him anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>John 6:66</i></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">What we do with our exposure matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great book wounds and heals, breaks and repairs, melts and reforms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It cannot leave us to reassemble our humanity on our own, cannot leave us melted on the floor in despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must guide us to truth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The greatest book has unhinged me with every reading, has also wrapped around me during the moments of my greatest sorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It defines humanity in the honest eyes of its creator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is who you are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is who you should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father, you’re book is truth and life to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You break me, unhinge me, melt me, and wound me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you didn’t I could never be healed and reformed.</i></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2811282454376165822.post-90023222477495647462011-04-25T22:51:00.000-05:002011-04-25T22:51:54.249-05:00Easter Devotional 2011<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;">Easter Devotional</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And the high priest arose and said to Him, “Do you answer nothing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is it these men testify against You?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Jesus kept silent.</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Matthew 26:62-63 NKJV</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">You had balled your hands tightly into fists, your knuckles white and your veins bulging out from your wrists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your arms, stiff and tight, hung out from your raised shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A firm line formed at your mouth, as silent and intense as your fixed gaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have run to you, shaken your shoulders, and screamed into your ear, “I’m not worth this!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it wouldn’t have stopped you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would have brushed me off without turning your eyes.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">It didn’t matter what they did to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could rip you, bruise you, taunt you, or strike you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing would make you turn your face away from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing would make you cry out in pain because you didn’t want to be remembered as a victim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one could make you choose your life over mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">I watched you from a distance, wishing I could bury my head in your feet, wanting to lash out at them, needing to stop you from doing this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t have died for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You shouldn’t have died for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your life for mine is such an unfair trade that you should have known better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With your last breaths you showed love to your mother and forgiveness to your tormentors, while I wept knowing the death should have been mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The determination in your eyes slipped away to the empty afterglow of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the cross was also empty and I was alone, and the injustice of it all sank in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lived.</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">This Easter, when I look up at the empty cross, I will not think about your suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You held back your agonized cries on purpose, unwilling to torment me with your pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not remember your wounds. Instead, I will meditate on bravery, on the courage it took to die in silence and peace. </div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father, someday I will die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I do, I pray it is bravely, with my gaze fixed on your face.</i></div>Julie Egglestonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15581881797864421163noreply@blogger.com0