Skip to main content

it's holy week


It's Holy Week, and I don't feel very "holy." 

Things are coming apart and are broken. There's a friend whose husband has been dealing with serious health issues for a few years. A family who lost a dear loved one and marriage struggles for other friends. My job is coming to an end. And, heck just don't even bother to watch the news.

It's Holy Week, and why don't I feel "holy?" 

Because I'm consumed by what I see and what's happening all around me. Lives are shattered into mosaic pieces. And, I desperately need the One who controls life and breath and everything else to put the pieces together.

When I think of the word holy, visions of a perfect, devout person comes to mind; someone like Mother Theresa or St. Augustine. They probably didn't feel holy either. Stuff happened around them as well. I don't have a corner on the market for crap going on.

You want to know what holiness is really about? 

Look at Jesus. He was a normal guy who did surprising things. Touching sick people. People need to be touched, literally and figuratively. The best wine ever was produced at a wedding from jugs of water. And, Jesus always had time for little kids. He wasn't confused or distracted from the Way.

Holiness looks more like a humble person doing the good they know to do. Laugh with those who laugh; weep with those who weep, and much more in between those two extremes.

The Urban Dictionary, which can be impudent, says this:

To be holy is to be pure - innocent in all you say and do, having no hidden motives, wronging no one. It is to be openhearted as a little child and transparent in spirit as the crystal sea before the throne.

Of course! Holy is not a feeling, but rather a way of living. As I open my life and allow Jesus to walk in, over and through holiness happens. I'm moved and affected by the coming apart, but not consumed, because I'm connected to God.

For all I know, holiness is all about what happens in the everyday; my going out and returning. Slightly messy, sometimes happy, always touched and being touched by the mosaic pieces. But, most importantly listening to the One who is holy.

Respecting Holy Week -

Missy



If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Good morning, lab rats!

One of my favorite movies is “A Good Year,” starring Russell Crowe.  It’s a fun little romp through the South of France, filled with wine, romance and very poignant moments of clarity. Max, is a driven, pompous business man who is willing to use, abuse and finagle his way to the top, and then gloat.  He is never satisfied with his accomplishments.  "Good morning, lab rats,” indicates his ‘tude. Fanny, on the other hand, is a bicycle wielding, passionate woman.  She is suspicious, short-tempered and very jealous, yet content with her way of life; minding the business of others. The storyline is obvious:  opposites attract, love blooms and then blows up.  Reflecting on the vast difference in their existences, this dialogue is uttered: Max:   This place does not suit my life. Fanny:  No Max, it’s your life that does not suit this place. Makes me wonder how many times I have said no to things because it didn’t fit into my prec...

wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

do you see a weed or a wish? Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella. Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed. pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being funny , how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and ...

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas.  I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans.  This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm.  My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff.  On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers.  Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep.  Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven!  The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week.  Yippee!  I no longer needed to ...