It's just Me Abby

It’s was 14 degrees this morning. My South Floridian body protested any attempt to get out of bed. So I rolled over, grabbed my phone, and caught up on the news from the luxury of my cozy sheets. No filming intimate scenes for Catholic movie star who shares why he saves his lips for his wife alone. Mom dies days after giving birth becomes 1 in a million organ donor. That was a very moving article. Kathleen Thorson died unexpectedly only 5 days after giving birth to her fourth child. But out of tragedy came 12 opportunities of hope for others who needed her organs, one in particular being a 1 in a million match. Beautifully bittersweet.

Twenty minutes of scrolling through the news and I finally threw my feet off the side of the bed and forced myself down the stairs. The hope of coffee and Jesus next to my fireplace kept one foot in front of the next.

I knew exactly where I would flip to in my Bible and what I would write down in my prayer moleskin. I’m following a reading plan with two friends of mine and I have a 31 day prayer guide from my bestie missionary friend who lives in Southeast Asia.

I try to get up extra early every morning so I can have my alone time. The calm before the storm. The quiet before the wild rumpus of little people tromping down the stairs. The hour of peace that strengthens my resolve the rest of the day.

One of the things I remember as a little girl was the excitement I had every single morning when I went searching for my mother after a night-long sleep. And every morning she would light entirely up at seeing me as if she was seeing me for the first time after a long time apart. From the days of little girlhood to womanhood she, without fail, filled me with joy every single morning I woke up and saw her.

Now I make it my aim to follow in her footsteps. My day may be about to turn upside down, but the moment a bead headed, stinky breath child of mine wakes up my smile is big and my arms are open and immediately filled with goodness.

Let’s be honest though, while there’s nothing sweeter for my husband and I than to have morning hugs and snuggles with our 3 year old daughter, she is the stamina of our three sons combined, and upon the first morning sounds and stirrings from her bedroom upstairs we’re not sure whether to cry tears of joy or sorrow. Princess Gabby is about to descend upon her kingdom.

This morning was different. A rarity. Gabby and Daddy took a trip together to South Carolina and they don’t return until tomorrow. I didn’t have the pressure of attending to my little pretty person. I could sleep in a tiny bit extra. My heart was a little lighter.

My reading was Matthew 12 and Matthew Henry was my sidekick because truthfully I need help thinking astutely despite my raging perpetual thoughts and limited attention span. Slowly reading through a gospel can shed endless light on the person and character of Jesus that can’t help but begin to transform ones thoughts, heart, and life.

What caught my attention most this morning was verses 14 and 15.

“But the Pharisees went out and conspired against him, how to destroy him. Jesus, aware of this, withdrew from there. And many followed him, and he healed them all.”

On so many different levels does that speak. The thirteen verses leading up to 14 and 15 are describing two healing miracles Jesus performed. Always driven by compassion Jesus welcomes the sick and yet he is maligned by the Pharisees.

Imagine knowing that the Godfather, Don Vito Corleone, is devising a plan to eliminate you and executes it by putting his gunmen on you. My immediate reactions would be fear and fleeing and if I was caught, I’d cry, beg, and plead.

Not so with Jesus. He withdraws, yes, but not from fear. His trust in his Father is strong. Perhaps because he knows it’s not yet his time? But if I knew that in a matter of a few years time I was going to suffer a brutal death at the hands of these very enemies I’d have very different thoughts going through my brain. Disdain maybe, or circumvention. Not for the joy set before me or sacrificial love.

Jesus kept being Jesus. He kept having compassion and kept healing. A few verses down a prophecy is quoted from Isaiah:

“Behold, my servant whom I have chosen, my beloved with whom my soul is well pleased. I will put my Spirit upon him, and he will proclaim justice to the Gentiles. He will not quarrel or cry aloud, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets; a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench, until he brings justice to victory; and in his name the Gentiles will hope.”

A bruised weed and a smoldering wick. The many sick who followed him. You and I, believing brothers and sisters worldwide, in seasons of weakness, valleys of darkness, or periods of persecution. He knows our fragility and he strengthens the bruised and inflames the smoldering!

One more thought on this rich chapter. Verse 32:

“And whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.”

Did you see that? Whoever speaks against the Son of man will be forgiven. Have you ever been spoken poorly of, had your character unfairly attacked, or been a product of slander or gossip? Unfortunately, most of us sadly have. And never has my first instinct been one of compassion and forgiveness. Quite the opposite. My emotions and my tongue roar into defense mode first. And once they have been spent vindicating they turn to offense mode and start indignantly snubbing in return.

Then there’s Jesus, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. First response. Every time. Excepting to the Pharisees who spoke against the Holy Spirit which is unforgivable. How hard the endeavor to pursue what Jesus modeled. Speak poorly of me, I forgive you, I love you; speak against my Jesus, now just hold yourself on up and please don’t go there. Speak against the beloved Holy Spirit? Bye Felicia.

With malignity, gossip, or slander, the one heavenly surety we can rest in is that the truth will set us free.

My daughter can attest to that.

My children have an innate magnetic pull to wherever I am. I can disappear for no more then 10 minutes hidden away for a few moments of silence before I hear someone shouting my name. If I stay silent my kids decide I’m playing a game of hide and seek with them and the manhunt begins. Soon thereafter my location is compromised and I’ve been surrounded. Everyone is now gathered where I am and talking at once. Gabby, my beautiful, unfiltered princess, makes a disgusted face because she begins to smell a bit of flatulence. Someone has silently just let out wind and the vapors are beginning to penetrate our noses. She asks who it was that tooted and everyone begins to deny it. I told Gabby, it must have been you, Darling. That angered her so much that she starting shouting it wasn’t me! Fingers started pointing again and till everyone finally connected the dots. I smiled big as they all fled the room. I’ve recently noticed in myself a sensitivity to dairy. But not enough to stop me from enjoying it still.