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The Blood

3 Jul

Christ with cross

 “And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood
crieth unto me from the ground.”    (Genesis 4:10  KJV)

 

The Blood of Jesus pools at the soldiers’ feet surrounding the whipping yard, spraying those nearby, spraying those ripping His flesh.  Were they ever the same?  Did Jesus’ drops of blood that touched them heal the afflictions of those who wielded the Cat of 9 tails, destroying His body?

When the soldiers ripped at His beard and slapped His face, when the blood transferred from God to Man, did they feel the change in their spirits?  Were they startled?  Were they ashamed?

Every step along the Via doloRosa was stained with blood.  Those who screamed “Crucify Him!” surrounded and followed after Him.  As their feet stepped on the bloody droplets on the ground did miracles change their lives?  Did the blood burn their skin?  Did it tingle?  Did it warm them to their souls? Did they understand what was happening?

When Simon of Cyrene lifted the cross, put it on his own shoulder and Jesus’ blood covering the cross transferred onto Simon’s face, were his eyes opened? Did he still see the battered face of a condemned man, or did he now see the face of God?

When the soldiers pounded the nails through Jesus’ wrists and they were sprayed by gushing blood, did they stop, even for a moment?  Did they feel the touch of anticipation in the dampness? Did they recognize that something was different?

When Mary and John sat at the foot of the cross, praying and weeping, the precious blood of Jesus was trailing down the wooden cross – dripping from His arms, dripping from His feet onto their clothing, onto their faces – did they feel the new life that was about to birth, or were they so torn by grief that they couldn’t see that each precious drop would birth to a new nation, strong in miracles and power?

Did Jesus’ last words pierce the sky like lightning, capturing the soul of anyone who heard?

When the soldier pierced Jesus’ side, being sprayed with water and blood that flowed from Him, did he feel the hand of God?  Did he step back and recognize that this blood, this water, wasn’t the same as the hundreds of other men’s that he had seen before?  Did the water of the spirit flow over him?  Did he hear the voice of God?

When the sky turned dark and the earth trembled, did they feel God step down to touch the body and soul of His precious son?

When they lifted Jesus’ body down from the cross, did the last few drops touch the hands of the called?  Did they feel the burning and stirring inside of something miraculous about to happen?

Are there yet drops of His blood that have seeped deep into the soil at the place called Golgotha, that by its very presence makes the city Holy, not for what it is, but for who left His blood along a pre-ordained path?

Are my hands stained with Jesus’ Blood when I walk away from the path He pre-ordained me to, like the many who strayed back then, and in their ignorance and anger, drained the miracle giving, life healing, Blood of Jesus out onto the ground?

Do I stand on hallowed ground and cry “No, it’s too hard” or like Simon of Cyrene, do I pick up the cross and wrap an arm around my beaten circumstance and walk toward the word God spoken into my life?

If I had held one drop of Jesus’ blood in the palm of my hand, could I have seen the eternal face of God in its reflection?

Thank you God for a sacrifice I may never truly understand the ramifications of, for a gift of which I may never realize the full preciousness.

 

By Linda J Humes

Written 3-28-2009

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ANGRY MEN

12 Mar

Angry Man Tattoos

“And in that day thou shalt say, O LORD, I will praise thee: though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortedst me.”      Isaiah 12:1 (KJV)

When my oldest son came home from prison a year ago he sported full arm and leg tattoos.  I knew that all tattoos have a story behind them, but I could not understand what all the faces, combined and linked together with tubes, meant.  I asked my son to explain it all to me; he said that they were angry men linked together by a lifeline.

I found myself studying the tattoos as we watched TV at night.  I didn’t see angry men, I saw something very different in each face.  I saw the artist’s inner turmoil, stirred by years in prison, coming out on a living canvas.

Some faces showed fear, some faces showed pain, some faces showed sorrow, some rage – all hopelessness.  One appeared to be a demon swallowing a child, its eyes stitched closed; childhood lost.

The tubes between seemed to be the tubes of nourishment that kept them all alive and also the chains of incarceration that prevented them from finding freedom and hope.  Years of addictions and bad choices added faces to the lines, banding them together as brothers through their lifeline tubes gave them some small amount of security.  They depended on each other not to sever the tubes that kept them all alive.  All manifested fear of possible disconnection in different ways.

When I look at the tattoos I see the inmates in prison, struggling to survive without losing their identity.  I see the artist’s renditions of the faces surrounding him every day.  I see the emotions he feels himself, flowing from his needle.  Hopelessness.  Aloneness.  Unwantedness.

The sad thing is, these emotions aren’t only an attribute of inmates, but are found in grocery stores, movie theaters, classrooms and in our own children.  The pressures of everyday life are overwhelming people to such proportions that they lose hope, fall to despair and give up on life.

How sad that we, the body of Christ, for fear of ridicule and rejection, keep back the very solution to their problems.  We hide the light given freely to us through our love of Christ.  We crimp off the true lifeline that would bring them peace, joy and hope.

What if we just took a chance?  What if we took a moment to offer prayer to someone in despair?  What if we wrapped our arms around the homeless and shared the gospel along with a hot meal and a warm jacket?  What if we comfort a crying child while the mother regains composure, and then offer to help by prayer and child care and taking them to church.

What if we stepped past our own insecurities and showed the love of Jesus to a hurting world, mentoring another as we do?  What if we could bring hope to just one?  The whole world could be changed – one person at a time.

——

By Linda J. Humes

Written 7-14-2013

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Crumbs

3 Oct


And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.   Matthew 15:27

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Living in rural Arizona you see a lot of amazing sights. We frequently come face to face with antelope; I give them the right of way! We have wild flowers that take over barren fields. Chickens, cows, sheep, goats and horses fill the yards as we travel around town. It’s a quiet place, a place to slow down and breathe; a place of reflection.

Working in the city is such a contrast to the area where I live; life is so fast paced. There are different types of survival means in the city, overcrowding, people losing homes, scarcity of food and yet the only portion you can really see are where the homeless line the streets. Survival instincts of the animals in the country seem clearer and easier to recognize, perhaps because of the wide open spaces of the country. Coyotes and mountain lions come closer to the farms when the food is scarce. I find myself much more aware of my surroundings at that time of the year.

One afternoon we passed a small farm where the horses had just been fed. The master had put the horse food into a big blue plastic barrel (a large oval cut into it) that tied sideways to the top cross-rail of the fence. As the horse munched away little bits of grain fell from its mouth. The goat, outside of the corral, got down on its knees and crawled under the blue barrel and fence post, head tipped up, trying to catch the bits of grain as it fell. The goat was hungry and willing to do whatever it could for a morsel of food.

We are so spoiled by instant TV evangelists, instant radio preachers, CD worship music, Ipod sermons, Podcasts; even electronic Bibles. Oh, that we could be so hungry for God that we would put ourselves in danger for just a morsel. What a sweet refreshing that taste would be.

God, open our hearts for a driving hunger that can’t be quenched by any means except time at YOUR feet. God, please take away our “fast is better” mentality. Blow away the chaff, the noise and the distractions of daily life. Silence the words spoken in Your name that have nothing to do with You. Search me Lord. Call me Lord. Help me to come.

—

Written by Linda J. Humes

9-29-09

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Stinkin’ Thinkin’

3 Oct

“. . . for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” Matthew 12:34 (KJV)

✝

God puts people in our lives to strengthen us, encourage us, challenge us and . . . correct us. That’s a tough one – correction. An action word that requires an action (I am corrected, therefore I must correct).

In our home we have a Swear Jar. If for some reason you feel a conversation isn’t complete without colorful expletives – you will visit the Swear Jar. Each transgression will reduce your pocket change by 25 cents. We buy water with the change from the Swear Jar and rarely have to add to the “oophs!” change within.

Most people honor the code, some language behaviors have been changed, some folks pre-pay (no, that doesn’t make it cheaper), and some outright refuse to participate. Over the years we’ve seen kids monitor their friends and fines are paid even when no adults are around.

One day I was working away at my computer and it started to give me trouble. No matter what I did I couldn’t get it to cooperate. “This stinkin’ computer,” I yelled.

Up pops a little voice from behind me, “Oh, Mom, you owe the jar a quarter.”

“What for,” I quipped back. “Stinkin’ isn’t a bad word.”

“It is when you say it in that tone of voice,” replied my 8 year old.

Busted! My heart broke and I was immediately filled with humility. I had broken my own rule. I had allowed the frustration of a day, an hour, a moment, to steal my joy and toss me into wrong standing.

How often do we use “safe” words when we’re angry or frustrated, only fooling ourselves? It isn’t the word we use, it’s the intent of the heart. It isn’t always “vulgarity” that gets us into trouble, but the emotion behind a common thought we feel we have a right to express.

But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. James 3:8 (KJV)

Lord, help me every day not only to tender the words I speak, but to tender the heart and emotions with which I speak them. Help me to be more like you.

✝

Written by Linda J. Humes

9-29-2009

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Whose Flower

13 Sep

“. . . Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:”   Matthew 6:28

I’m God’s favorite; I just know it.

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There it was, a beautiful purple Aster, growing all alone in a dry, brown field. Drought had hit Northern Arizona and the normally green fields and trees were brown and brittle. Yet there it was.

Its green leaves were brilliant against the brown. The purple flower faced diligently toward the sun, soaking in the warmth. I knew as I enjoyed its delicate beauty that God had sent it – just for me.

We had just moved to a small town, far from our church family of 10 years. I felt small in a large empty land; alone. All my years of ministry seemed to be sitting on a shelf and I was seeking God to know why He had planted us here and what He wanted us to do next.

There was His answer – in a barren field. Bloom where you’re planted. Become a flower in the desert with your eyes only on the Son. There I can use you to touch My hurting children.

Thank you Father, for never forgetting who we are. Thank you Father that you love your children so very much. Thank you Father for gifts, physical and spiritual – just when we need them. Thank you Father for planting me where You need me most. Let me always remain your humble servant.

My, My. Whose flower will I be?

——

Written By Linda J. Humes

11/25/2002

**The Emmaus Road**

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BLOOD ON ANGEL’S WINGS

12 Sep

Blood on Angel's wings

Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? Matthew 26:53 (KJV)

We have a big beautiful porch on the front of our home.  It faces south and it’s a beautiful view down into the valley.  When weather permits, I have my devotional and Bible Study time in my rocker, out on the porch. I thank God every day for allowing me to live there and enjoy the beauty set before me.

Last year we noticed the wood railing was showing signs of sun and rain wear – it was time to stain and water-seal the wood.  Out we went, the two youngest boys and I – gloves, rags, newspapers, paintbrushes and stain.  We each took a section and went to task.  Stain was flying everywhere.  I tried to convince them to keep the stain off the concrete floor – well!!

It seemed like it took forever, and the stained concrete will probably fade away with age.  It looked so much nicer.

A week or so later, during devotional time, I noticed something on one of my 3’ angels that stood in the flowerbed by the porch.  I walked up to get a better view and it took my breath away.  A careless sling of a brush had splashed the angel with what looked like large drops of blood.  “Jesus, Your Blood.”

My mind went back to that fateful day, when my Lord hung on the cross.  His blood pouring from His head, His back, His sides, His hands and His feet.  Were there angels at the foot of His cross?  Did they wait, hoping that the Father would speak and stop what was about to happen as he did with Abraham and Isaac?  Did they encamp around Him to be sure the will of the Father was done – weeping with sadness at the pain and torture of the Son?  Did His blood drip down on their wings as they waited for those final words, “It is finished?”  Did they carry His Spirit to Heaven when the earth shook and the sky darkened?  Did the Blood turn to Oil as they moved between the Heavens?

I know that angels encamp around us every day; watching, protecting, guiding.  They are one of the wonderful gifts God surrounds us with.  They comfort us, wrapping their arms around us when we cry.  When we celebrate with joy, they dance along with us.  They sit and watch over us when we are ill.  They wait for a Word from the Father.

I wonder, did one of the angels that guides me every day – kneel at the foot of the cross?

Written by Linda J. Humes

8-4-2008

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You Covered Me

28 Jul

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV

God, this season has been the most difficult season of my life, But You covered me.

When scripture verses made no sense and chapters were just blurred words on a page, You reminded me that they never change, are never returned void, are always “Yes” and “Amen.”

When I searched for answers, only to find confusion and frustration, You sent me the right words through the voice of another.

When the weakness and fatigue overwhelmed me and all I could do was sleep or rest in my chair, I felt Your strong arms as You held me.

When loneliness started to creep in and I wondered what I had done to cause You to abandon me, You showed me that You were right there with me, every moment of every day.

When the illness made me doubt my faith, and all I know to be true, You wiped my tears and held me closer.

As I get stronger I can see the many miracles you provided along this journey, I am so grateful.

How do I thank a mighty God who holds a universe in His hands and knows the needs of every falling sparrow? By being an instrument of Your love. Knowing that You will always be there, Covering Me.

—

Written by Linda J. Humes

5-16-18

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THE GADSDEN

27 Jul

“Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.” Romans 6:4 -KJV

We recently made a trip to Douglas, Arizona to visit my son. Motel choices in that little town are few and our experience during our last trip was more than unpleasant. We did not want to revisit the same motel and the huge black bugs that came under our door in droves and up into our beds.

There were three motel choices, two of them appearing quite unhealthy, one was $20 more per night. We were on a shoestring budget but decided to eat cheaper and spend the money for a nicer room at the Gadsden Hotel.

The Gadsden Hotel is a colorful hotel with wonderful history and lots of character. Being built in 1907 will give you a clue to the character; being in a poor border town will give you another. The strong walls and structure will stand forever, but the amenities leave much to be desired. The rooms are functional and fairly clean, but the walls and ceiling are cracking and what could be an amazing stay in historical elegance was just a room in an old hotel that was once elite.

All around the hotel were little ghost icons. I asked our waitress, with a “cute” little ghost icon on her apron, whether she had ever seen the “ghost”.

“No,” she said in an eerie voice, “but I know they are all around us!” I told her that I had read an article which said that the Gadsden “ghost” was most seen in the basement.

“Yes,” she said, “I hate to go down there, it’s creepy.”

Not wanting to go into a religious teaching on spirits versus ghosts, I stifled a chuckle and headed for my room. The thought crossed my mind – I wonder what they would do if I decided to head to the basement for a little demon casting – bet I’d be ushered out of town on a rail, all tarred and feathered.

This hotel was using a “ghost” as a marketing tool, clinging to their “ghost” and creating an exciting atmosphere for the supernaturally curious. Sad.

How many of us not only cling to the “ghosts” of our past, but thrive on retelling our “ghost stories” for attention? Do we create cute little “ghosts” or bigger than life horrific “ghosts”? Can’t we see that with these stories, repeated over and over again, that we give the demons of our past strongholds to grow larger and stronger? Don’t we realize that we give life to the words we speak; good or evil, love or hate, truth or lie?

Lord, always help me to recognize when I cling to a demon of the past I resurrect it bigger than life. Remind me not to “bury” the ghosts of the past, only to exhume them so I can “one up” another tale of misfortune. Instead, let me bury the hurts of my past for good. Help me to always speak life and leave the buried past under the Blood of Jesus.

By Linda J. Humes

Written 7-1-11

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True Purity

20 Mar

But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy. James 3:17

In this world of sexual explosions and the pressures of looking sexy instead of wholesome, it’s tough. Nearly every television program promotes casual sex and nearly ever TV commercial tries to convince you that purchasing their product will guarantee absolute “sexiness”.  Movies not only indicate that casual sex is acceptable, but that “everyone” does it, AND they show you how it’s done – in living explicit color. Secular music not only encourages sexiness and casual sex, but violence to go with it.  In this culture of 2010, purity takes on a whole new meaning, if you follow the cultural mores. But, being bombarded with cultural “rights and wrongs” isn’t the hardest part of purity.

Purity is a state of mind. Purity is recognizing what is Biblically acceptable and building up from there. Purity not only involves the sexual area of our lives, but the mental and spiritual areas of our lives. Purity is how we perceive everything.

I believe thoughts are the most difficult area of our live to draw into purity. We watch the impoverished and judge . . . “if they would only” . . . they wouldn’t be in that mess. We see the rich . . . “if they would only” . . . other people could have a chance. Race prejudice, wealth/poverty prejudice, religious prejudice, regional prejudice, birth defect prejudice, hair color prejudice – prejudice for prejudice sake. Impure thoughts toward a person or group of people we don’t even know, yet we judge them and call it righteous.

Then there are the spiritual impurities. We feel it is okay for us to judge, banish, and ridicule those who have faith in areas that are not the same as ours. We feel that it’s okay to judge people with our same faith and beliefs, but who aren’t part of “our” church, so they must be less spiritual, less valuable, and perhaps they aren’t “saved” because they aren’t “US”, AND they are making the same comments about us and our church.

How do we get to the point that Mother Theresa was at, where she saw Jesus in the eyes of every person; no matter that the state of their life was? How do we get to the point that Billy Graham was at when he went into the prison and hugged Jim Bakker, when the entire world was condemning him for using God’s people to build his own kingdom? I think of the pictures of soldiers in Iraq who are rocking dead children covered in blood. How do we see past the “enemy” to the child God made; past the outside that is filthy and drug ridden; past the hooker walking the streets, aged well past their years. How do we step into their lives, for just a moment, and see the pain in their lives that caused them to make the choices they have. How do we see past the outside? Purity.

Purity allows us to see through the eyes of Jesus.

Purity allows us to love for the sake of the broken.

Purity allows us to give people chance after chance, even after they have failed many, many times.

Purity is HOPE.

Purity is LOVE.

Purity is Jesus inside of us.

I pray daily for Purity.

Written by Linda J Humes

Written on 3-19-2010

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When the Storms Rage . . . Turn Up The Worship Music!

16 Mar

Dust Storm - turn up the worship music

O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the LORD our maker.    Psalms 95:6 (KJV)

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We make occasional trips between our home in Chino Valley and Snowflake, a city we are going to relocate to on the exact opposite side of the state.  To get there we have to travel several hours along a highway with barren land on both sides.  On one of our trips we left Chino Valley with light breezes, not realizing that light breezes on our side of the state meant heavy winds along that stretch of the highway (now we understand why there isn’t any growth along the road).

Half way into the trip, as we drove along side other cars and big rigs, we saw heavy dust crossing the road.  Drivers’ heads turned from side to side and the dust disappeared.  Looked like a single incident; no big deal.  All of the sudden the big rig to my right started to rock and sway; the cars ahead of us were hit with a wall of dust and they had a hard time staying in their lanes.  We were in the left lane, following other vehicles, watching carefully the line of big rigs in the right lane.

Everyone slowed; no one dared to stop.  While watching for taillights and misdirected vehicles, stress levels built, prayers were loudly spoke; we could barely see the front of our car at times.

My son anxiously shouted, “What are we going to do, Mom?”

Holding the steering wheel tightly with both hands I shouted back, “Turn up the worship music!”

Nothing brings peace faster than worship music.  The storm didn’t stop, people were still having trouble controlling their vehicles against the wind, the dust still obscured the road ahead, but the music calmed us.  That was the longest 45 minutes in my life; but it didn’t overtake me.  We were able to thank Jesus for our safety with a peaceful heart.

There are many times when tests and trials come; some small, some overwhelming.  Every time I feel the storms rising I turn on the worship music and fall into prayer.  Worship – prayer, two aspects of the same entity, communicating with God; what a delight.

Father, never let me forget to worship you, even in the rage of a storm.

Written by Linda J. Humes

Written on 4-19-2010

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