JESUS IN THE COLD

9 Jun

Jesus-on-cross

By Linda J. Humes

“Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.” Revelation 3:20

I work in a large city 3 hours from my home in the small town of Chino Valley, AZ. Every Tuesday morning at 5am I start the journey down the mountain – with several appointed stops along the way (I don’t recall having to stop quite so often when I was younger!).

It was a cold winter morning. With heater and defroster blasting I had created a comfortable refuge. Praise and worship music filled my small sanctuary as I prayed and sang while on my way to my first stop, an hour down the road, and my first cup of coffee! I have come to cherish those intimate times with my Jesus.

My stop went as usual, with only momentary shivering, and I was on my way again. I had just pulled back onto the highway when a light caught my eye, up to the left. I had never noticed it before. As I sped by at 65 mph I saw it – as I sped by I saw “Him.” It was a roof-to-ground sized crucifix on the side of a church building. It took my breath away. “Oh, no,” I thought, “someone left Jesus out in the cold.”

It hit me with such force that the ambience of my sanctuary disappeared. Immediately my thoughts went to turning around and covering him up, straight into “mom mode” and out of reality. I saw a vision of Jesus wearing my gloves, hat and wrapped in my car blanket. On any other day that would have made me laugh – trying to warm up a stone Jesus with earthly garments. But I didn’t laugh that morning; in fact I spent well into an hour in tears, so grieved in my spirit.

Why did it hurt? That crucifix had probably been there for years, this morning someone had forgotten to turn the light off. This day I faced a reality that I had not allowed myself to dwell on before. We have left Jesus out in the cold.

There is Jesus hanging alone on the side of, or in front of, our churches. We hang Jesus around our necks as a symbol of our faith. We hang Jesus on our living room walls and in our bedrooms. I’ve even seen Him hanging from rearview mirrors and glued to dashboards of cars. Jesus is all around us – in the cold. Yet is He also where He belongs? Is He nestled warmly in the depths of our heart? Is He so deep inside us that we find peace and joy in the darkest of moments? Is He inside this warm sanctuary only in times of crisis – or do I keep Him warm always?

I didn’t take off the cross I was wearing that day, but I did hold it in my hand all morning. I didn’t take down the pictures in my home, but I did make sure that the glass and frames were clean. I didn’t cover Jesus up at the little church along the highway, but I did say a dedicated prayer. I asked for His forgiveness for those moments in my life when I had left Him out in the cold. And I prayed that He would always help me keep Him nestled deep inside my heart, every day of my life.

Thank you Jesus, that no matter where man places You, You are always there to commune with us, if we will only open the door when you knock.

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The Blessing of Being A Mom

12 May

Linda3

First Delivered Mother’s Day 5-13-07 at Word Of Life Assembly – Chino Valley. Republished on Mother’s Day 2009. Delivered again, today, at Shiloh Community Church.

I was born to a 16 year old girl. I was raised by 2 alcoholics – my father died at age 29 from cirrhosis of the liver. I was 9.

I don’t remember every being hugged, kissed or told that I was loved. I promised myself that when I had kids – they would never doubt – at any time in their lives – that they were loved.

This is my story in a nutshell.

I never expected to adopt 2 little boys, crack babies, fetal alcohol syndrome, ADHD, 2 and 3 years developmentally delayed. One that spoke his own developed language that only his brother could understand.

I never thought I would have to fight to have their medications removed and treat their physical and behavioral problems with diet.

I DID expect my boys to attain developmental advancement within 2 years – and they did – because they were put into an environment of love in their Christian child care, their Christian school, their church family, and in our home – and they were constantly lifted up by dozens of prayer warriors. God is so Faithful.

I never expected to be told on 3 separate occasions that my 7 year old had a terminal disease. That they wouldn’t allow the adoption to continue because they weren’t exactly sure what the medical problem was – even though we told them that we didn’t care what he had, we loved him and wanted the adoption to be finalized.

I DID expect a miracle. After the warriors of prayer went to battle – the doctors came back with “Well, we don’t know what happened, but his blood levels are now in the normal range.” We adopted both boys 4/28/1998.

I never thought I would have to stand before my boy’s principal and fight for them to be able to bring their Bible to school.

I never thought I would have to fight with that principal over a suspension because my boys removed themselves from their classrooms and refused to watch a movie filled with magic and witchcraft.

I never thought I’d walk into a bedroom calf-high with toys and clothes.

I never thought I’d say to my boys – after looking into their closet and seeing the clean clothes I had given them, on hangers, laying on the floor – recently baptized by the cat – “well, I retire – they’re your problem from now on!”

I never thought we’d have times where we had to pray over an empty refrigerator and pantry – standing in faith that God answers prayer – and within an hour, each time, He did.

I never thought I’d have to create chore boards and get kids up an hour early each morning to be sure they were done.

I never thought we’d be able to afford to buy the boys laptops – and never thought we’d be taking them back away now and again as behavioral leverage.

I never thought all of my boys would receive the Presidential Award for Physical Fitness – see guys, size isn’t everything.

I never thought I’d be sitting up until 10pm every night doing homework – helping my son work through his learning disability – teaching from short term memory into long term memory.

I never thought one of my sons would receive the Presidential Award for Academic Excellence. Isn’t that awesome!

I never thought my home would be filled with smelly escaping rabbits, gerbils, hamsters, guinea pigs, and a 6’ iguana named Iggy – and “NO” Jon, you may not have an ostrich, I don’t care how tame they say it is.

I never thought my son would tell his High School class that I was his “super-hero” through an essay that he read to the other students.

I never thought my son would write a book of poems, just for me; a precious gift given on Mother’s Day.

I never thought my son would join the ARMY and get sent to Korea – but I couldn’t be more proud.

I never expected my 16 year old to run away to live with a drug dealer so he could feed his drug addiction. To stay away without any direct communication for over 4 months.

I never expected to have to battle with the “enemy of our souls” for that son. Walking and praying in our home and yard for hours upon hours every night – standing on the promises of God. Quoting back the scripture to God –

“God you told me that if I raise him up in the way he should go – he will not depart from it.

“God, you said when we ask anything believing, it will come to pass.

“God you said if I have the faith of a Mustard Seed I can move a mountain – and all I want is to move a boy from an evil place back to his home. God you said !

I never expected to have to play Christian radio 24/7 to bring peace and an anointing, so we could all sleep.

I never expected that our family would need to go into his room regularly and do spiritual warfare in a prayer circle while he was away.

I never expected that I would have to leave letters, clothes and food on my son’s bed – because we knew he would come home and go into his room several times a week. We always told him how much we loved him – even at his most unlovable times. – When my son finally came home, he had every one of those letters with him. It was a testimony to the love he felt, even in his most rebellious time, even though he still spewed words of anger and hate.

I never expected to call the police many times to help me search the streets of Phoenix for my son and bring him home. I refused to lose him into the streets again.

I never expected to have to sit with my son in the emergency room for 15 hours as he was coming out of an alcohol/Methamphetamine overdose.

I never expected to have to visit (2) my sons in Jail – sit in courtroom after courtroom with all (3) – and then visit one of my sons in prison every other week. He was only 18 years old. Those visits became treasured jewels to our family – if you could only see what God did through them. They brought us closer than you can imagine.

My oldest son found Jesus again in a cell in Camp Verde Detention Center. Before long he was moved to Florence and I started getting letters from people in the cells near him – they all started the same – “Hi my name is _____ and I’m in a cell next to your son. I hear him talking about Jesus all the time, and I was wondering if you would teach me about this Jesus.”

Sometimes I’d get a letter from my son saying “Mom, there’s a man here that’s really hurting, and I tried to get him to write to you – but he’s shy. Could you please write to him and encourage him. You know what to do.”

That list of men and women had grown to 70 in 2007, and over 300 as of now. Many have been released and still stayed in touch. Some have become adopted-in children; treasured family members. We have brought over 12 of these hurting people into our home and helped them prepare to for a life in the community. Some came from prison, some came from the streets.

The thing I’ve recognized in writing to these inmates is that most of them have no relationship with their family, especially their mom. The mom’s are dead, drug addicts, in prison, or have abandoned them because of their behaviors. Year after year I received Mother’s Day cards and letters from people I’ve never met – because I took the time to tell them how precious they are to Jesus, and how much I care about how them.

All of my children have made poor decisions and each one has grown tremendously from those poor decisions and the consequences they had to face because of them. Everyone makes poor decisions. That doesn’t make them bad kids, that makes them human.

Don’t tell me a child is not reachable. Don’t tell me a child is hopelessly lost. Inside every angry, tattooed, pierced, cut, cigarette burned young adult is a hurting child that wants to know someone loves them.

They want to know about Jesus, even if they don’t show it. They want to know about unconditional love, even if they don’t say it. They see Jesus through you – and learn about Him through your walk, your fruit – and the words you speak into their lives.

Don’t tell me that it’s impossible to raise respectful, compassionate, God fearing boys. I have 3. My oldest son is in Welding School in College. My middle son is in Fire Science in College. My youngest son is a Pastor, following in my footsteps, preparing to go to Seminary. I couldn’t be more proud of my children – they bless me daily. My boys are not afraid to publicly show affection toward me and tell me that they love me, several times a day. They tell each other the same and are there for each other when difficulties arise.

MY GOD was there with me every step of the last 28 years of being a Mom, giving me grace to see through the hard and difficult steps – making every step of this challenge a gift of LOVE. God used the difficult times to bring healing and peace to the family.

Being a Mom isn’t easy – but it’s the greatest gift God has ever given a woman. It’s the greatest gift God has given me. I am SO PROUD to be a MOM.

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DAMAGED

27 Apr

Dead Tree Tops

By Linda J. Humes

“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” 2 Corinthians 5:17

I live in an area well known for forest fires. Several years ago a fire came through this area that was the largest Arizona forest fire in history – this year a new fire outgrew the previous by over 25%. People in this area are very aware of fire and its dangers – in fact, some live in fear all during fire season.

On a road I travel frequently is a tall pine tree. It would be quite majestic, except for a slight flaw. From one side the tree is green and lush and beautiful. From beneath the tree looking straight up, you would never notice that it was anything less than the trees nearby. But, as you come over a rise, driving toward it, you notice that there is a strip of black up the north side of the tree, and the top eight feet of the tree is charred and burned to the trunk.

Aren’t we a lot like that? That tree looks strong and majestic, from the right angle – just don’t look behind – just don’t look too high! How many times do we wonder if people would like us, would want to be around us, if they knew about the life behind us – the mess we just walked out of? Who would want to be near us if they heard the confusion and torment that races through our mind? Can we hide the burns of the past running up our back? Can we cover the charred memories of our mind? Do we cover our body in fashionable clothing and sweet fragrances to turn the eye from our flaws?

I have a savior, His name is Jesus. My Savior puts a healing salve on the burning pains of the past. My Savior brings down His Glory and restores tortured minds and souls. My Savior can make anyone whole who asks – no past sin is unforgiveable.

When I see that tree I think, “I was once like you.” I’m so glad that I have been restored by the restoring power of Jesus.

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DEAD BRANCHES

27 Apr

Dead Branches

By Linda J. Humes

”But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.” Matthew 18:6 (KJV)

Many years ago we experienced a winter far colder than any other I had experienced. Lakes froze over, streets froze over, chunks of ice were inches thick on the electrical and telephone wires all over town. People couldn’t drive their cars up the steep streets of Prescott, AZ. Police officers were turning lines of cars around in an attempt to reduce further accidents. It was COLD!

On a warm afternoon, several months later, I was enjoying a quiet moment on my front porch. There was a light breeze blowing and suddenly a large branch fell out of our tree in the front yard. The tree was beautiful green and full with leaves. There wasn’t any sign of dead branches, until this one fell.

I wandered over and looked up into the tree. It looked green and healthy. I looked from a different angle; green and . . . oh, wait, what was the brown in the middle? I brought over a ladder and looked closer – dead branches. There were a number of dead branches broken loose from the tree, being held in place by the new growth, waiting for a wind to set them loose. I suspect that these branches were broken loose by the heavy ice that had rested there in the months before. I pulled a few of the branches out and left those that were out of easy reach.

It made me think about new Christians and how they have broken and wounded spirits that are hiding in their newly born lives. Lives full of enthusiasm and desire to grow with Jesus, covering over the brokenness and wounds that first drew them to Jesus. They look fresh and beautiful on the outside, hiding the pain inside.

So many times we rejoice with their salvation and ignore the task set before us to help them grow. We often think they’ll find their own way to their faith and the truth. We might “toss” a scripture their way if they ask a specific question or two, but don’t get too involved in explaining what it means. After a while they become discouraged and disappear.

These “Babies” need someone to come along and embrace them, pray with them, teach them to let go and allow the pain and wounds to drop away through the healing of Jesus. Like us, they are called to be fountains of living water. They are to grow and be pruned by the Master, just like we were. They will be shaken clean by the winds of trial. Their roots will grow strong with dedicated study, prayer and intercession. But, only if we will teach them how.

What sort of witness are we if we spend our time preening ourselves and not guiding them along the way? Do we allow them to be tossed by the winds of doctrine, or do we show them how to receive the wind of the Spirit and the healing Word of God? Do we allow them to wander and be confused by tempting spirits, or do we teach them to discern and recognize the truth? Do we brush away the dead branches we can easily see and leave the deepest, furthest away to remain? Or do we dedicate our works to intercession and instruction, so that they can recognize the things in their lives that they have the authority to cleanse away themselves. Do we care?

God, help me to never forget how confused and lost I was when I first came to You. Help me to remember the outstretched hands and dedicated prayers that lead me to a strong knowledge of You. Help me remember how strong the pull was to give up and walk away when things just didn’t make sense, and the joy of breaking through with a well guided word and a moment of encouragement. Help me to be the example to help others find true relationship with You.

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MAMA’S CHINA CABINET

27 Apr

China Cabinet

by Linda J. Humes

“Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.” Matthew 28:20

Moms receive all sorts of knick-knacks and trinkets over the years. To the “untrained” eye they are bits of clutter that need disposed of. To a Mom they are priceless treasures. I have “pretty” rocks and molded clay in my cabinet. Right next to them are plaster of Paris handprints, tiny paper airplanes and small plastic toys. Each represents a special day in the life of one of my children. If I could have figured out how to preserve all the dandelions and wild flowers I would have a huge arrangement by now. Someday these treasures will be joined by gifts from the grandkids.

My Mom had a cabinet filled with similar delights. I was always mesmerized by her curio collection. I loved looking at them through the glass, seeing treasures each of us 5 kids had given her and little porcelain characters and vases she had received from others. On special occasions they would come out to decorate, to be put carefully back on another day.

When my Mom passed I asked about one of the items and my brothers and sister agreed that I could have it. It was a little elf on his knees under a mushroom. The mushroom was open and could hold 3 dandelions or one short lily. As I unwrapped my treasure I noticed something I had never noticed before – it had been broken and glued many different times. Dark lines and overflow glue held the mushroom top up. His little beard showed signs of repair. There were chips and small pieces missing when glued back together.

I don’t know who gave her that gift, but it was obvious that she loved it as much as I did. It would have been easy to toss it all away when it broke the first time, or the second, or the third . . . but she carefully took the time to put it all back together, holding it as the old glues took time to set.

Broken Pieces – Broken People.

It makes me think about God and all of His broken children. Like my mother, carefully mending her broken treasure, God sends people to His broken children to help them mend and heal. He doesn’t toss them out when they make mistakes or fall apart; He takes the time to speak to us, bring us “glue” to put us back together, strong arms to hold us up, strong faith through prayer.

I set my little vase toward the back where it wouldn’t be accidently knocked over. God, please keep me safe in Your loving arms and put me back together with the glue of the Holy Spirit if I should break.

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SNOWMAN

27 Apr

Snowman

By Linda J. Humes

“As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.” 1 Peter 4:10

Thanksgiving had just passed and Christmas was fast approaching. The skies took on an ashen gray color and the breeze cut to the bone. There was no doubt that winter had arrived. We woke one morning with a thin blanket of snow all around. School was delayed and the children ran anxiously to play. Red ears and noses bounced in and out of sight as snowball fights raged all around. Off to work I drove, careful of all the familiar curves and hills where ice glazed under the snow.

As I drove to town I saw clumps of snow fall from the electrical lines that trailed alongside and crossed over the street. The rising sun gave them a rhythm that caused them to fall in patterns – they seemed to be “playing,” falling in domino succession.

Next were the tree branches, warming just enough to drop entire branches of piled snow and dripping icicles. It put a smile on my face that remained throughout the day. It made me think of a large shaggy dog tossing snow from his coat as he fiercely shook.

After work I drove past the golf course. The snow was thinner, but the coating still clean and fresh – at least until I reached the farthest field. There were footprints and scoop marks across a 40’ circular area, down to mud and leaves. And in the very center stood a small snow man, no taller than 2’ – not exactly white, not exactly round, no where close to picture perfect. It was clear that the group that put this treasure together scrapped every possible flake, and a little mud, and a few leaves, and did the best they could do to pat it together.

The heads in every car that passed by turned to look. Smiles crossed their faces. Perhaps it brought memories of first snowmen, perhaps a time of freeness – playing in the snow and sharing a silly time. I thought of how long it must have taken and how proud some youngster must be to have “created” a small snowman.

For days after pieces remained. Melting took its toll, and all signs soon disappeared. I’ve thought about that snowman so many times. I thought about how we touch the lives of others, perhaps as a memory, perhaps as a time of freeness. I’ve thought that even when we’ve gone a little bit of us remains behind, sometimes for a brief time, sometimes as a lasting touch on the lives of another.

Soon there will be other days of snow and snowmen, but the memory of the first will always remain. Lord, help me to be a lasting memory, a lasting touch, in the lives of others – bringing a moment of peace and freeness. Let me be a little bit of YOU, spread throughout the world.

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TRUST

27 Apr

Hands and World

By Linda J. Humes

“Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” Proverbs 3:5 – 6 KJV

Trust. An interesting concept. What is trust? Trust is traveling down a highway at 65 MPH with another vehicle bearing down on you from the opposite direction at the same speed – knowing that they won’t cross the double yellow line that separates you. Trust is running 75 MPH up a mountain grade, zipping past the big rigs struggling at 30 MPH to make the grade and knowing they aren’t going to cross that dotted white line and pull in front of you.

Every day we stand on that trust, even though we’ve seen the evidence of betrayed trust along the way – figure eight skid-marks, pieces of vehicles and flares along the road, even one retaining wall in Phoenix which had been scrapped black from an impact and someone had painted a red cross in the center. Momentary diversions. If we dwell on the betrayed trust we wouldn’t be able to function in transportation – fear would overwhelm us and we would remain paralyzed. We MUST remain in trust.

If I can trust completely in strangers in my everyday travels – why do I struggle in trusting that God will honor His word?

Recently our family had gone through critical medical and financial crisis. I knew in my heart that God could provide for our needs – for healing – for the medical expenses – for our food and shelter. But in my mind it was too big. How could I help make it happen – ever been there??

I looked around for extra work, there wasn’t any. I tried putting things out in front of our home to sell – a car hit the items and they were ruined. We called everywhere we could think of for assistance – we didn’t qualify. Every door closed around us – God wanted us to know that He was in control. He WAS! Healing came. Food boxes and grocery gift cards came. Every bill has been paid to date. Praise God! I don’t know how He did it; I only know that He did. I trust that he will continue until this crisis has ended.

Trust. Interesting concept. What is it? It’s knowing that if I walk humbly and faithfully in His ways, He will be there to meet my needs. It’s knowing that no matter how much I try, I can’t. It’s knowing that my Heavenly Father loves me more than I could ever fathom and wants His perfect plan for my life. It’s knowing that all I have to do is call His Name and He will be there beside me.

In that I trust.

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CHRYSALIS

27 Apr

Chrysalis

By Linda J. Humes

“Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” Matthew 6:30 (KJV)

I made a new friend the other day. He wasn’t attractive – didn’t have a “big” name – wasn’t famous; in fact, he didn’t have anything to do with the church! Yet, Jesus, he taught me more – about you – than the most eloquent, the most learned, person I’ve heard.

My little friend – short and plump – rested briefly on a tomato stem, preparing to consume yet another leaf. This little caterpillar – subject daily to the mercies of his environment – was bound to the earth by those areas where he could climb.

He was so perfectly made – just like you – just like me. Every curve, every stout little leg, every perfect oval marking, balanced and ordered by a meticulous God.

He pressed forward, eating intently, knowing that soon he must die, and resting in the faith, that in his death he will be born again. He will soon take his earth-bound body, wrap it carefully in instinctive faith, and wait for the day when he will soar with a new freedom – as a beautiful, delicate butterfly.

We, too, can make the decision to wrap up our earth-bound lives and dispose of the old self, allowing the freeing release of the Holy Spirit, giving us wings to soar into the Presence of God.

The caterpillar, in his instinctive faith, never wastes a moment wondering “if” – he is drawn to the freedom he KNOWS will come. Oh, that we could have the faith to shed all that binds us to the ground. That we might wrap ourselves completely in the chrysalis of the Word of God, pulled tight by the power of the Spirit that transforms us. That we would desire to be drawn to that freedom – unafraid of the heights that we could soar to – through the rebirth from our old self to Christ.

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DANCING ON THE WIND

27 Apr

Birds Flying

By Linda J. Humes

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 (KJV)

On my weekly trip from Phoenix, up the mountain toward home, there’s a stretch of highway that has been cut through the mountain. Signs warn as you drive this section that there are strong crosswinds that run through where the mountain falls sharply to a crevasse then back to the protection of the carved out mountain. I’ve been given a good shake there many times; jolting me to a stronger grip on the wheel and a sharper eye on the road. One day I heard God telling me to pay attention to the beauty, not to worry so much about the dangers.

At first I thought I was supposed to see the beautiful striations of the mountain side, skillfully sliced away by the highway builders; brown, gray, white and gold pictures, drawn by the hand of God. Then there was the beautiful vegetation that peeked through at the high transit speed. Saguaros give way to high desert scrub at that point, all in bloom in spring.

One day I noticed the smallest mark on the sky, moving from left to right and back again over the highway, traveling up high and back down again. Then there was another and another. They were falcons, dancing on the wind. They rode the crosswinds, swooping down to easy sight, then catching the wind upward again, wings spread so wide that the feathers at the wing tips looked like fingers caressing the sky. They danced and played and found such freedom on the breath of God. Praise you Jesus – I felt freedom just watching them – I felt such peace.

It’s so easy for me to move from chore to chore – get up – eat – work – drive home – worry about getting everything done – stressing out – and all the time God is calling out “look for Me – I will give you rest, I will give you peace – look for Me.” When I opened my eyes to God, my drive no longer became a chore but a blessing.

I have seen as many as 15 birds at a time in that stretch. I always experience the same immediate calm – peace. I wonder how many other times God has called to me to look for Him in a difficult situation, and I was too overwhelmed to listen.

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I’m so thankful that we have a God who loves us so much that He never stops calling our name.

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SHRINE

27 Apr

Shrine

By Linda J. Humes

“We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:8

It breaks my heart. Every time I pass by a part of me rips. It drives me to an urgency of prayer. Shrines – ornate piles of mementos placed along the side of a road at a point where a life was lost. Not a simple white cross, but a memorial of treasures, family pictures, candles, flowers, trees, elaborate crosses, balloons, clothing, even a whiskey bottle decorates one near my home. Paths to the shrine are kept raked and clean, a row of rocks line each side of the path. Someone spends hours of time showing their love for one lost. This is only one example of many that are scattered throughout the community.

It is difficult to know much about the one being memorialized, but the ones left behind are the ones I grieve for. Do they believe the “ghost” of the loved one lingers there to enjoy the birthday banners, Christmas trees, stuffed Easter Bunny, or the framed photos that are changed every few months? Do they think a disembodied soul floats about, mourning and waiting for the living to remember them at holidays?

I pray continually that God would send someone to the keepers of the shrine, to let them know the peace of letting go. To let them know that there is more to life than animate mementos of life. To let them know about Jesus. To show them His great love. To give them the security of knowing that to be absent from the body is to be in the presence of God. That our peace after death is completely dependent upon our relationship with Christ, not on those who have stayed behind.

I don’t know who tends the shrines, but I know my God. I know that every prayer I utter meets the ears of my Creator, and I know that He can bring the right person, with the right words, at the right time, to touch their hearts and direct their souls.

Jesus, if that person is me – show me the way.

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