Tag Archives: Cross

FEAR NOT

13 Apr

“And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.” Luke 1:30

—

In the bosom of innocence lay a mighty seed,

Kissed by Deity,

Torn from the safety of Heaven,

Planted by the hand of God.

—

Fear not, Mary, for within you rises a mighty nation,

Within you rests the end of death,

The keys to life.

—

Ten tiny fingers, ten little toes,

A mind that reads the multitudes,

A soul absent of sin.

—

Innocence bearing innocence,

Purity rising forth,

In humble servitude.

—

Fear not, Mary,

For the walk of faith,

The sacrifices to come,

Will be met with Grace,

Sent from the Father above.

—

Fear not for the pain so deep,

That only a mother could know,

That only a mother could bear.

—

Fear not for that one small child,

Held up by the arms of the father,

Given back to God.

—

Fear not, Mary, for the blood to be shed,

For the wooden tree,

That holds Him up to God,

In a mocking, cynical taunt.

—

Fear not, Mary,

For the tears and confusions of the day,

Make way for the joy of the risen savior,

Untouched by death,

Sitting at the right hand of the Father.

—

Rejoice, Mary, for the precious times,

You held Him close,

For the pride you felt,

As He touched the crowds.

—

Rejoice, Mary,

That for all His attempts,

Satan was bruised,

And banished,

To rule the dead.

—

Rejoice, Mary,

For the precious Grace,

That met your need,

And the needs of the generations,

Because of the innocence sacrificed,

To the hand of God.

—

Written 6/18/98

By Linda J Humes

 

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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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At The Right Hand Of The Father

4 Aug

blessing hands

(the strength of His might) . . . “which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and made him to sit at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule, and authority, and power, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that which is to come:” Ephesians 1:20-21 (ASV)

There are very few people, that I have met, who don’t appreciate being recognized for their accomplishments or for doing a great job at their daily duties.  A word of recognition or a note of thanks can turn a dark day completely around, and negative words can take a person to a whole different level of dismay and depression.  I wonder what thoughts went through Jesus’ mind as He suffered and died on the cross that day.  He had been betrayed by the very people He loved and spent years teaching and mentoring.  He was abandoned and faced that horrible circumstance alone, except for the Father who watched from afar.  I wonder if Jesus had thoughts of abandonment.  I wonder if He felt betrayed, even for a moment.  I wonder if He contemplated the work that He had done on earth and if it was good enough.  I wonder if He rose above all of that, knowing the facets of human nature and the fear, shame and pain, that those He loved must have been feeling.  I wonder.

God used His strength and might to raise Jesus from the dead.  His spoken word broke off the tomb of death and called His son to His very arms.  Did God hold Jesus like a mother or father holding an injured child, loving away the pain and the memory of the event that caused it?  Did He speak life and strength back into His son, knowing that Jesus’ journey on earth was far from over?  Or, did Jesus just know?

After Jesus’ work on earth was complete He joined the Father, sitting at the Father’s right hand.  Scripture has many references to the right hand and the blessing that the right hand brings (Matthew 22:44).  It also speaks of the power of God that comes through the right hand (Exodus 15:6).  When children were blessed by the head of the family, giving them inheritance and power in the lands the family owned, and sometimes those blessed were not the children expected to receive the blessing, as in Genesis 48.  And in those times when people called on God for protection and comfort, He reached down His right hand to take care of them (Isaiah 41:13).  I find it very comforting to know that in my time of need, I can call on God and not only can He reach out with His right hand to send His blessing, but at His right hand rests His very son, Jesus Christ, making intercession for my every need (1 John 2:1).

But our reference doesn’t stop with the right hand, the blessings, the protection, the intercessions, or the care and love Jesus has for each of us.  The reference goes on to say who this man named Jesus is and what God has bestowed upon Him for the wonderful work He accomplished while on this earth.  After the sacrifice of the cross and Jesus’ time on earth with the apostles and disciples, God took Jesus to His right hand – above all rule, authority, power, dominion and any other word to describe that thought.  God took Jesus above every name that is named, not just on earth, but in all physical and spiritual locations unknown to man.  He took Jesus above all things known and all thing that are to come that we cannot even fathom.

This should bring us all great comfort, it does me.  For in the heart of Jesus, and on the palm of God, is your name and mine (Isaiah 49:16).  Their love for us is far beyond any rule, authority, power or dominion in worlds we understand, and in worlds we cannot fathom.  We are there, safely held in the arms of a precious and powerful savior, at the right hand of God.

*A Journey Through Ephesians:  Ephesians 1 – Part 12

Written By Linda J. Humes

10-19-14

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WHICH SIDE

17 Sep

He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad. Matthew 12:30 KJV

✝

When tempests boil and turn,

This way and that,

Uprooting all you find sacred,

All you find worthy –

On which side of the cross do you rest?

✝

When your thoughts are so strained,

Facts threaten your hope,

Doubts threaten your faith –

On which side of the cross do you rest?

✝

When your family and friends,

Dwell on sorrows and pain,

Straining joy,

Stretching joy,

Quenching joy –

On which side of the cross do you rest?

✝

When you’ve let promise down,

To the ones that you love,

To yourself,

To your dreams –

On which side of the cross do you rest?

✝

Do you curse and cry out,

Blaming God in the dusk,

Screaming “why” in self-pity,

In pride?

✝

Or do you lay yourself down,

At the foot of the cross,

And rest in His promise,

His love?

✝

Written 6-20-1998

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SACRIFICE

16 Sep

“By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name.”  Hebrews 13:15  KJV

✝

The Ancient of Days,

cast Himself to the earth,

in the form of a seed,

in the womb of a virgin.

✝

Subject, now, to heat and cold,

to fatigue and illness,

to prejudice and ridicule,

to suffering and pain.

✝

The Ancient of Days,

became man,

flesh, blood and Spirit;

willingly giving,

the power of deity,

for the birth of a nation.

✝

The God of Jessie,

born through the sacrifice of blood,

to become the blood sacrifice.

✝

From the promises to Adam,

to the revelation shown John,

the blood of God coursed the earth,

changing strength and direction,

at the tributary called Christ.

✝

The new stream of Christ,

fed the trees of new life,

where the roots of the old,

were washed clean.

✝

The water, most pure,

chased the stagnant pools of red,

that once rinsed man’s hands,

but touched not the soul.

✝

The water, most pure,

flowed over and cleansed,

the wounds of the past,

refreshing the hope,

of a dark, tarnished dream.

✝

The water of life,

borne from the blood,

of an innocent man,

takes sweet revenge,

on the deepest of sin.

✝

Released to be washed,

by the power of mercy,

by the treasure of grace,

it rises back up,

to the base of the cross.

✝

There, at the cross,

the blood and water,

of grace and mercy,

flows down to the earth,

as forgiven sin reaches up,

meeting at the feet of Christ.

✝

Running together they became one,

the earth shook with promise,

the sky darkened,

to reveal a new light,

and the rivers flowed,

with a new wine,

washing clean the weary souls,

of all that would reach forth,

in praise.

✝

 

 

Written 10-18-1998

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God’s Perfect Gift

10 Sep

 

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.  Song of Solomon 2:1 KJV

 

You came up,

 out of the desert,

 as a pure white rose,

 born in a wilderness,

 breathtakingly fragrant.


You stood for all that was true,

 in a land without water,

 in a world wroth with sin,

 forged in pain.


People searched you out,

 grasping at your petals,

 a sweet scent to hold on to,

 until only the stem remained,

 circled about with thorns.


When it seemed to all,

 that nothing was left,

 You bloomed again,

 as the Phoenix bird,

 rising from the ashes,

 lifted high above the crowd,

 on an unfinished wooden cross.


In your final flower,

 the new petals fell,

 each bearing the name,

 of sin and pain,

 all that was removed,

 from our condemned lives.


The petals falling,

 willingly given,

 to redeem the lost,

 every provision considered,

 every provision met.


First fell shame,

 for not recognizing,

 who You were,

 then guilt,

 for the pain You endured.


There was sickness,

 depression, fear,

 sins of the past,

 broken in travel,

 to the generations,

 of the future.


On and on they fell,

 one by one,

 stripping away hopelessness,

 giving new life,

 in the sight of eternity.


As the last petal fell,

 Your Father, our Father,

 gasped,

 shaking the earth with His pain,

 dimming the light from the sky.


There You hung,

 looking no more,

 than a dry broken twig,

 soon to be buried,

 in the bowels of the earth.


Yet, inside that twig,

 lay a seed,

 a new life,

 taking root in the earth,

 preparing to grow,

 preparing to bloom,

 as Aaron’s rod,

 a sign to the nations,

 of God’s perfect love,

 in the gift of,

the Rose.

 

Written 11-14-98

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Sore On My Palm

19 Jul

 

jesus hands hole with baby hand

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.      Isaiah 53:5 (KJV)

To say that we have had windstorms this year is a gross understatement.  We are getting to know our neighbor’s eating habits from the trash we’ve had to pick up in our yard – the hazard of being the last house before the cyclone fence!

Our poor trees took a beating and their branches covered an acre of yard.  So few trees, so many branches; I suspect some are visitors from neighboring yards accompanying the trash.

I grabbed a big bucket and went about collecting branches.  The smaller ones fit nicely into the bucket, but the longer ones had to be broken.  Most snapped in half easily, but one branch hadn’t dried out completely and gave me quite a challenge.  When it finally gave it snapped in my hand and dug into my palm – yikes, that smarts!

I babied that hand for days, the loose skin fell away and it left behind a perfectly round purple mark in the center of my palm.  As I reviewed it one day it took my breath away.  For just a moment I was looking into the hand of my Savior, a hole clean through and bloodied.  A sacrifice, just for me.

I fussed at my simple gouge; the soldiers drove nails through His hands and feet.  I jump at the smallest bump, He was hung on a cross; his side pierced.  How dare me to feel sorry for myself over a scratch when He gave His life without complaint so that I could receive eternal life.

The mark stayed on my palm for weeks, a daily reminder of how much God loves me.  Scars are reminders of choices made, good or bad, and always come with lasting memories.  I wish the mark had not gone away.  Like the cross hanging around my neck, I desire the simple daily reminders of who I am in Christ; someone just like you, a child of Christ.

Thank you Lord for making me ever aware of what You have done for me.  I could never repay You.  Don’t allow me to get so caught up in everyday life to forget that everything I have, every breath I breathe, every step I take, is made possible by You.  I praise You.

 

Written by Linda J Humes

Written 6-8-2010

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Generations

17 Jan

Generations

Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me;                                                             Exodus 20:5

 —-

Thou shewest lovingkindness unto thousands, and recompensest the iniquity of the fathers into the bosom of their children after them: the Great, the Mighty God, the Lord of hosts, is his name,                                                                Jeremiah 32:18

 —-

The weight of the sins,

     of generations past,

     burden my shoulders.

 —-

I am tempted and swayed,

     toward an evil I don’t understand,

     and yet I crave.

 —-

I carry the mantle of a cursed generation,

     passed down,

     father to child,

     a covenant of sin.

     In which generation do I fall,

     3rd, 5th, maybe 7th?

 —-

The shadow of a cross

     falls across the path,

     I’ve been destined to walk.

     It breaks the pulling of the grave.

 —-

As I look to the man hanging thereon,

     calling my name,

     I feel the mantle lighten.

 —-

Resting at His feet,

     I look upward,

     into His pain wracked face;

     the blood from His pierced hands,

     falls on the mantle I carry,

     breaking the chains that hold it there,

     releasing the shell,

     it falls to the ground.

 —-

His eyes watch and question,

     “Will you pick it back up?”

 —-

Within my womb rests a nation.

     Their destiny rests within the choice,

     I must make.

     Their blessing or cursing

     rests in the power

     of my decision.

 —-

Do I pick up the mantle

     of my fathers,

     or wear a crown of thorns,

     adorned with the ruby red drops

     of the Savior’s blood,

     one day to be traded

     for a crown of gold.

 —-

There, at the foot of the cross,

     lay the empty shell,

     a wicked generation

     left behind  –  cleansed

     by the flow of blood.

—-

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Grafted

30 Mar

It was a deep wound,

Intended to bring death,
Inflicted by the spear,
Of a Roman Soldier.

Gaping open,
It released blood and water.
The blood of the new covenant,
The water of the Holy Spirit,
Yet to come.

The precious liquids,
Oozing to the surface,
Were the precious nutrients,
To give food and strength,
To the nation to come.

Inside that wound,
Deep in the side of my Savior,
The wound Satan meant for evil,
God planted a seed,
A bud,
A grafted nation,
A place for me.

That wound,
And the seed inside,
Were anointed with myrrh,
With aloes, and with spices.
Wrapped so carefully,
With the finest linen,
Preparing a cleft,
Of most Holy foundation,
For the Gentile to join,
God’s chosen.

Then came the moment,
When the linens were left,
In the shape of a man,
But hollow and unaltered,
As a message of release.

The moment when Christ,
With the grafted children,
Tucked safely beneath his arm,
Faced Satan and conquered death.

Now this nation,
Birthed in the side of Christ,
As Eve was birthed,
In the side of Adam,
Sat in communion,
At the right hand of God.

Guided forth,
Performing greater miracles,
Exhibiting greater power,
Flowing in the Holy Spirit,
The seed branched forward.

Inside that graft,
With its roots entwined,
Deep into the Master,
There is a leaf,
Turning to the Son,
Preparing to break forth,
And follow the way,
Set forth by Him.

It’s just one leaf,
Of the many branches,
Just one small part,
Of a mighty tree.
But on that leaf,
Is a name,
And that name belongs,
To ME.

olive-branch

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