About Me

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Former educator and current wife, mom, daughter, and friend. Really, I'm just a southern girl trying to live the happiest, healthiest life I can. I do it with the help of those who know me best and love me anyway - God, my family, and my friends.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

26,280 Hours

I heard an interesting statement a few weeks ago, and . . . yep, you guessed it . . . it got me thinking.  Aren’t you glad you don’t live in my brain?  It’s like the world’s largest bumper car rink in there – a whole lot of bad ideas racing around in every direction, slamming into each other for no reason, accomplishing absolutely nothing except for causing a terrible headache.

Still, I simply have to share.

There are a TON of words in the Bible.  It’s incredibly thick and the pages are ridiculously thin and impossibly hard to turn.  Aren’t you just dying to read it now?  I should probably work on my sales pitch for God’s word, huh?

Where were we?  Oh yes, a TON of words.  Now the Old Testament doesn’t tell you about Jesus’ life.  Notice I didn’t say it doesn’t tell you about Jesus, because I assure you, the Old Testament is entirely about Jesus – every page foreshadows his very name.  It just doesn’t use his actual name.  

The name ‘Jesus’ isn’t mentioned in the Bible until the New Testament begins with the book of Matthew, and we hear the Christmas story.  You know the one . . . Mary, a virgin engaged to be married to Joseph, receives a visit from an angel.  This angel (Gabriel) tells the young girl she is pregnant with God’s own son and she is to call him Jesus.  Sure enough, about nine months later Mary gives birth to a king, in a barn, and names him Jesus, as instructed. 
The book of Matthew is the first of four books, also known as the gospels, which recount the events of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.  All four of them, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, tell the Christmas story in some fashion.  Matthew is the only gospel that also tells us about the three kings visiting their messiah and showering him with gifts, which most Biblical scholars believe occurred not at the time of Jesus’ birth, but more than a year later.  Luke is the only gospel that mentions anything about Jesus during his adolescence.  This happens in the second chapter of Luke when we read the story of Jesus traveling eighty miles from Nazareth to Jerusalem to visit the temple for Passover – an excursion that might not sound like much, until you remember that such journeys were made on foot during Jesus’ time.  So basically, a four day walk to church. 

Although there are four gospels, we don’t learn anything else about Jesus’ life as an infant, child, teenager, or young man from any of them, except that he grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men (Luke 1:80, 2:40).  Instead, the gospels pick up when Jesus is about thirty years old, and all four tell of the final three years of his life on earth. 
There is much to tell. 

There are encounters with a prostitute by a well, a tax collector in a tree, a leper, a bleeding woman, a blind man, and a lady with some very expensive perfume.  There are little children on the lap of a king.  There is a boy with a basket of food that feeds thousands.  There is a walk across water, the calming of a storm, overturned tables in a temple, and a once empty net overflowing with fish.  There are healings and miracles and palm branches and many references to yeast.  There are disciples, friends, family, strangers, traitors, and a donkey.  There are men and women, Jews and Gentiles, and a Roman governor named Pontius Pilate who has not even the hint of a backbone.  There is the last supper, the washing of feet, the prayer in the garden, and the kiss of death.  There is an arrest, a trial, a mob, and utter brutality.  There is a crown of thorns, a cross to bear, a final breath, a veil torn.  There is sorrow and suspense, beauty and betrayal, happiness and heartbreak, torment and truth.  There is loss and life and the single most incredible love of all time.
In three years.

Three years.

Thirty-six months.  One hundred fifty-six weeks.  One thousand ninety-five days. 

Jesus changed the entire world and all of its inhabitants forever and ever and ever for all of eternity . . . in three years.
That just blows the bumper cars right out of my mind.  And I can’t help but wonder . . .

What could I do in three years?
What could you do in three years?
What could we do in three years, in the name of the One who did it all for us? 

How many people could we tell? 

How many lives could we change? 

How many souls could we save?
How many hands could we hold and mouths could we feed and hearts could we heal?  How many of the hurting could we serve and touch and help because we choose to follow the One who showed us exactly how to do it?

Jesus’ life on earth ended before he reached his thirty-fifth birthday.  I don’t know how much time I have left to live on earth – it might be days or decades – but either way, I want to live it well. I want to live it in a way that honors the sacrifice He made for me.  I want to embrace the peace and grace and comfort and freedom His life and death offered to all of humanity.  I want to live each day with my focus on truth and my confidence in the fact that with God, all things are possible. 

Because with God . . .  

A baby born in a barn

To a carpenter and a virgin 

Grew up to be a man

And in only three years 

Became a Savior.