A Perfect Spring Day

            Words threaten to choke me as I watch a nurse escort another patient out of the pre-op unit. Part of me knows I shouldn’t be nervous, but the thought of being cut on is still unsettling.

            “You’re going to be okay,” Carey, my husband, whispers.

            My heart races as a nurse strides toward us.

            “Mrs. McInnis, would you and your husband come with me please.” It was a command, not a request.

            “We just got a call from the head of radiology. There appears to be a mix-up. You need to walk over to the breast center now.”

            “Mix-up?” Carey asks.

            “I have no other details.” 

            Confusion and anxiety clash on our walk to the breast center. 

            What is going on?

            Carey squeezes my hand as we ride the elevator in silence. Words are foreign messengers right now.

            Dr. Dumas, the head of radiology, meets us as we step off the elevator.

            “Mrs. McInnis, before we go to my office, I need to inform you that you do not have breast cancer.”

            As waves of relief wash over me, I’m startled to see a tear trickle down Carey’s cheek. Until that moment, I had no idea how worried he had been.

            Two mammogram films are prominently displayed on a large monitor in the doctor’s office.

            “First, let me apologize for the anxiety this experience must have caused you. The surgeon failed to review your past mammograms. Had he reviewed them, he would have noted that the spots have been there for over five years.” His laser pointer highlights three spots on the x-ray.

            “Did you breastfeed your children?”

            “I did, including the twins.”

            “Based on the location, there’s a possibility the spots are scar tissue from one of your children biting you.”        

            Laughter eases the tension just a little.

            After several more apologizes, Dr. Dumas guides us to the exit.

            Not until we step into sunshine do I exhale a deep sigh. “Well, that was interesting. I hope the drive home is uneventful.”

            As we make our way across Mobile Bay, I’m hypnotized by the sky melting into the water.

            Lord, I will never take this beauty for granted.

            Suddenly, a dark shadow hurdles toward our car. A pelican flies straight for the windshield. 

            “It's going to hit us!”

            Bracing for impact, I close my eyes. Carey blows the horn. Seconds pass. 

            No crash.

            “Close call,” Carey chuckles.

            My heart rate slows as I shift my focus to counting alligators floating on the surface of the bay.

            “Wanna celebrate by eating lunch at Boudreaux’s?” 

            “Are we celebrating no cancer or no pelican?” I ask.

            The aroma of fried seafood and Cajun spices tease my nose as the waiter guides us to the patio.  Egrets and pelicans share real estate on the eastern shore today. Since the restaurant is perched on a bluff overlooking the bay, an illusion of sitting on water adds a sense of tranquility. 

            Comfort and satisfaction waltz across my tongue as I savor shrimp and grits. Even the breeze whispers a sweet, soothing melody as it sighs across the water. I could sit here all day and soak in the beauty. Regrettably, a noisy patron jars me out of serenity.   

            After arriving home, Carey and I sit on the back porch gazing at the pecan orchard adjoining our property.  Countless times I have sat on this porch admiring the orchard’s beauty. My favorite time of day is early morning when sunbeams peek through the trees. When our son was younger, he described this splendor perfectly, “Look, Mommy, God’s shining down!”

            Although this warm afternoon sun doesn’t display sunbeams, it does enhance the myriad shades of green shared among the trees. I slowly shift my gaze from the trees to the beautiful blue sky. 

            “Carey, look! Doesn’t that cloud look like a dragon?”

            “It does, and the one next to it looks like a clown.”

            We laugh at cloud dragons, puppies, and clowns.

            As I contemplate the rollercoaster of emotions experienced today, First Thessalonians 5:18 comes to mind, “Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”   

            Thank you, Lord, for such a wonderfully beautiful, perfect day.        

Kathy Garrett McInnis fell in love with writing while a student at Liberty University. She is a new author and published her first book in late 2018. Kathy is a member of WW North Texas and WW Chapter 39. She shares her writings on her blog at www.ferventgrace.org. She and her husband live in north Texas with their rescue dog Bella. They have three grown children and three grandchildren.

Where Oily Hair Becomes A Form Of Worship 

                  Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus recently raised from the dead.  Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Mary . . . (John 12:1-2 NIV)

“We interrupt with breaking news in the town of Bethany. This is your local reporter, Ben-Hani, in the home of Lazarus, where there seems to be some confusion. An argument breaks out between Martha and Mary, who are sisters. I’m in the kitchen where Martha is slamming iron pots and pans while grumbling what she saw in the other room where Jesus and others sat. Excuse me, Martha. I noticed you are upset. Would you like to tell us why?”
        

       “Gladly!” As she wiped the sweat from her forehead after taking warm bread from a red clay oven. “Look at those two next to the dinner table. While I slave over a hot furnace preparing this meal for Jesus and our guests, my sister, Mary, sits at his feet like a child in need.”
        

       “It looks like Jesus is enjoying her company.”
        

       “My brother died! She should be at his feet respecting and rejoicing over his resurrection!” 

                  Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.     (John 12-3 NIV)                                              

        “As I recall, this fragrance is called spikenard which is a precious and expensive rose-colored oil made from the highly aromatic dried roots and oily stems of the spikenard plant. The plant grows in India. Roughly speaking, this ointment cost the equivalent of 300 denarii, the average yearly wage of today’s worker.”

        The aroma of the perfume drifted into the kitchen. Martha entered the room filled with grumbling and hungry guests. I saw a marble-like container often referred to as an alabaster box, used specifically to preserve a valuable substance. The liquid gold dripped from Jesus’ feet. The guests stood; watched and waited to see Martha’s reaction. I moved in closer and looked at each guest anticipating a response. There was one whose eyes spoke with rage. I asked Martha, “Who is this man who has the look of wrath?”

        “That’s Judas Iscariot. He doesn’t like to see anything of value wasted foolishly. Why Jesus chose this thief to be one of his disciples, I’ll never know.”

        “Can you verify that?”

                  But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected,  “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.”  He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it."           (John 12-4,5,6 NIV)

         “I see what you mean, Martha.” She looked away in disgust, as I watched Mary let down her long dark hair and swept the soft strands like a towel marinated in sauce. I asked, “What is she doing? Isn’t this in violation of Jewish tradition?”

          Let’s move from the scene and try to understand Mary’s reasons for her unorthodox actions. Beginning with the one whose feet she washed and wiped, in Verse 7, “Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she (Mary) should save this perfume for the day of my burial. Verse 8, You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”

        What Mary did, was to sacrifice an extremely expensive container of oil in order to anoint Jesus. Her act was not hidden or secretive - but simply a natural consequence of her sacrifice. It was uninhibited worship and submission to Christ. Adding to the sacrifice of the oil itself, women in this era usually kept their hair covered in public. Here, Mary is using her hair - not a towel or a rag - to wipe Jesus’ feet. While that image is merely odd to modern-day eyes, in that era it was a deeply intimate, self-exposing act, putting her in a position of lowliness which Jesus understood as a form of worship and in preparation for his death.

 
      “This is your local reporter, Ben-Hani, at the home of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. I ask you, how would you react to Mary’s display?”                                                              

Question:  Have you ever performed a sacrifice that appeared unusual to others? 
Question:  Did you ever do something you felt was honorable, but others showed disrespect?

Submitted by Douglas Maxson                                           

The Empty Backyard

     “All the Easter eggs I hid in the backyard are gone,” my husband reported.

     “What do you mean they’re gone?” I shot back.

     “I can’t find them anywhere. I know where I hid them, and they just aren’t there,” he responded shrugging.

     This scenario wasn’t what I had in mind for the first celebration of Easter my young daughter could understand. Having delayed childbearing so I could finish law school, I was eager to embrace the role of mom now that I had a child. And the role I envisioned included providing an Easter egg hunt on Easter.

     As a planner, I had been organizing the perfect Easter for my adorable offspring for some time. And I went all out. An article in a parenting magazine offered tips on how to make Easter bunny tracks on your carpet. The necessary materials, including flour to form the bunny paw prints, were obtained and ready for use. Sure, flour everywhere was going to be messy, but that was the price I’d have to pay to enchant my child. I did own a vacuum cleaner after all. 

     My planning included wardrobe details as well as household decorations. Easter would not be Easter without a new outfit to wear. An adorable little dress, tights, and shoes were purchased to make sure my little darling was properly attired. Unfortunately, plans for her to wear an Easter bonnet were abandoned. Heather simply would not stand for anything to be on her head. I was doing well to keep dress shoes on her feet.

     Dressing up wasn’t fun for a small child, but she adored the quintessential Easter preparation activity—dyeing eggs. Her eyes widened as I plopped the white eggs into colored water and fished them out having turned a pastel hue. Of course, Heather wanted to “help,” making the activity messy as well as fun.

     When Easter Sunday finally arrived, this new momma was all set. With glee, I dressed Heather in her pretty Easter outfit. While she was occupied being dressed, I sent my husband to the backyard to hide the Easter eggs we’d dyed. The Easter Bunny’s paw prints led to the backdoor, and the hunt for eggs would begin outside upon our return from church. 

     At least that was the plan. Unfortunately our plan failed to take into account our dog, Beauregard. Not wanting to be left out, Beau found and ate all the Easter eggs hidden in the backyard while we attended Easter services. Only telltale eggshells scattered about were left.

     While this story wasn’t funny to me then, it’s highly amusing now. It’s also indicting. I left no stone unturned to provide my daughter all the trappings of Easter, but I forgot something. Easter is about Jesus’ resurrection. Maybe He was reminding me of this truth by having the eggs vanish. They were gone from my backyard like He was gone from the tomb. The eggs were eaten, but He has risen!

Alice H. Murray is a Florida adoption attorney who has practiced law in the Sunshine State for over 30 years. While being a lawyer is her profession, Alice’s passion is writing. She is a staff writer for www.adoption.com, produces a weekly blog (aliceinwonderingland.wordpress.com), has had pieces published in several Short And Sweet books and in Chicken Soup For The Soul, and has written for legal professional magazines, her local paper, a missions magazine, and various online sites. Alice is an officer and board member of the Florida Adoption Council and of Hope Global Initiative