This was my little devo on Friday morning - quite reassuring and powerful, no?
"God did for us what I did for one of my daughters in the shop at New York's La Guardia Airport. The sign above the ceramic pieces read Do Not Touch. But the wanting was stronger than the warning, and she touched. And it fell. By the time I looked up, ten-year-old Sara was holding the two pieces of a New York City skyline. Next to her was an unhappy store manager. Over them both was the written rule. Between them hung a nervous silence. My daughter had no money. He had no mercy. So I stepped in.
"How much do we owe you?" I asked. How was it that I owed anything? Simple. She was my daughter. And since she could not pay, I did.
Since we cannot pay, Christ did. We've broken so much more than souvenirs. We've broken God's heart. With the law on the wall and shattered commandments on the floor, Christ steps near (like a neighbor) and offers a gift (like a Saviour)."
Thanks Max Lucado - great great great words of wisdom that I need to hear daily.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Ode to Ouma
June 5th, 2009…June 5th. June 5th. June 5th. The day my dear Oumie is being celebrated for the life she lived for over 80 years. Fragile, frail, crabby, soft, wrinkley, loving, quiet Oumie. While it pains me that I can’t be there at the memorial, I have decided to dedicate my first blog entry as an “Ode to Ouma”. It doesn’t rhyme and it isn’t a limerick, but it’s what I remember.
I remember being a little kid around her; little enough to go into her room and eat Eno’s (otherwise known at Rolaids or Tums) until there were just candy wrappers on the ground next to her bed. I remember watching her make fetkoek, and being mesmerized by the way her hands would knead and punch and stretch the dough. She was a fabulous cook. I remember how she would mutter under her breath in Afrikaans when she was annoyed with us, knowing that we couldn’t understand her. I remember how she would go into her room every day at 1:00 PM to watch her favourite daily soap, Egoli. I remember the feeling of seeing our (grandkids) pictures all over the walls and knowing that we were so loved. I remember her bedside tables and how they had a glass top; perfect for putting little photographs underneath for her to look at when she went to bed or woke up; pictures of Terri from Benoni High, pictures of Brett; Gareth, Me, Haylee, Greg…and of course Oupa.
In her last days, we were told that she was calling out people’s names – people who had already passed away; Aunty Pop, Uncle Gert, Oupa, Terri. Then in her last hours, while lying in the hospital bed with Jen, Kev, Vicki & Andrew at her side, she said the room was “too crowded; too many people in here”. We now realize that she was talking about all those who were in Heaven, waiting for her – welcoming her to go with them. They were with her in that last week and they were with her in that room in those last hours. How comforting to know that she’s being looked after, and her body has been restored. No more pain, no more anguish. Hallelujah!
Tonight, we (M, D & Gareth) are going out to celebrate Oumie and the beautiful person she was to us all. I feel honoured and privileged that I got to see her just a few short weeks ago and was able to say my proper goodbye. The tears have flowed and now it’s time to rejoice. The Lord is Good.
I remember being a little kid around her; little enough to go into her room and eat Eno’s (otherwise known at Rolaids or Tums) until there were just candy wrappers on the ground next to her bed. I remember watching her make fetkoek, and being mesmerized by the way her hands would knead and punch and stretch the dough. She was a fabulous cook. I remember how she would mutter under her breath in Afrikaans when she was annoyed with us, knowing that we couldn’t understand her. I remember how she would go into her room every day at 1:00 PM to watch her favourite daily soap, Egoli. I remember the feeling of seeing our (grandkids) pictures all over the walls and knowing that we were so loved. I remember her bedside tables and how they had a glass top; perfect for putting little photographs underneath for her to look at when she went to bed or woke up; pictures of Terri from Benoni High, pictures of Brett; Gareth, Me, Haylee, Greg…and of course Oupa.
In her last days, we were told that she was calling out people’s names – people who had already passed away; Aunty Pop, Uncle Gert, Oupa, Terri. Then in her last hours, while lying in the hospital bed with Jen, Kev, Vicki & Andrew at her side, she said the room was “too crowded; too many people in here”. We now realize that she was talking about all those who were in Heaven, waiting for her – welcoming her to go with them. They were with her in that last week and they were with her in that room in those last hours. How comforting to know that she’s being looked after, and her body has been restored. No more pain, no more anguish. Hallelujah!
Tonight, we (M, D & Gareth) are going out to celebrate Oumie and the beautiful person she was to us all. I feel honoured and privileged that I got to see her just a few short weeks ago and was able to say my proper goodbye. The tears have flowed and now it’s time to rejoice. The Lord is Good.
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