There is a moment in time when everything changes. It starts with a thought, a possibility. Could it be true…? And then there is the anticipation, poorly masked by an I know it’s not true but I’ll just make sure…And then there is that minute of waiting, and then…it happens. The test is positive. And the gravity of what has happened….A soul has been created. A living being is being formed at this moment inside of me. The Creator’s hands are weaving and molding and knitting with infinite love and care. The Life Giver is at work.
Three times in my life now, I have experienced this moment. I wish so much that I could bottle up the feeling that comes every time I am made aware of the miracle. Each time, I have fallen on my face in worship, because there is nothing else I can do. What else is there to do, when you are that aware of the presence and power of God?
Yes, I wish I could bottle up that feeling. But I can’t, and it fades. The miracle is still there, but the daily grind is still there too, and it’s hard to keep them both in perspective. And so I found myself today, sitting on a little red plastic child’s chair in the kitchen, with my head leaning against a cabinet and my eyes closed. Three minutes of solitude, more than I have had all day, and I didn’t know what to do with it. So I just cried. What else is there to do, when you have lost sight of the presence and power of God?
The magnitude of this comes rushing in like a river, if I will let it.
There it is, at the conception of life, a breath – a supernatural occurrence that takes cells and makes them human – a feat that no one, no matter how tall we build our towers of Babel, will ever be able to replicate.
He said to me, "Prophesy over these bones and say to them, `O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.' "Thus says the Lord God to these bones, `Behold, I will cause breath to enter you that you may come to life… and you will know that I am the Lord.'"
And there it is again, the walking dead who are not even aware of their condition, now receiving the very breath that they were made to inhale. Bringing the dead to life. This is what He does.
Tomorrow we will celebrate the resurrection of our Lord from the dead. The miracle is there – always there. But it is so easy to overlook. If we try…can we remember?
Can we remember the moment in time when we first realized the truth of what happened?
This is My body…this is My blood…do this in remembrance of Me. Then He took the cup and He drank it.
Father, if there is any other way, let this cup pass from Me…yet not what I will but Your will be done.
A garden…a battle…a cup of unimaginable wrath…the second Adam…The very Son of God, humble and unwavering, torn and beaten, thirsty and nailed to a cross, displayed and mocked, forgiving and giving life even in His dying hours…
And a dark tomb, sealed with finality and an immovable stone.
And a third day, and a sun dawning with hope, and soldiers on the ground and an angel sitting and laughing on an “immovable” stone, and women weeping in one moment with grief and in another with breathtaking hope because the tomb was empty and the Life Giver was alive…
And if we can remember how it feels to know that these things are true…to know that at the beginning and in the middle and at the end of our days, He is still giving life…to know in the moments in the kitchen when we lean our heads back and cry that He is still trampling sin and death and giving life to these weary and dry bones…to know that He is the bread of life and the living water and the fountain of life and yes, even the very breath of life…and if we can be that aware of His presence and His power…then let our response, this Easter and always, be to fall on our faces and worship.
Because what else is there to do in the face of the Life Giver?