A choice you must make.

This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. --Deuteronomy 30:19-20

(If you are expecting this to be a political post, you don't know me very well. Just sayin'.)

Spring has come at last to this neck of the woods. The irises have bloomed and gone, the grass is growing much faster than I wish. I even decided this year-- believe it or not-- to see if I can keep a few extra plants alive. But the best part about spring having come is that along with the warmer temperatures and cerulean high skies, strawberries are in season.

Strawberries! Decades ago, when the kids were little, we would go out to a local farm and pick our own berries. They would give us a five-quart box and tell us that we could fill it as full as we desired, for one price. 

We became quite adept at tucking berries in corners, getting every last berry for our buck. And they were so good!

Then the fields became more popular, and the plants grew older along with our children. It became more like "work" than "play." The berries were scarcer on the plants. There were more thistles in the rows. I would come home with my forearms on fire with itching, because I hadn't worn long sleeves and the thistles were in charge.

I hadn't picked strawberries in over ten years, I am sure of it. Until yesterday.

Yesterday my daughter and her two children and I went in search of a new place to pick strawberries-- and we found one! Oh, sure, they charge by the pound now, but that meant we could quit at any point, without feeling like we were not getting our money's worth. 

It was early morning. The day was cool enough for long sleeves, but these fields had no thistles. It had been rainy two days earlier, but the fields were well-couched in straw, just muddy enough.

Just muddy enough that at one point I almost walked right out of my shoe.

And then there was the little girl in blue. I have no idea her name, but I will call her "Joy." 

Joy looked to be just a little younger than Avery, probably about two. She still had that flyaway blonde baby hair, a few strands trying to escape the ponytail her mother thought would keep her hair under control. She was dressed top-to-toe in pale blue.

And when I first spotted her, Joy was standing next to her mother, a red, ripe strawberry in each hand and a big smile in her face.

When we had finished picking-- Joy was still standing next to her mother with a red, ripe strawberry in each hand (not the same ones) and a big smile on her face.

Her chin was red with berry juice. Tiny strawberry seeds freckled her cheeks. Sweet juice trickled down-- or up-- her arm as she bit into the fruit. The smile grew even brighter as her hands . . . then her arms . . . then her sleeves took on a decidedly pink tinge.

This is how I want to live my life. 

I want to be so eager to enjoy what's out there that I just can't wait. I want to grasp what is sweet and wonderful with two hands and smile when the sweet taste of springtime fills my mouth. I don't want to worry about getting a little juice on my favorite shirt.

I want to be like the little boy who, despite his mother's suggestion, chose not to walk around the mud puddle, but instead jumped right smack dab in the middle of it, sending messy splatters everywhere. 

I want to be like my own granddaughter, who was a real helper with the picking. But for every three berries she picked, at least one needed to be "taste-tested" before she added it to the box. (I would be surprised if some of the berries we brought home didn't have a bite out of the side. At least we know who was doing the biting!)

I don't want to be content dipping a toe in the waters of life, or simply grabbing a drink from the fountain. I want to be unafraid to jump full in to the fountain, and if I am lucky-- you will be close by and the joyful waters of life will splash on you, as well.

This time, this season of life will never pass by again. There are no "do-overs." And if we live a full life, we should have few regrets at the end of the day.

Choose life. From the first day to the very last, choose to enjoy what the Creator has done-- and continues to do-- in this amazing place we call home. Choose to make friends, to love one another, to rejoice together-- to weep together. 

And as one season comes to a close and we enter a new one, open your eyes wide and see that this new season has so much to offer, just like the last one. Different. (Maybe better.) 

Make this time, this day-- this season-- the time of your life. The best, the most it can be. No regrets. Life is too short.

Time of your Life

Amen.

Because I said so?

I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. 

I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.” --Luke 7:8b

(full context:Luke 7:1-10)

Authority. I wonder what that word really means. We hear it all the time. 

On the evening news, stories of "the authorities" stepping in. Soap opera weddings show beautiful couples standing before the judge, waiting for those words, "By the authority vested in me. . . ."  And in Scripture, we see many examples of authority tested or affirmed, as in this passage about the Roman centurion whose beloved servant is dying. 

This centurion understood many things. He understood that there was no way he, a Roman, was worthy to be in Jesus' presence, let alone ask Jesus to heal his servant. It simply wasn't the way things were in his world.

But he had another perspective, as well: Because he was a leader and had men under him who "took care of things" when he was not there to do so himself, this Roman centurion also knew what it meant to have authority.

Kind of like, he says, "Jump!" and his servant says, "How high?" And the Centurion knows this will happen, because it always does.

And now there is this new rabbi in town. Some are claiming he is-- different. More. Maybe the Messiah, the One come to save all of Israel. He is performing all sorts of miracles, healings and-- more.

For the centurion, it doesn't matter whether Jesus is Roman or Jewish-- or Martian. All this centurion knows is this: His beloved servant is ill and dying. And this "Jesus" comes, they say, with the authority of the Almighty. 

Jesus says, "Believe and be healed," and healing happens. It's that simple.

It's still that simple. Believe, trust in the authority of Jesus and he healed. Be given fresh sight, stand up and walk--no, dance! Let the pieces of your broken heart be made whole, through the authority of Almighty God.

And notice-- in case you didn't already-- the centurion is not one of Jesus' "insiders." He is not Jewish, not a disciple. For all we know, his request comes solely from the rumors he has heard about this man who is doing more amazing things than have ever been seen-- until now.

It really is about faith, isn't it?

Faith and trust-- and believing that God really does love each one of us that much. So much, God would do anything to heal our broken hearts. 

Where will you allow the Spirit of the Most High into your life? Is there a place that could use a Divine touch? 

What are you waiting for? You have heard about him. You may even have seen his Spirit at work in the lives of others. Listen for the whispers in your heart. It's your turn. Time for healing. Time for peace. 

Deep Peace to You

Gracious, ever-loving, ever-living God, lead us into a space of deep peace, safe in your Divine embrace. Remind us again just how precious we are. Amen