I’ve always loved painting with watercolors, even as a young child. It’s a hobby I’ve worked on and tried to improve over the years. Recently I decided I wanted to paint something that reflected a strong statement of my Christian faith. All I could envision was that somewhere in the painting there had to be the appearance of the cross of Jesus Christ. I rarely paint from my imagination. I still find that difficult, although it is a goal I hope to achieve some day. I usually have a reference photo close by, or at least a scene from nature or a still-life for my inspiration. I’m not quite sure how to describe what happened, but I found myself painting and just letting the colors blend and flow with the water, and my brush almost seemed to move on its own with little thought or direction from my hand. A hill appeared with stormy clouds, a rugged cliff with looming temple buildings, and a thorny bush. I really had no idea what was coming, I only knew there would be a cross.
As I came to the completion of the painting, all that was left was the placement of the cross. I quickly, and carelessly, painted three crosses on a hill. I must have been tired. My heart sunk. I had ruined my painting with three very crude, ugly, over-sized, awkward looking crosses. With a sigh, I walked over to my “castaway bin” of ruined watercolors and callously tossed my failed painting. It stayed there for weeks.
One day I happened to walk by my castaway bin and spotted the rejected painting. The ugly crosses caught my eye again. It’s just not right, I thought to myself. I can’t just callously throw away my painting of the cross, no matter how ugly it is. Jesus, too, had been rejected and cast aside. The cross of Jesus really was crude and ugly, but it was also a beautiful story of redemption. Then I wondered, would it be possible to redeem my painting? I quickly retrieved the painting and grabbing a stiff brush and some water, began to carefully scrub over the crosses. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but in a matter of seconds, the ugliness had vanished. It was at that moment that I was reminded of the words of an old hymn,
“There is a fountain filled with blood,
drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
and sinners plunged beneath that flood,
lose all their guilty stains.”
It was at the cross where Jesus blotted out our sins, our ugliness, our unworthiness. He rescued us from the castaway bin of failure and rejection and redeemed us with new life. This time I replaced the crosses with a little more care and thought. My painting had been redeemed, just as my life has been, because it was at the old rugged cross where my sins were washed away, and I found new life in Christ!
By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept and hung our harps on the willows.
Have mercy upon us for we are in trouble. Calamity has overtaken us like a storm, and disaster sweeps over us like a whirlwind. Distress and trouble have overwhelmed us. Our eyes are consumed with grief; we are like a broken vessel. We are broken in the place of dragons and are covered with the shadow of death. Our soul is bowed down to the dust and the terrors of death are fallen upon us. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon us, and horror has overwhelmed us. We have been made to drink the wine of astonishment. We have been fed with the bread of tears and have been made to drink our tears by the bowlful. Our days are consumed like smoke and our bones are burned as an hearth. Our hearts are smitten and withered like grass. We watch and are as a sparrow alone upon the house top. We have eaten ashes like bread and mingled our drink with weeping. Our enemy makes us to dwell in darkness like those long dead and crushes us to the ground. We are surrounded by the poison of vipers.
These are days of disaster, and we are in the grasp of evil and cruel men; a band of ruthless men. They are crushing and oppressive with no compassion for the widow or the fatherless. The valley shall perish, and the plain shall be destroyed. Our hay is withered away, the grass fails and there is no green thing. They have carried away our abundance. Our harvest is a heap. We are surrounded by the noise of strangers. They are arrogant and boastful, spewing words without knowledge. They lurk in the dark places of the land, in the haunts of violence. The wolf of the evening prowls. The watchmen on our walls are consumed by the terrors of the night.
We are pained at our very heart; our heart makes a noise in us. We cannot hold our peace, because we have heard the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war. Destruction upon destruction is cried; the whole land is ruined suddenly and in a moment. Our bones are dried, and our hope is lost. It is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and their darkness…..
Do these words sound familiar? They are taken directly from the Word of God, the Holy Bible. They are the heart cry of generations of oppressed people. The world is focused on Ukraine today. What nation will it be tomorrow?
Is there hope for Ukraine? Is there hope for the world? The answer is a loud and resounding YES!
THESE ARE THE DAYS OF GREAT TRIAL AND DARKNESS, BUT OUT OF MT. ZION, SALVATION COMES!
For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither has he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him, he heard. (Psalm 22:24) He will judge his afflicted ones with justice and will defend the afflicted among his people. God will respond to the prayer of the destitute and will not despise their plea. He will lift the needy out of their affliction and will uphold the cause of the oppressed and give food to the hungry. The Lord watches over the alien and sustains the fatherless and the widow. He will save them from the hand of the foe. The angel of the Lord encamps round about them that fear him and delivers them. He will crush the oppressor. He does not forget the cry of the humble.
Our eyes are fixed on you, O Sovereign Lord; in you we take refuge. (Psalm 141:8) You heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)
For you have been a strength to the poor; a strength to the needy in his distress; a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall. (Isaiah 25:4) He will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all the people, and the veil that is spread over all nations. He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth; for the Lord has spoken it. (Isaiah 2:7-8)
Yes, there is HOPE for the people of Ukraine! There is hope for our sad world!
Some seventy years ago Mr. Walt Disney traveled to Europe in search of inspiration for what would become the iconic centerpiece of his newly designed theme park – Sleeping Beauty Castle. Disneyland opened in 1955 in Anaheim, California, and only a year later I experienced my first of five visits. I still remember the magic, the joy, the pure happiness of being there. Mr. Disney’s dream was to transport guests into a fantasy world, completely removed from real life. Obviously, he achieved his goal with unprecedented success.
The sad part of this tale is that the original inspiration for Disney’s dream, Neuschwanstein Castle (New Swan Rock Castle), located in the beautiful Bavarian Alps of Germany, was also built as an escape from reality by King Ludwig II. He, too, lived in a fantasy world and wanted nothing more than to escape the harsh reality of life; a life that was less than idyllic.
Ludwig, and his brother Otto spent their childhood at Hohen Schwangau, a nearby castle built by his father King Maximilian II of Bavaria and his wife Marie of Prussia. It was considered their official summer and hunting residence. Ludwig’s parents were strict and oppressive at times, especially with their finances. Ludwig gradually isolated himself and found consolation in a world of fantasy which included his books, poetry, art, and music.
When Ludwig’s father died, he ascended the throne at the age of 18, without any experience of life or politics. He later shared in a letter, “I became king much too early. I had not learned enough. I had made such a good beginning…with the learning of state laws. Suddenly, I was snatched away from my books and set on the throne. Well, I am still trying to learn…” Ludwig had a short reign, from March of 1884 to June of 1886.
Perhaps because of his tightly controlled upbringing, Ludwig began to build a lavish dreamworld for himself, sparing no expense. He built two other castles, besides Neuschwanstein – Linderhof and Herrenchiensee. He is sometimes referred to as the “Swan King” in England and “The Fairy Tale King” in Germany, because of his expensive, fancy castles. Neuschwanstein was built two years after Austria and Bavaria were conquered by Prussia during the Austro-Prussian War, virtually stripping Ludwig of his powers. He quickly retreated into a private fantasy world, far removed from reality, surrounding himself with opulent castles where he could live out his dreams of being a true, sovereign king.
Sadly, King Ludwig lived alone in his castles, never having married, or had a family. He would eat his meals alone in his elaborate dining room, surrounded by beautiful silk and gold tapestries depicting favorite scenes from poetry, art, or opera. He entertained himself at night, and slept all day, basically living as a recluse. He maintained his fantasy world by bringing in entire opera performances and plays, where he alone was in the audience. At Linderhof you can visit his grotto cave which he had designed for his private operas. The vast cavernous chamber also has a small lake where he was known to float around in a small raft as he was enjoying his favorite plays.
The new settings he was constantly designing and building for himself proved to be beyond the private means of a king. From 1885 on, foreign banks threatened to seize his property. He was unable to sustain his lavish spending habits. Due to his irrational behavior, the government was led to declare him insane and deposed him in 1886. One day after his imprisonment, Ludwig was found dead in a nearby lake. He disappeared while he was out for a walk with his physician, and his corpse was discovered a few hours later, along with that of the physician. His death was officially declared to be suicide by drowning, but the circumstances surrounding his death remain a mystery.
Neuschwanstein Castle is one of the most iconic and beloved castles, but one with a very tragic history. There lived “The Swan King,” trapped, alone, in his own dream world, never realizing his full potential in life, but leaving a legacy of beauty and fantasy that would inspire and touch the world.
This past Fourth of July weekend, 2021, my husband Steve and I visited the five beaches of the World War II Normandy invasion in France. I felt at the time that once I returned home, I wanted to share the experience in a Blog. However, after several weeks of trying to process it all, I felt overwhelmed. Where does one begin? How do you encapsulate that much history, that much heroism, that much sacrifice in a simple Blog, and should a person even try? So much has already been written.
Would my words sound trivial? No wonder so many veterans find it difficult to share their stories. Yet, for my own sake, I wanted to put it in writing. There were some memories, some photos, some facts and quotes I didn’t want to ever fade from my memory. Some photos are from museums we visited; some quotes from books I browsed through in search of that personal, emotional connection.
Shortly after midnight, June 6, 1944, 13,000 paratroopers descended from the sky to secure their objectives and await additional troops arriving by sea. Supreme Allied Commander Dwight Eisenhower in charge of Operation Overlord, decided to invade in part because the weather was rough and Nazi planes were grounded. However, this also created complications for the Allies. The paratroopers missed their intended landing zones which caused some confusion on the ground.
“I wondered where the heck I was when I hit the ground. I spent all night trying to find my way in the dark toward my rendezvous point near the coast, dodging enemy patrols the whole way.”
– Jan De Vries
In the dark of night.
Behind enemy lines.
A movement in the bushes.
A simple handheld clicker
to know if it is a
friend or foe.
One click: Are you an ally?
Two clicks: Yes!
Dawn breaks the morning of D-Day. Ground troops land across five assault beaches: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword which stretch along 50 miles of coastline.
Three of the code names for the beaches were named after types of fish: Goldfish, Swordfish, and Jellyfish abbreviated to Gold, Sword and Jelly. Winston Churchill considered “Jelly” to be inappropriate, so it was changed to Juno.
The invasion consisted of 73,000 Americans who landed on the beaches of Utah and Omaha; 61,715 British troops landed at Gold and Sword; 21,400 Canadians landed at Juno.
Planes dropped 13,000 bombs before the landing, but they completely missed their targets, resulting in Omaha Beach becoming a horrific killing zone, with the wounded left to drown in the rising tide. (The movie “Saving Private Ryan” portrays some of the events that took place here.)
“This struggle is one of ideologies and racial differences and will have to be conducted with unprecedented, unmerciful, and unrelenting harshness.”
– Adolf Hitler
“For evil to triumph, it is only necessary for good men to do nothing.”
– Edmund Burke, British political statesman 1729-1797
“Oh Kitty, the best part of the invasion is that I have a feeling that friends are on the way.”
Anne Frank – Diary entry on June 6, 1944
Steve and I take a few days to walk all five beaches. I walk behind my husband, himself a veteran, and capture a few photos of him, lost in his thoughts. It was the same when we walked the paths at Gettysburg.
“The soil of France is really a sacred soil. All those who follow the path of freedom must feel themselves penetrated by the spirit of camaraderie and solidarity which animated the soldiers of the Allied forces who fought along this road in 1944. The same unity is still necessary if we are to maintain respect for human dignity and freedom in the world and ensure peace for present and future generations.” – General Dwight Eisenhower
As we walk Omaha Beach, we pass by an older gentleman who is sitting on a stump alone, gazing out to sea over the dunes, with a far-away, wistful look in his eyes. I find myself wondering if he is a veteran – where his thoughts are taking him. A little later we walk by a memorial statue, and I’m struck by the similarity of what we had just witnessed.
After leaving the beaches, we drive back to the town of Ste. Mere Eglise, the first city in France liberated by the Allies.
The town square with its beautiful 12th century church was the scene of intense fighting, the night the paratroopers made their landing.
Paratrooper John Steele from Metropolis, Illinois (home of Superman) found himself caught on the church steeple, dangling from his parachute. Three hours later he was captured by German soldiers and taken prisoner. Four days later, he managed to escape and find his way back to the front line. The village of Ste. Mere Eglise chose to memorialize him and placed a replica of a paratrooper dangling from the steeple.
A film crew descended on the village in the early 1960s and produced the iconic movie “The Longest Day” on this site, which was later released in 1962, and catapulted John Steele to fame.
Steve and I take the time to walk around the village square in front of the church, where there are various displays of old war photos of the town and quotes from various veterans. I snatch a few photos of the veterans with their grizzled faces and eyes that had witnessed too much pain and suffering.
There are various before and after photos of the town buildings, as well as old photos of veterans in front of the church. There are photos of G.I.s handing out candy and gum to the children and receiving kisses from young French girls. There are photos of soldiers helping the elderly. These were not cold-hearted killers; they were young men with kind, compassionate hearts, and a willingness to lay down their lives for the cause of freedom.
A few years ago, thousands of people descended on this town to celebrate the 75th Anniversary of the D-Day Invasion.
The day we visited the streets were quiet and peaceful and much more conducive for reflection. We enjoyed the feeling of having the town to ourselves to explore.
We ended our visit to Normandy with a visit to one of the large cemeteries with row upon row of white crosses. Once again, we were grateful to not have to deal with masses of tourists. A group of teenagers walked by laughing and chatting away, but for the most part, visitors were very quiet and respectful.
I walked between some of the rows and just wanted to stop in front of one cross for a few minutes of quiet reflection, to pay my respect and just to feel like I had made a personal connection. One cross seemed to catch my attention – the cross of Jack Catlin from Oklahoma. I stood for a while and wondered about Jack. Was he an only son? Did he leave behind a sweetheart? Had they planned to marry after the war? He died an unsung hero, and yet I stood in front of his cross that day and honored him, along with the thousands of others buried with him. Words seem inadequate to express any kind of gratitude. Willy Parr (British 6th Airborne Division) said it well, “They gave up all their tomorrows for our today.”
“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13
One of my favorite mediums of painting is watercolors. I got to thinking about it the other day and just started jotting down some of the life lessons I’ve learned while endeavoring to improve my skills. It is not any easy art form to master by any means, and the life lessons are even more challenging.
A light hand is always more effective and pleasing.
Too much control can be devastating.
Hard edges are unsettling. Relax. Loosen up.
Simplicity. Simplicity. Simplicity. Less is more. Don’t overwork or everything will turn into mud.
Learn how to control the flow…then release it to work its magic.
Identify the source of your light.
Darkness brings out the beauty of the light.
Balance is tricky…it can be overdone.
Perspective is key.
Identify your area of focus.
Learn from others; but being original is always best.
Don’t beat yourself up. You are your own worst critic.
Patience is a virtue.
One step at a time. Don’t rush it.
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!
Sometimes you just need to walk away and take a break. Nothing good gets accomplished when you’re too tired.
Train your eye to observe. Mother Nature is the best teacher.
Timing is everything. Don’t try to overwork something that is all dried up.
There are many different colors in the palette. Some mix well; some don’t. Some complement each other; some don’t.
There are many different kinds of brushes; they all respond to different amounts of pressure.
If you make a mistake, it’s not the end of the world. Sometimes a mistake can be turned into something unique and charming.
I had only been married a year, when I learned a valuable lesson. Actually, I had already learned it many years prior, but sometimes in the busyness and distractions of life, we have to be reminded. It’s so easy to lose focus of what really matters in this life. Is it because we’ve lost sight of what’s coming in the next life?
My husband Steve and I lived in a rental home in town our first year of marriage, until our landlady decided she wanted to move back in, so we had to pack up and move out. We borrowed a friend’s pickup, and thus began several round-trips to our home in the country. I had taken special care to pack one of our boxes with some of my treasures that were rather fragile. I had planned to make sure this box made it to the inside of the truck, but in all the chaos of moving, I lost track of it and it ended up being packed in the bed of the truck. Just before leaving on our first round, I noticed Steve had not tied anything down; no tarp, no rope – nothing. When I questioned him about this, he assured me that the boxes were so tightly fit together that nothing could possibly wedge loose.
We had only driven a few miles down the Interstate when Steve happened to look in the rear-view mirror and uttered the fateful word, “Uh-oh!” I turned around in time to see that a box had dislodged and was flying through the air. With a sinking feeling we watched as it crashed in the middle of the road and shattered into a thousand pieces. It could have so easily smashed into a passing vehicle and caused an accident. We quickly stopped and jumped out of the truck to retrieve the pieces before any traffic happened by. One glance at the broken fragments and my heart sank: it was my box of treasures! I stood in the middle of the road holding a fragment of an antique plate, and I just started crying. I could tell it was a piece of the plate that had been gifted to us for our wedding by my step-father’s family. It was a family heirloom that had been in their family for over a hundred years. The plate was hand-painted with beautiful white roses, and I cherished it. I couldn’t even bear to look at anything else, and made a quick run back to the truck, still crying, and leaving Steve to clean up.
Upon arriving at our new home, I got out of the truck and just started walking. At that point I wasn’t in any mood to speak to my husband or even help unload the truck. I think I must have been gone well over an hour, walking country roads through the cornfields. By the time I returned home, I had cried a bucket of tears. Our new neighbors had come over to introduce themselves, and I was a hot mess with swollen eyes. They probably wondered what kind of people were moving into the neighborhood. By this time, Steve had placed the contents of the shattered box on the dining room table. I began sifting through the pieces. Everything was totally destroyed…priceless wedding gifts, cherished mementos, high school and college graduation gifts. I couldn’t help but chide myself for placing so many of my treasures all in one box. After all, everyone knows “not to place all of your eggs in one basket!”
Then the most amazing thing happened. I noticed a flat box laying on the table. I opened it up and discovered it was another wedding gift, another plate, only this plate had survived the crash without so much as a crack or a scratch. It was absolutely the ONLY thing that had survived. It was a beautiful Lenox plate with the design of fruit around the rim. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t help but wish the beautiful heirloom plate had survived instead of this one.
Three days went by and I continued to MOPE. That’s the best way I know how to describe it. (Not a pleasant time for my poor husband.) I decided I would go for another walk and try to sort things out. Why had it been MY box of treasures that had become dislodged from the back of the truck? I found myself puzzled about the fruit plate. How and why had it survived? If I had been able to select ONE item to keep, it would have been the gorgeous hand-painted rose plate. I am happy to say that on my walk that day I had an epiphany. All the shattered, broken pieces came together and I finally understood what had happened, and why. On my walk I was reminded of a verse of Scripture found in John 15:16 – “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last.” That was it! The sign of the FRUIT! The fruit plate was God’s gentle reminder to me to hold on lightly to those things I considered my “treasures.” Yes, they were all beautiful and held great sentimental value, but I would never be able to take them with me into the next life. However, the things that are of true value, WILL follow you into the next life. These are the things the Scriptures refer to as your “fruit.”
Are you finding yourself wondering what the “fruit” is in your life? Let me just mention a few things that it is NOT. It is not your education, your awards, your beautiful home or fancy car. It is not your rich apparel, bank account, stock investments, world travels or accumulation of “stuff.” If you can’t think of any fruit in your life, it’s time to take stock. What exactly are you going to take with you into the next life? Remember, that life will last for eternity. Maybe it’s time to take a walk through the cornfields and sort it out. If you have no cornfields around, a walk through the mountains, along a beach, or city street work really well, too. In closing, I will admit, it is nice to enjoy these “little earthly treasures” we are gifted with. They do bring us a lot of joy. We just have to remember to hold on lightly, and when it’s time to release them, we need to let go graciously and gratefully.
A very short time after this experience took place in my life, I happened to share this story at a ladies Bible study. The following week, one of the ladies presented me with a special gift she had made for me – a beautiful hand-painted china plate of white roses.
I cherish this gift and it has hung on the walls of our home, along with the fruit plate, ever since. They are a silent reminder that we are called to “bear fruit,” and it is a fruit that will remain after all our earthly treasures are gone.
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23
The year 2019 found us moving to Germany due to my husband’s new job assignment. Even though we were both retirement age, the spirit of adventure was calling. Who wouldn’t be excited at the prospects of living in Europe for three years? Oh, the places we could go…the things we could see! Little did we realize at the time that within a few short months there would be a worldwide pandemic and everything would literally shut down – well, almost everything.
We soon discovered, that no matter where we went, one thing remained open – the church doors. The doors remained open, and the bells continued to ring, calling the faithful to worship. Of course, strict regulations were in place for congregational meetings. Social distancing and the wearing of masks quickly became a way of life, but the doors remained open throughout the day for passing tourists or for individuals seeking solace and quiet meditation.
As we explored various towns with empty streets, the church bells always invited us to step inside sacred walls for a few minutes of reflection. There is nothing that so defines the beauty and majesty of Europe as its cathedrals. As a passing tourist, you walk into these massive structures and you are instantly swallowed up in a cavernous sanctuary surrounded by exquisite stained-glass windows, gilded altars, wooden carvings of saints masterfully crafted, and priceless works of art and paintings of Madonna and Child. You are enveloped in flying buttresses, ribbed vaults and pointed arches. The beauty and majesty of it all can almost be exhausting and overwhelming. I am reminded of a quote from Mark Twain as he visited the art galleries and cathedrals of Europe: “We have seen famous pictures until our eyes are weary with looking at them and refuse to find interest in them any longer.”
In all of the grandeur I have encountered in these places of worship, there has always been one thing that arrested my attention. Interestingly enough, it has been something profound in its simplicity. Each and every time I have visited one of these cathedrals, there have always been one or two individuals sitting alone, close to the altar, quietly meditating and praying. It’s a moving experience to walk into an empty, quiet cathedral and find a worshipper. Somehow it touches my heart; so, I’m sure it must touch the heart of God. Once these individuals notice the presence of tourists, they quietly get up and slip out, and you’re left feeling like you have intruded on sacred ground.
I enjoy taking walks in the little village where we live. It is a small town of 2,000 inhabitants and boasts three small churches. Although they are not cathedrals, they are beautiful in their own right. I stopped one day to take in the beauty of the tolling bells at the Evangelical church. A passerby stopped to speak with me, in perfect English, and let me know that I was welcome to enter the church, that it was always open. I walked in and discovered that I had the privilege of being one of those lone worshippers.
I went and sat on the front pew and soaked in the simplicity of this little church and the beauty of the bells as they continued to peal their welcome. This was the same church my husband and I had visited for a Christmas Eve service, before the coming of the pandemic. My thoughts went back to that night. The church was packed and we had sat in the balcony, tightly scrunched in between strangers…our last such experience before social distancing became a way of life. We had been advised to arrive early if we wanted a seat. For a half hour we sat with other villagers in total silence. No one even whispered. Then the hour arrived for worship and the bells began to ring in their joyful invitation. We strained to understand the words of the minister as he shared the Christmas story. We caught certain words…Joseph, Mary, Baby Jesus…come to Bethlehem. We felt a warm and beautiful spirit, although we couldn’t understand everything. I remember being captivated with the tree that decorated the front altar area. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It was the simplicity of the tree and lack of gaudiness that attracted me…small white lights, red globes and white snowflakes. A brass ensemble played beautiful renditions of worship. There were several congregational hymns including my favorite, “Silent Night.”
This particular day, sitting there alone, was a wonderful time of reflection. If you’ve never sat alone in a church, I highly recommend it. You’ll be surprised where your mind and your spirit will take you. You will feel the Presence of God, once you quiet yourself. The contemplation of such an experience might actually terrify some people. They don’t like being alone with their thoughts before an omniscient God. Just remember…He is a God of love, full of compassion, and is described as a “God of all comfort.” If you come as a sinner, He is willing and ready to forgive. He is waiting for you with open arms. The doors of the church are always open. They invite you to come in and find rest for your soul.
My husband, Steve, and I visited a wooded path in Ashach today, located in the outskirts of Amberg, Germany. We were invited by our friend, Emma, to visit the Stations of the Cross that had been set up along the trail.
Children, as well as adults, were extended a special invitation to participate in the display. They were asked to submit drawings or artwork representing the Holy Week and the Crucifixion of Christ. These drawings were then displayed from the bushes and tree branches along the path.
The celebration of Easter is of great importance to the citizens of Germany. It seemed, at first, that the government was going to prohibit all church and family gatherings due to the pandemic, but the order was rescinded after a rather strong protest.
Holy Week arrived early this Spring, so most of the trees and bushes have yet to bud, but we did notice a few patches of violets and “liver plant,” as well as several beautiful butterflies that followed us.
At the end of our trail, as we came up on the last station, we were surprised to see that Emma had submitted a copy of one of her own paintings. It depicts a small finch with reddish blotches. The legend states that the finch attempted to pull out the thorns from Jesus’ crown, and drops of blood stained its breast.
After walking the path of the Stations of the Cross, we drove back to the town of Amberg to visit the church on the hill that we had seen from a distance on our hike. Amberg was a Medieval city, first mentioned in 1034. It was an important trading center in the Middle Ages, exporting mainly iron ore and iron products. Next to the beautiful Baroque style cathedral is a Franciscan Monastery, located on what is called the Hill of Our Lady Help of Christians.
The church has an interesting history. It began as a small chapel built during the Bubonic Plague; also known as the Black Plague or Black Death. In the year 1634, up to 40 people a day were dying in the city. The local rector donated a painting of the Madonna and Child, and plans were made to build the small chapel to house the painting, in hopes that it would call parishioners to prayer. A few months later, the plague miraculously stopped. The news of this miracle spread far and wide, and soon pilgrims were making a journey to visit the painting and the chapel. In 1697 construction began on a larger cathedral that included the adjoining small chapel.
The interior of the church has exquisite reliefs and beautiful fresco paintings on the ceiling which describe many Biblical stories. Emma shared an interesting story of one of the murals that depicts a group of people and a dog lying close by. A very well-known artist was commissioned to do the paintings, but he had many students and understudies assisting him. However, only the commissioned artist was allowed to sign his name to the paintings. One of the clever students managed to sneak his name onto the dog’s collar. You can spot the dog in the lower left corner of the middle fresco.
Visiting the Stations of the Cross today, followed by a visit to the church, caused me to do some serious reflection. I think we have a lot to learn from the survivors of the Bubonic Plague. What was it that caused the miraculous end of the plague; was it not the prayers of the faithful?
We have now passed the one-year mark of our own plague, Covid19. Things are not much better here in Europe. Now there is news of variants of the plague making an appearance in other parts of the world. Could things get even worse? My question is this: are we Christian believers praying and asking God to intercede for us to stop this pandemic? Or are we looking to our various governments to come up with solutions? I can guarantee you government intervention has its limitations. Man can only do so much with limited resources and limited understanding of this pandemic. Have you heard your pastor or church leaders leading in intercession? Are YOU praying, or are you just crossing your fingers and hoping for the best? God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes he allows plagues to try to get our attention.
Like I said, today just caused me to do some serious reflection.
I am happy to announce the official launching of my book
It is my hope and prayer that this book will be a real blessing to you. This story chronicles the years my family and I spent in Peru, South America where my parents served as missionaries. It is a story of love, faith, courage and the healing of a broken heart. All proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to Abrigo Andino (Shelter of the Andes), a ministry located in Arequipa, Peru, directed by fellow MK (Missionary Kid) Sharron Hall. This is an outreach to needy young people, and older adults who have special needs. Your comments and reviews will be greatly appreciated, as it will help to promote the book. Thanking you, in advance, for your support. Special thanks to all of you who lovingly encouraged me in the pursuit of this dream these past five years! Please visit my blog page, Peruvian Legacy, to read a few more details and information about ordering. On this page you can read the book’s Prologue which will hopefully inspire you to want to read the rest of the story!
My mother passed away in May of 2016. I remember that following Christmas it was hard for me to feel the usual festive, holiday spirit and joy. For most of us, after all, our mothers were the ones who first introduced us to the joys and beauty of Christmas, and many of our fondest childhood memories are wrapped up in this season. I was struggling with trying to feel the joy, this particular Christmas, but I went ahead and decorated our home and our tree anyway; I knew my mother would want me to.
Once the tree was up and decorated, I noticed an empty spot that still needed an ornament, and the thought ran through my mind…Just like the empty spot in my heart. I looked through the boxes lying around on the floor, but no more ornaments were to be found. I went down to our basement to see if I might not find one more ornament stored in another bin. That’s when I came across the Christmas wreath that I had hung on my mother’s bedroom door. In the center of the wreath, I had hung an ornament. Appropriately, it was an ornament of the word “JOY.” Perfect. I went back to the tree and filled the empty spot with the ornament of joy. As I hung the ornament, I was reminded of our Savior who came into this dark world of sorrow and grief, to fill the empty places of our lives with JOY…and after all, wasn’t that what the celebration of Christmas was all about? The angel announced to the shepherds, “Behold, I bring you tidings of GREAT JOY!
The Psalmist wrote, “In your presence is fulness of joy.” (Psalm 16:11) I decided then and there, that if I indeed had the presence of God with me, then I shouldn’t be harboring grief and sorrow. He hadn’t left me. He had actually promised never to leave me or forsake me. There is a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is temporary and fleeting, but JOY…well, it is beyond defining; you must allow yourself to experience it. If you allow the joy in, it will dispel the pain. The words joy and joyous are found 245 times in the Scriptures. The word rejoice shows up 150 times, and we’re instructed to be joyful and rejoice nearly 400 times! You can choose to be joyful regardless of your circumstances.
The year 2020 has proven to be rather challenging on many fronts. Consciously, or subconsciously, we have grieved through a pandemic, the unexpected loss of friends and loved ones, political turmoil, riots and unrest, lockdowns and shutdowns, economic distress, natural disasters, loss of personal freedoms, and the list goes on. in the midst of all of this trauma, however, I am reminded of the words of Habakkuk: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, YET…I will rejoice in the Lord. I will be joyful in God my savior. (Habakkuk 3:17-18.)
Habakkuk understood the source of his joy, despite the circumstances surrounding him at the time that were rather bleak. This Christmas season, my hope is that you will choose joy…and that despite everything that has happened this year, you and your family will experience a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
The body heals with play, the mind heals with laughter, and the spirit heals with JOY. (A proverb)