Treasure Hunting

^{There are certain foods that – while you can buy them in a store – my favorite way to eat them is after a treasure hunt. You know, like berry picking. Or pomegranate seeds. Here in Oregon where I live, blackberries literally grow on the side of the road like a weed. Sure, it can be a nuisance to get the roots out if they take hold where you don’t want them, but I usually let some grow along the unplanned edges of my yard, and in mid-to-late summer, the treasure hunt begins. Oh, those blackberries, so sweet, so juicy! By God’s incredible design they don’t all ripen at the same time, so every few days you can go for this treasure hunt and find new ones that are ready to pick. You might see a bush and think, “oh, there are a handful of berries ready.” But then once you get up close and start pushing back the leaves and looking from different angles, soon the handful becomes a bowlful. It always seems the best ones are just out of reach, though. I could get a ladder, but I leave those for the birds. They need to eat too.} 

^{This month in my house, the treasure hunt is for pomegranate seeds. Have you ever eaten the arils from a whole pomegranate? A neighbor in Los Angeles had a tree and would let me pick one on occasion, but where I live now we have to pay a hefty price at the grocery store. So it is definitely a special treat. Like blackberries, the crimson arils can stain your fingers, and they take a lot of labor to pluck from the strange interior rind. But there is nothing like a pomegranate!  They are just the right balance of sweet and tart, and I am told they also boast numerous health benefits. I think they may be God’s favorite fruit, since he instructed their likeness to be in the temple decor.}     

The hunt for pomegranate seeds is on in my house this winter.

^r

^{I am sure you will not be surprised to hear that another place I like to go treasure-hunting is in the Scriptures. There are so many verses I have committed to memory (though I am often sadly deficient in knowing the exact chapter and verse). But these words of Christ, and of the prophets, psalmists, and apostles — inspired so long ago by the Holy Spirit — still inspire me today. No matter how many times I have read through the Bible, there is always something to catch my attention, encourage me, or nudge me back into God’s way. Even this morning, as I read Leviticus, which can easily feel repetitive and of no relevance to daily life, I was impressed by exactly what it was Christ did for us. As Hebrews explains, we no longer need a high priest and an animal sacrifice to show repentance and reconciliation with God. Jesus Himself did it all, once and for all, so that all I need do to connect with him is turn my heart. Whether the words are spoken or unspoken, eloquent or disorganized, He knows my heart and loves me despite everything. As surely as the blackberry and pomegranate juice will color my hands red as I enjoy their sweetness, the sweet presence of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit turns the scarlet of my sin and makes me clean. If there is nothing else we are thankful for this season, there is certainly that!} 

Art as Declaration

For today’s post in my Art as Worship series, I wanted to share this painting I did in 2019. At my church we issued several “art as worship” invitations, asking people to reflect on a theme or set of Scriptures and contribute something that was a visual reflection of the theme. The theme for this piece was Wisdom.

My Fight Song

When we think of wisdom literature in the Bible we most commonly go to Proverbs. But as I reflected on this theme, I couldn’t get this section of the gospels out of my head. Jesus and his disciples are sitting at the temple. He had been teaching there earlier, but now it seems they are just resting, and watching the people that come and go. Jesus makes observations about the people as they watch, talking to his disciples about the competing priorities seen among people. He warns them that the beauty of the temple won’t last forever — unrest is coming, and Jesus begins to talk about what to do when they see that unrest: wars, insurrections, earthquake, famine, epidemics, terrifying things and miraculous signs in the heavens, and great persecution. 

For a few months around the time I did this painting, there was this theme running within my heart: Would I stand up? Or would I live a quiet faith?   

I have nearly always lived in faith. But it often has been a quiet faith. I am not the kind of person who naturally can easily strike up conversation with strangers or casual acquaintances. Like all skills, this can be learned, but some of us have to practice more than others. I was fine with sharing my faith if asked directly, or in a setting like church where people expect to hear you talk about your faith. But what about out in public? Or on social media? Some people share everything on social media. I generally shared little of what was very personal. Mainly because I didn’t want to start fights. 

People want others to be black and white — “You are either on my side or you are against me!” But in reality I think things are much more complicated than that. Often I am on your side, but that doesn’t mean I agree with your choices. You may think you are following your truth and want me to support that. But I may think you are deceived, and your “truth” is just a lie you’ve heard so many times that you now think it is true. If you are raised from childhood to believe that all dogs are dangerous, and given a few experiences where that is true, then you are likely to live in fear of dogs and have a very hard time overcoming that fear, or even wanting to consider that anyone with a dog is not insane or using magic of some kind to control their vicious beast. What would be the right response of me as a friend: to let you continue to live in that deception and fear? Or to help you break out of that fear and deception, so you can live in greater freedom and joy? I can both accept you as a person and disagree with your beliefs and choices. 

No one wants to hear that they are living a lie. 

But sometimes, to not say anything is to support the lie. Is that love? Is that true friendship?

Jesus knew that saying nothing isn’t love, and you don’t really have to go looking for a fight. The fight will come to you. At some point, if you live in love and truth, there will be disagreement. When the disagreement comes from someone powerful and malevolent, Jesus shared what to do.

“…They will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.” 

Luke 21:12-19 NRSV

Seldom are Americans dragged before governments to explain why they believe in Jesus. But Americans everyday are dragged out before the world on social media and berated or ostracized for expressing beliefs that are not in line with our current culture. I suppose this painting was my way of saying, “I’m not going to be afraid of that.”

As Paul encouraged Timothy, so I declare for myself, “I am not ashamed, for I know the one in whom I have put my trust, and I am sure that he is able to guard until that day what I have entrusted to him. Hold to the standard of sound teaching that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 1:12-13 NRSV).

This painting is my declaration. This is my Fight Song.

A Few of My Favorite Things, or Shackles?

One of the things I love about visual art is its ability to explore complex topics and make them relatable. I am in the middle of a devotional project of my own, to visually represent the book of Romans – one illustration per chapter. I have been posting on Instagram. When I got to Romans 6, I knew this one required a little more thought. It has that heavy-hitting verse that many of us know: “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 6:23). It talks about sin’s power over us – the power to captivate us, to activate our lust, to make us slaves. “Do not let sin control the way you live; do not give in to sinful desires. Do not let any part of your body become an instrument of evil to serve sin. Instead, give yourselves completely to God, for you were dead, but now you have new life. So use your whole body as an instrument to do what is right for the glory of God. Sin is no longer your master, for you no longer live under the requirements of the law. Instead, you live under the freedom of God’s grace” (Romans 6:12-14).

We like to think that living in freedom and not under law means we can do whatever we want. But as Paul says elsewhere, “All things are lawful for me, but all things are not helpful. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any” (1 Corinthians 6:12). Can you be a Christian and drink alcohol, use painkillers, smoke, or consume pornography? Yes, you can, and many Christians do… we are all human after all, and it is difficult, or impossible, to not be affected by the things the world around us holds up as examples of a good time. Some things can even be consumed in a balanced way that is not harmful. Others, even a little bit is a bad idea. But can you indulge in those things and truly be free? Can you indulge in those and truly be Christlike? Are they good for your mind, your body, your relationships? Are you ashamed of those behaviors? Are you proud of what you do while drunk? Are you under the power of these things? When you have a hard day, do you find these things calling your name, offering relief and release and comfort? 

I recently heard for the first time Alanis Morissette’s song, Reasons I Drink, from her 2020 album. No doubt her song inspired my little piece of artwork on Romans 6, as she explored the theme of addiction, and why we return to it over and over, even knowing that it hurts those around us. We return to addiction because it seems like the only way to survive a world that always seems to want more than we can give, and always seem to want to use us as much as possible, as much as profitable, regardless of the personal cost. The “Reasons I Drink” are the same reasons so many people have mental illness. These are the reasons so many people feel uncomfortable in church — because they either are ashamed of the things they do, or because they have completely embraced the things they do as their truth and their right, and can’t stand to be around anyone who would disagree. 

But what about Jesus? What would Jesus do? What would Jesus say? Is there an answer from Jesus about these addictions? I think Jesus would say what Paul says: Addiction makes us slaves. The Bible calls this slavery to sin: slavery to the things that keep calling us back, keep holding us captive, keeping us from being the people we actually want to be. Where is the freedom? It’s in Jesus Christ alone. And yes, transformation is possible! Yes, healing for mental illness is available! The things we turn to for relief and a good time are not the only options. There is a way to escape the horrors or mundane difficulties of this life — turn to Jesus.  

This is how I captured the message of Romans 6.

Romans 6:20-23

Some might title the illustration, “A Few of My Favorite Things.” Others would call it “Shackles.” While some might think of these addictions as “favorite things,” in the end, they are the things that keep us from living in the freedom we all so desperately need and crave.

So with today’s scripture illustration go my prayers for all those facing addiction. Alcohol, cigarettes, opioids, heroin, gambling and sex addiction are some of the major things that captivate people, promising answers that never come, promising relief that is so temporary with results that are so devastating. Less easy to capture in a print are the addictions to our cell phones, which captivate us and make it harder to pay attention to the people who are actually present in our lives. Less easy to illustrate are food addictions, or addictions to a perceived ideal body type which we put all our energy into trying to achieve. Less easy to illustrate is how pride in our own goodness, and justifying ourselves as “not bad like others” — how that pride can also make us slaves, as we continually try to justify ourselves and our own actions, becoming fearful that anyone might see the things we struggle with or the moments of weakness that could cause the facade to crumble. We all have death dwelling within us, grasping at our souls. Fighting to bring us down, lying to us constantly about who we are and who we are not. Be free from the enslaving power of sin! Turn to Jesus and find true freedom. That is the prayer that goes with this illustration. Freedom is possible, but only when we stop trying to justify our own actions without receiving and extending God’s grace.

Some say they don’t like Christianity because it seems like a crutch. Something people turn to because they can’t cope with life. I believe none of us can cope with life without a little help. We weren’t designed for this life. We were designed for a life of free connection with God, and it is our own pride, our desire to serve ourselves and make our own decisions which keeps us, in reality, captive. This is what Romans 6 is saying. Everyone is a slave to something. Choose to be a slave to God, or you will inevitably be a slave to something else, some other crutch.

I have been mulling Alanis Morissette’s song in my head over the last few weeks. I have rewritten it with the things I turn to. There is another way. And it doesn’t leave me ashamed or sick the next morning. It leaves me free, at peace, and with joy. If I had the kind of talent that Alanis has, I’d make a video and sing it. But I don’t have that talent, and I can’t make that video and sing that song. But I left notes so you can picture it as I do.

[Verse 1: Scene – walking in, getting coffee, sitting down with a Bible]

These are the reasons I read

The reasons I turn to the Bible to be fine when I am not

These are the reasons I always do it

I have been in church since I can remember, since I was single digits

Now, I have learned I can trust Him

With the Trinity there’s no line ’cause that groove has gotten so deep

[Pre-Chorus 1]

And nothing can give reprieve like They do

Nothing can give a break for this soldier like They do

[Chorus 1: Scene – entering a big room full of people worshipping Jesus, hands raised in abandon, lost in the moments of connection with God through song]

Here we are

I feel such rapture and my comfort is so strong, oh

One more song

It feels so helpful in my need for respite, oh

[Verse 2]

And here are the reasons I sing

Reasons I feel everything so deeply when I am in worship

And so that’s it, I am going all in with Jesus

To make up for this crazy world and it’s sick industries

[Pre-Chorus 2]

Nothing can give reprieve like They do

Nothing can give me a break from this torture like They do

[Chorus 2: Scene – a person on knees in prayer, closed eyes, a look of peace and a little smile on their face]

Here we are

I feel such rapture and my comfort is so strong, oh

One more prayer

It feels so helpful in my need for some long overdue respite, oh

[Bridge: Scene – all different kinds of people and all ages praying together, helping each other, eating together, laughing]

And these are the reasons I know I could never quit

And these are the reasons I love Holy Spirit

And these are the ones whom I know it so deeply affects

And I am left wondering how I would function without God

[Chorus 3]

Here we are

I feel such rapture and my comfort is so strong, oh

One more day

I go from one prayer to another to shine a Light, oh

Lyrics by Heidi Picinic, inspired by Alanis Morissette’s song, Reasons I Drink

Transportation for the Soul

One of the things I love about writing and visual art is its ability to preserve thoughts and memories, and even what I hear from the Lord, in a time-capsule quality. I have paintings I made from travels overseas, and when I look at them, I am transported back to that place. I don’t know if this is true for other writers and creators, but as I go through life, I often find myself surprised and inspired by something I have created in the past. I have songs I have written as part of my processing of life events, which come back to mind over and over again as I face similar challenges in life. It’s like I am ministering to myself, by revisiting a place where God met me in the past. Do you ever remember your life as if you are watching yourself in a movie, rather than seeing it through your own eyes? Sometimes I will read old journal entries or poems, and I have that feeling of watching my life unfold. I can see myself sitting in the alcove on my college campus as I wrote a poem, seeking solitude for the current heartbreak.

Sometimes I see myself in my mind as if I am seeing my soul in the spirit realm. Maybe that sounds a little too mystical for you, but I think when our spirit connects with God’s spirit, He can take us to that in-between place, where life is less about matter and intellect, and more about feeling and connecting. 

One such song that I wrote in a time of uncertainty and transition I call “Winds of Change.” When my husband added the music and we used it as a worship song at church, he titled it something else, but in my mind, it is Winds of Change. Here is the setting: we had a 12-month-old, an almost-3-year-old, and a 5-year-old. I had just complete my master’s degree, but had no job, no income. My husband lost his job. We were strongly considering moving, but were upside down on our mortgage, so we’d have to be approved for a short sale. So many things were out of our hands, and we felt entirely at God’s mercy for our current survival and for our future. Thankfully, God is both merciful and capable of helping us survive, so we were fine. But I remember being in the car by myself, or perhaps the kids were asleep in the back. I don’t remember where I was coming from, but it was night, and I was going home. I was praying, and I began to sing this prayer:

Winds of Change

When the Winds of Change are blowing too hard

and I don’t know which way I should go

I just open my arms and I say to you Lord: 

Here I am, I know you’re in control.

 

From the first to the last you have always been faithful

From the first to the last you are true

When you say that your plans are good, 

Lord, I believe it — I say, I’m trusting in You.

You are good

You are faithful

Your word will always remain

You are strong

You are gracious

Your love will never change

Your word will always remain

From the first to the last you have always been faithful

From the first to the last you are true

When you say that your plans are good, 

Lord, I believe it — I say, I’m trusting in You.

When I sing this song, I see myself in the spirit realm, dancing with Jesus, with my arms spread wide. I am reveling in the feeling of the wind around me, rather than scared by what it might mean. I am letting God carry me and I am enjoying the feeling of floating on the wind as effortlessly as leaves and birds seem to do. Such a simple song, yet powerful in its imagery. This song has ministered to me so many times. And not just me — to others as well. We have had many people say it fit their life: the mom with the rebellious teen daughter; the person whose loved one is sick; others who, like us, were facing an unexpected setback, change, or transition in life over which they felt little to no control. 

This is the power of art, poetry, and song, to speak to us beyond specific circumstances to the shared emotions we can all recognize. Who has lived without feeling this discomfort of not being in control? We are literally born with that feeling as we are thrust into the world, ready or not, and we live the first 18 years or so being almost wholly at the mercy of our parents’ decisions. When we reach adulthood, we think we are in control, but that is also an illusion. No one is truly independent: even the wealthy are still subject to government regulations, volatility of investments and global markets, global pandemics (as we all know far too well), and the masses who need the goods or services upon which their wealth is built. Even the rural homesteader who is self-sufficient and rarely sees another human being is still at the mercy of the weather, invasive species, and their own physical health. 

We are, all of us, not in control in the ways we’d like to pretend. Sometimes we realize this more than at other times, but it is always a good idea to just open our arms and say to the Lord, “Here I am, I know You’re in control.” We have to trust in His faithfulness, His mercy, and His ability to get us through any trial. 

“I just open my arms and I say to You Lord, here I am, I know You’re in control!”

Not all of us are artists and creators, but we are all impacted by the songs and creations of others. I have shared one of my songs which I often return to for connection to God. What is a song that helps you remember to trust in God?  

Art as Worship

For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed writing, and I have enjoyed art. Even as a child I was making up little stories, or keeping a journal of some kind, and drawing and painting. When I was a teenager I began to truly love Jesus. As an adult, I learned how to combine those things as worship. People often think of worship as just singing in church. Worship is so much more than that! While singing has been part of the worship life of the People of God back to some of the earliest moments recorded in the Bible, to say that worship IS singing songs to God is like saying food is cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers are food, but that is not an equation. Food is a category that contains cheeseburgers (thank God for that!), and cheeseburgers are a delicious example of food, but they are a far cry from a full description of edible items for humans. 

Song can be worship. Laughter can be worship. Service can be worship. And art can be worship. 

I think very visually. There is something about art that awakens my soul to the things of God as well. Some people think musically, and it is song that awakens their soul like nothing else. Song and poetry have a way of connecting what we think and what we feel. 

I faced some of my life’s shadows this week. Through some difficult things that happened, and some difficult — but helpful — conversations, I had to face some things about my life that were very disheartening. It wasn’t a great sin I faced, or a life-changing hurdle, or a grave injustice. It was much more ordinary than that. It was loss, sadness, discouragement, disappointment, and a hint of betrayal. I know some of the feelings were unfair. But feelings often are unfair. That doesn’t mean they are not genuine… but it does mean they sometimes tell us things that are not truth. I turned to this “art as worship” idea to help lift me from the shadows. Here is what I made on Wednesday:

Philippians 1:6

Painting or sketching is like a physical release of thoughts and ideas. It soothes my spirit in the same way journaling does. It also is a way to connect the dots in reading complicated passages of scripture, or to capture complex theological concepts. Art can then communicate these deep, spiritual and emotional concepts in ways that can be received and personally absorbed more readily than linear forms of writing or speaking. In the “down” times of life I find myself returning to the old faithful scriptures — the ones that have meant a lot to me for the majority of my walk with God. Thursday’s art as worship creation was this:

Proverbs 16:9

My next series of posts will be on this theme of visual art, songwriting, and poetry as an act of worship and spiritual journeying. I will share thoughts on art as worship, but also share examples of creative expression as an act of worship or journeying with God. I even have a couple of guest posts lined up. My hope is that sharing pieces like the one I made Friday will bring encouragement to you also.

Isaiah 40:31

Through this act of art as worship, I have partnered with God in stepping out of my shadows. I started a personal challenge to post something on my Instagram account @heidipicinic for at least 20 out of the next 30 days. What I post will be something I have made that day, with the simple medium of sharpie markers and plain white paper. Nothing fancy, just me looking to God each day for inspiration, and then shining the light out to you. 

2 Corinthians 1:20

Do you think of yourself as a creative soul? I’d love to hear your thoughts! And check out my Instagram to see all the new art as I make it. Meanwhile drop a comment: have you ever thought of creative expression as worship? What is something that helps you connect to God beyond the intellectual level?

Fallen, Buried, and Hopeful

Every winter we face a season of deadness, bareness, and cold. The trees are devoid of leaves, the sky is often devoid of sun, and we sometimes find ourselves devoid of joy. The winter is dark, and it can remind us of death… our least favorite thing to happen. 

Then the spring arrives and we delight in the signs of life around us. Stems poke out of dirt and seem to blossom overnight, pink and white flowers appear on those barren trees, and the world slowly becomes green and blue instead of brown and white. 

We watch the signs, and in the fullness of time, we make a grand leap of faith: We take the heart of a once-living thing and we bury it, like a fallen warrior given over to the arms of the earth. We take our beloved hopes, and bury them, cry on the grave, and walk away believing they will spring back to life, to bring us a promised redemption. 

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• 

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Long experience has told us that these seeds buried and watered will come out of the darkness, push through the soil, and burst into leaf and flower, and finally, fruit – sometimes thirty, sixty, even one hundred fold. 

John 12 tells us that on this day we call Palm Sunday, when Jesus rode into town on a donkey amidst enormous popularity, he said, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:23-24) 

We face this great paradox: the thing which wants to live on to greater life, must sacrifice this life. The seed which is dried out and saved and planted can produce many seeds in many new fruits. 

New Life

“Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.” (John 12:25-26)

We have a promise of new life, we have a promise that the Father will honor us. Yet following Jesus is never quite what we think it will be. Great crowds followed him on Palm Sunday, but when he didn’t perform for them as they wanted, they turned on him. The crowd was only concerned with this life, and their current freedoms, and so the chants of “Hosanna! Blessed is he!” soon became chants of, “Crucify him!”

The time of the death of our savior, the crucifixion of Christ, is one of the hardest things for a Christian to face. Most of the year we celebrate the life and freedom we have available in Christ, his comfort and the joy he can bring to our hearts. We’ve even come to call the day of His death “Good Friday” because it is through his death that we all gained access to eternal life. But for those who lived it, “Good Friday” was anything but good. As he looked toward that day, Jesus himself said, “Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour” (John 12:27).

Jesus knew that without his death, there could be no life for the rest of us. 

Year upon year, Christians follow Christ to his cross, and to his grave. We stare death in the face. We weep for the injustice, the cruelty and the violence of his death. We identify with his wrenching cry from the cross, “My God my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, and from the words of my groaning?” (Psalm 22:1 & Matthew 27:46). For whether we care to admit it publicly or not, we all can identify with that feeling of helplessness and defeat, and being at the utter end of one’s own strength as Jesus was when he poured out his blood and his life for us. 

But as the psalmist knew, and as Jesus knew, we also can know by faith that the forsaken feeling is not the end of the story. 

That psalm which begins with the cry of the forsaken ends with feasting and worship, hearts living forever! Proclamations of the greatness of the Lord! For the Lord does not despise or scorn us. He does not hide his face from his people, but he listens to our cries for help. “Those who seek Him will praise Him” (Psalm 22:26).

This is the promise of Good Friday. Good, not because of the betrayal and suffering. It is good because it is not the end of the story. Had the Savior not fallen to the ground and died, as that kernel of wheat, he would have remained a single voice pointing to the Father. Instead, because of His burial, and his springing back up from the ground, there were produced many generations of voices pointing people to the Father.

The question for us is this: Have we the courage to let everything that hinders us die, so Christ’s life — through us — can live? 

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.” (Galatians 2:20)

Playing Catch with the Wind

We are on spring break, so this week I took my kids to the beach. I think a lot of people had this idea, and as I faced the traffic in town, I was a bit afraid I might not find parking at my favorite little beach in this particular city. My fears were unfounded, thankfully, and I found a spot without trouble. Soon, we had hauled our gear out and were enjoying the sunshine and the beautiful scenery. Of course, I live in Oregon, and this is March, so it was not a sun tanning and swimsuits beach day. I looked rather like the dad from Onward, bundled up in my coat with hood + knit hat + mask + sunglasses. My daughter said at one point, “Mom, I literally can’t see your face at all!” Oh the joys of spring break in Oregon. 

My kids, of course, managed to play barefoot in the very cold water while wearing tee-shirts and pants rolled up to their knees. I remember doing the same at their age, but my body now sure can’t handle the cold like it used to! They built sand castles and floated plastic boats in the kind-of river (aka storm drain) that flowed to the ocean, and my middle son created an ingenious little game. 

He had brought a frisbee, but in trying to toss it to me, he realized the wind was so strong, it made it very hard to toss down the beach from him to me, and me back to him again. Then he had the brilliant discovery that he didn’t actually need a partner to catch the frisbee he threw: he could play catch with the wind. 

He went a little way down the beach from our sand castles and snacks, and found a nice open area. He tossed the frisbee as high up and as far out into the wind as he could, then watched the wind “catch” the frisbee and blow it back toward him. After several attempts, he even found that he could sometimes catch it when the wind blew it back, and other times he happily chased it down. He always returned to the same spot before throwing again, just as he would if he played with a human partner. It was delightful to watch my son — so patient, full of laughter, trying again and again, and making the most of the conditions at the beach that day.

As I watched my son thrive in what many would see as a difficult circumstance, I couldn’t help but think, “How often do I waste time and energy fighting my situations, instead of learning to appreciate and work with them?” 

I think this past year we’ve all faced what we’d consider to be difficult circumstances. I wish I could say that I faced all my challenges with the kind of tenacity and resilience my son displayed. The truth is, I usually spend far too long moaning about all the things that make it hard to do what I want to do. My son could have cried, he could have thrown the frisbee down in anger and disgust, he could have just given up. But he didn’t. He assessed his situation and realized the challenge gave him an excellent opportunity to innovate. 

Psalm 107 speaks of the power of the oceans, and the wondrous works of the Lord. Changing the pronouns to personalize it, Psalm 107:25-31 reads like this: “Those who go down to the sea in ships, who do business on great waters, they see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For He commands and raises the stormy wind, which lifts up the waves of the sea… then we cry out to the Lord in our trouble, and He brings us out of our distresses. He calms the storm, so that its waves are still. Then we are glad because we are quiet; so He guides us to our desired haven. Oh, that we would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!”

We may often find ourselves in situations that are full of variables we cannot control, just as the sailor in this psalm, trying to do business on the sea, and finding it fierce. A sailor knows he or she cannot control the wind and the waves. The best she can do is prepare for them. She’ll train herself, she’ll be sure she knows her boat inside and out, she’ll practice how quickly she can tie knots and make adjustments to sails so that when — not if — a storm comes, she is ready. Storms of life are inevitable. We can’t avoid them, all we can do is prepare for them. When the storm is bigger than we can handle, we don’t give up: we cry out for help. It may even be the Lord who leads us into a storm, but it is also the Lord who can lead us safely out. 

Perhaps because this is my season of life-with-kids, it often seems like as soon as I make a strategy to help life be more smooth or efficient, one of the variables changes, and I am back to the drawing board. It’s like trying to play frisbee at the beach. One week I may have a brilliant game with a friend. One week it might be too crowded at the beach to play frisbee. And other weeks I may need to play catch with the wind. Sometimes I just need to cry out for help. 

My prayer for me in such times is the same as my prayer for you: Next time you find the storms of life blowing away your dreams, I hope instead of cry or give up, you can learn to play catch with the wind.

Part 17: Tragedy

Mary and Joseph Come to Eugene, Part 17: Tragedy

After his golf date with Joe, Herod had spent the weekend plotting, trying to find an angle he could use to discretely get rid of the threat posed by the International Jewish conspiracy group, as he had begun thinking of it to himself.  

Once back in the office on Monday, Herod put his plan into motion. He quietly apologized to his office assistant, Martha, for his “overreaction” the week prior. No need to make her nervous and suspicious of him. He assured her that of course he would never kill a baby, and probably no immediate action should be taken. But he did want to keep tabs on the diplomats who had visited, in case any suspicious activity showed up again. He greedily received the names of those who were on the hotel registry during the last few months. Of course, infants were not listed, but he could use the information to further investigate the adults. Mary and Joseph Davidson were never on the hotel registry, first because they stayed in the parking garage, and then because they stayed under the hotel owners’ names until they got into the tiny house at Emerald Village. So Herod had no way to know about their presence in the Bethlehem Inn. 

Herod also received from Martha the birth records from Eugene, Oregon for the past year. There was a Jesus Davidson listed to young parents, with an address in California. He figured they must have been college students on holiday for the Winter Solstice / New Year break in school, and would have returned to San Bernadino long before the “wise men” came to Eugene. That name went on the low priority list to investigate.

Back in his private office, he called Joe in the CDC. He called a clerk he had planted at the Health Authority office in Oregon. He called someone in the press who owed him a favor. By Tuesday night, reports were circulating from a number of sources about a strange variant of the coronavirus that was affecting infants, and seemed to have the most cases in a small Oregon town called Eugene…

---

---

Monday morning Mary was nervously pacing the hotel suite in San Diego. For once, she was the anxious one, and Joseph was relaxed. He jiggled little Jesus on his knee and tried not to be too concerned for his normally unflappable wife. It was clear the fear for Jesus’ life had unnerved her, and the stress of the last few days was getting to her. Plus, as much as she loved having her parents nearby, they didn’t fully understand the situation, and had remained a bit skeptical about the supernatural parts of their experience in the past year. There had been some tense conversations over the weekend.  

“Maria, siéntate. Relajarse,” he said. Sit down, Relax. They had been practicing their Spanish. Both knew quite a bit from high school classes and their jobs. Mary had many restaurant patrons who spoke Spanish, and she had picked up basic conversational skills there, and words related to her job. Joseph knew several somewhat less polite words from working on construction sites.     

After what seemed like a full day, at 10 am Joseph received a call. He should meet the agent at 11:30, and all would be in order for them to cross into Mexico right away. He received a name for his contact once in Mexico, and instructions for his further transport down to the job site. His housing and a new Mexico-based phone line would be covered as part of his compensation package. He’d begin work on Wednesday. 

---

 On Wednesday, more reports circulated in Oregon of the new variant strain of the virus among babies. A few cases were reported in Washington state as well. By Thursday, all families were mandated to bring in their baby “for testing” to new pop-up locations specially equipped to test infants. An inexplicable number of these tests came back positive. Within two weeks, hundreds of babies had died. Some suspected it wasn’t the “test” confirming the illness, but causing the illness. No one could be certain.

Meanwhile, agents were tracking down those who had been near the epicenter of the “outbreak” in Eugene, finding them at home if their child had been born within a certain range of time, forcibly taking the children for testing if the parents were not compliant. Some of the families never saw their children alive again, and when they spoke out or questioned it, they too were taken, and held in an unmarked facility, and also became mysteriously ill. It was said they had contracted the virus, “from close contact with their infected infant… In adults the new strain affects the brain and causes paranoia and hallucinations,” was the report, to explain these distraught parents’ stories and volatile behavior. 

---

Safely tucked away in southern Mexico, Mary and Joseph heard the news and wept and prayed for these families. They had decided to keep notes to friends vague until they were out of country. The rent on the tiny house was paid through the end of the month, so they waited to send a message to the management company. They had left the house locked but with the key under the potted plant on the front porch, and the note inside alluded to visiting friends out of town. The Friday they stayed in San Diego, they took the risk of sending a quick email to Luke and Lydia at the Bethlehem Inn. “We decided to take a little trip and won’t be in touch for a few days. No worries. Sorry we’ll have to miss dinner on Saturday.” Mention of a non-existent dinner date once again served as code for “be on alert.” 

As a result, everyone in Eugene could honestly say, even those who might suspect the truth, that they had no idea where Joseph and Mary Davidson had gone. When questioned about babies in the hotel, Luke and Lydia were able to be evasive and vague. Mark the shuttle bus driver said, “Man, I get so many people on this bus going so many places. If they’re chatty I hear lots of stories, but I don’t ask questions. It’s hard to remember one visitor from another most of the time.” Herod’s people unearthed the TikTok video of Simeon with Jesus at the temple, but as Simeon had already passed away, and the TikTok poster didn’t know who the baby was, that lead quickly died.

Mary and Joseph were eventually tracked to Emerald Village, but by then the management had received word that Mary and Joseph didn’t intend to hold the spot, and their items had been cleared for a new resident. No one seemed to recall anything that might be helpful to anyone who asked.  Questioners even came to the homeless camp. Mary and Joseph’s friends there were quite loyal to the sweet young couple whose baby’s birth had been announced by angels. They were very good at spreading many different unverifiable stories and played upon every stereotype of homeless people and mental illness for Mary and Joseph’s protection. As a result, even when agents did hear the truth from someone, they certainly didn’t believe it. Finally, in mid-April, Herod’s office realized the Davidson family had gained residency and work visa permission in Mexico. Since they’d had COVID tests before leaving the country, he couldn’t use that ruse to get them back. However, since they were now gone, Herod patted himself on the back, thinking that if they were the troublemakers, he’d done a good job driving them away. 

Sadly for others, though, there was great loss and pain among families of infants due to Herod’s paranoia and plotting. Many babies died as a result of this “new strain.” After so many suspicions of foul play and complaints from parents there was a huge investigation and a great deal of finger pointing between various pharmaceutical companies, organizations in D.C., and online fear-mongering campaigns. But Herod had covered his tracks well, and never was held accountable for the murders he set in place. However, within two years he died of a heart attack. 

After Herod died, an angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Mexico and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother and go to your home country,  for those who were trying to take the child’s life are dead.”

Having just completed his work on the resort, and wondering what he ought to do, he gratefully received the word from the Lord. Joseph got up, took the child and his mother and went back to the United States. But as much as they had loved Oregon, he was afraid to return to Eugene. Having been warned in a dream, he withdrew to the outskirts of Los Angeles again, to the San Bernadino area where Mary had grown up. 

And the child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom. And the favor of God was upon him. And Jesus increased in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man.

— THE END —

Author’s Note: Hello readers! I hope you have enjoyed this little imagining of what it might have been like had Jesus been born in 2020 in my hometown. Of course the world would be indescribably different if Jesus had not come when he did! But bringing this familiar story into a new context has been a fun experiment for me, and a way to make alive the truth of the difficulty of their situation. Sorry for the gap between the final and second-to-last sections. I just had a hard time with the idea of Herod killing the babies, and I think a part of me didn’t want to face the true horror of what actually happened to other babies born near Jesus. Satan was trying to kill Jesus long before he was actually crucified. I am ending here. In total it is novella length, at over 20,000 words, which is something I never quite imagined. Thanks for reading!

Click here to read Part 1: Mary and Joseph Come to Eugene

Click here to read the first post after Christmas (Part 6)

Part 16: Herod Suspects

Mary and Joseph Come to Eugene, Part 16: Herod Suspects

Herod called his assistant into his office. “Martha! When was it those wackos came here with the stars and the prophecy nonsense?”

“Are you referring to the diplomats from Russia, Nigeria and Brazil, sir?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said. Don’t you listen?”

“Yes sir, of course sir. It was a little over two weeks ago, I believe.”

“Well why haven’t we heard anything back from them yet? I told them to tell me where they went.”

“Yes sir, would you like me to look into it?”

“Of course I want you to look into it. Why do you think I’m bringing it up?” 

Martha hastily left the office under Herod’s stormy glare to see what could be determined. Herod started brooding. Things had been too quiet lately. The pandemic was abating as the vaccines were being more widely released. The presidential transition was completed and things were fairly peaceful. No protests in the last two weeks. No one was talking about The Wall anymore. There hadn’t been any terrorist attacks in some time. What was a national threat assessor to do? If he didn’t drum up some controversy soon, they might start thinking about cutting his office budget. If he had to make trouble, then he’d make trouble. 

Thursday afternoon Martha had an update which she nervously delivered.

“I think we may have found them, sir.”

“AND!?”

“Well, sir, their caravan didn’t cause much press, so it’s hard to pin down their trail, but it seems they arrived in Eugene, Oregon on February 28.”

“Where? I’ve never heard of Eugene. I thought they were looking for a Bethlehem!” he roared.

“Right sir, it seems they didn’t go to a city named Bethlehem, but they did stay at the Bethlehem Inn in Eugene.” 

“Go on.”

“They arrived there on February 28…”

“You already said that.”

“…then they stayed at least two nights at the Inn, but the traffic cameras and security camera feeds we hacked didn’t show their vehicles leaving the Inn at all, until Tuesday morning, March 2. Then it looks like their vehicles may have left, but it’s a little unclear.”

“What do you mean, unclear?”

“Some of the vehicles seem to have left, but not all of them, and it isn’t clear who all was on board the vehicles, and the flags were not there, so it could have been someone else.”

“Someone else in an identical limousine caravan?” Herod asked incredulously.

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Did you find out if they are still on the hotel registry?” 

“No sir. Well, we asked, but the hotel said they could only release that information to the police, sir.”

“We’re more important than the police!” 

“Would you like me to contact their local police?”

“Eh,” Herod waved her off, sure they could figure this out on their own. “Did you check if their passports indicate them leaving the country?”

“No sir, we didn’t think of that, sir.”

“YOU DIDN’T THINK OF THAT?! What do I pay you for? To sit there and look pretty?!”

“No sir.” Martha responded. (Though in actuality, that is why Herod paid her. She was much more pleasant looking that his last assistant.) “I’ll get right on that sir,” she said, and scurried away. 

———

Thursday night found Mary and Joseph enjoying a hotel suite with Mary’s parents. Mary had told them about Joseph’s upcoming job out of the country, so they’d driven down to San Diego and booked a hotel under their own names, so they could meet their grandson and see their daughter and her husband. They met Mary, Joseph and Jesus at the bus station and drove them around town to various appointments to get their paperwork in order. Finally, they relaxed with some amazing Japanese takeout at the beach, enjoying the seventy-degree temperatures. For Mary’s parents, it still felt like winter. For Mary and Joseph, after more than two months with high temperatures in the forties, seventy degrees felt like summer. Friday afternoon they got the good news that they should be able to cross into Mexico on Monday.

———

Friday morning, Martha nervously walked into Herod’s office with news she was sure he would not like:  “It seems they have already left the country.”

“WHAT!?”

“Yes, sir. The Nigerian group seems to have flown out of Portland. The Russians seem to have left the country via Seattle. And the Brazilians flew out from Eugene, with stops in–”

“I don’t care where they stopped,” he interrupted. “You say they are definitely out of the country?”

Martha nodded.

“Those double-crossing, no good…” Herod continued on with several expletives and insults. He was furious to realize he had been outwitted by these visitors. “I’m gonna kill them.”

“I don’t think you can kill them, sir, since they are already out of the country.”

“Then I’m going to kill the baby! What was it they said about that baby?”

“I believe, sir, they said they were seeking ‘the child who was born to be the leader of the Jews.’”

He grumbled and mumbled under his breath, pacing his office, as Martha shrank back against the edge of the doorway as if trying to disappear. “Well, who is the child? Did they find a child?” 

“As I said, sir, we can’t seem to find any record of their activity from their arrival at the Bethlehem Inn to the time of their departure from the country, except that some of the limousines left the hotel for various airports on March 2.”

“Then find that child! Interrogate the hotel! Somebody has to know something. I want to know what’s happening at that Inn, who has stayed there. Maybe the child is at the hotel. Find out if there were any babies there at that time! Find out what babies were born at nearby hospitals in the last few months! I want to know what’s going on!!”

Once again Martha quickly scurried off, but he just as quickly called her back, “Martha! See if Joe from the CDC can play golf this afternoon. Get me a spot at my club. I’ll cover the greens fees. That guy’s a sucker. I want to find an angle I can use. We gotta get rid of that kid. He’s trouble. I can feel it.”

Part 15: On the Road Again

Mary and Joseph Come to Eugene, Part 15: On the Road Again

Mary dozed restlessly in her seat on the bus. After waking up in the middle of the night, hastily packing and then walking to catch a bus, she could barely keep her eyes open. Yet despite her exhaustion, true rest seemed elusive. Every time she closed her eyes she pictured the angel saying “leave now, Herod wants to kill the child.” She wondered which was more terrifying: the angel Joseph had actually seen, or the one she imagined him seeing. It hadn’t been terrifying when the angel had appeared to her, almost exactly one year ago now, to say that she would have a child which would be the son of God. It had been disorienting, confusing… but not terrifying. She couldn’t imagine this angel’s appearance being anything other than terrifying.  

She thought about what she knew of Dr. Herod King. This must be the person the angel had mentioned. One of the diplomats she had met had mentioned a meeting with him before they followed the star across the country to Eugene. She remembered her Aunt Liz mentioning his appointment to the new government agency, and his job of assessing and neutralizing threats. Liz hadn’t liked his attitude toward the Native Americans she and Uncle Zack worked with in the Las Vegas area, nor the rumors of his involvement with the poor treatment of immigrants on the US-Mexico border. His department was among those civil servants who did not change with the presidential change, so he remained in power now. Of what little Mary knew of him, he didn’t seem like a very compassionate person. How could he try to kill their son? She shuddered at the thought, not wanting to imagine the possibilities. To consider all the details and all the possibilities was to court anxiety. Right now they did not need details; they simply needed to trust God, and be obedient. Joseph said that the angel told them to flee to Mexico. So flee to Mexico they did.  

Just before 8 o’clock that morning they rolled into Roseburg and had some decent cell service, so Joseph took a moment to check his email on his phone. Strangely, there was a message from his former boss in southern California: it had just come in a few minutes earlier. In early December work had dried up at the cabinetry company where Joseph had worked, so he was laid off and they had come to Eugene. He left the company on good terms, but his boss knew he’d left the state, so he certainly didn’t expect to hear from the company again. 

The message was brief: 

Joseph: Our sister company in Mexico has picked up a job at a new resort on the southern coast near Acapulco. The developers are looking for a specific type of carpentry woodwork for the interiors, and no one in their location has enough experience in that type. It’s like the job we did last summer for that high-rise in Orange County. You did great there. None of our guys still hired on here want to make the commitment to be in Mexico for the next two years. If you want the job, we can take care of expediting the paperwork, but you’d have to be here by the end of the week. They want  to start right away. If interested, let me know.

Joseph couldn’t believe his eyes. A job in Mexico for two years? Start immediately? What could be more of an answer to prayer!? He excitedly read the email to Mary, and she could barely contain her joy. The look of strain in her eyes was replaced by elation as she urged him to hurry up and call his boss before they gave the job to someone else. 

He quickly placed the call and worked out a few details. The full bus trip was just over 24 hours, so they’d be in San Diego by Thursday morning. The company would go ahead and start the process for the work visa. Since the company in Mexico was requesting someone with his special skills, they should be able to get it quickly and without trouble. The company was relieved to know Joseph already had his passport. Joseph explained that he wasn’t willing to go without his wife and baby. They didn’t think it would be a problem, as Joseph would receive temporary resident status with his work visa, and his family should be able to receive temporary residency as well. As long as Mary didn’t plan to work in Mexico, she should be able to stay with him there without leaving the country again to change her visa status. When he arrived in San Diego he’d need to check in with the Embassy. They’d be in touch about travel arrangements from San Diego. Joseph hastily scribbled notes down on a scrap of paper, and soon ended the call. He leaned his head back against the bus seat, closed his eyes, and released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding for the last two days. 

“We’re going to be alright, Mary!” he said quietly, taking her hand. “We’re going to be alright.”

She had a dozen questions about the details. So far all their energy had been focused on leaving town as quickly and discretely as possible, and they hadn’t started figuring out any of the details for exactly how they would get to Mexico and legally stay there until whatever time the angel appeared again to let them know it was safe to return. Now, at least, there was the beginning of a plan. 

“The company owner has a brother who works in Mexico,” Joseph explained. “My boss, Miguel, moved from Mexico when he was little. His mom was American, and taught English in Mexico after college. She met his dad there, and they got married. He was a carpenter, and wanted to learn English to expand his business opportunities. Their family immigrated to the US when Miguel’s grandma got sick. They stayed in Riverside, and his dad built the company from scratch. Both brothers joined the business when they were old enough, and over the last fifty years they’ve grown to be one of the most successful carpentry shops in San Bernadino county.  Ten years ago one of the brothers decided to move back to Mexico — they have dual citizenship — and Miguel’s brother, Luis, started a branch of the business down there, with a family friend. They’ve actually done several cross-border jobs before, so they already know how to handle the visas and all that.”

“I think God sent us more than one angel today!” Said Mary. 

“Yeah. Well, angel just means messenger, so, yeah. Definitely a good message. I’m glad someone knows what they are doing. I sure don’t!”

“But you know how to build cabinets. And it sounds like that’s what you need to know to get us to Mexico. So we’re good!”  

“Yep,” Joseph agreed. “Oh, is my baby waking up?” 

“Oh yes he is! He’s such a good boy taking a nice nap this morning!”

Just then Jesus made a face and there was a loud squirting nose, and his diaper area suddenly seemed rather squishy. And full. And stinky.

Joseph blinked rapidly and recoiled from the smell. “Oh my gosh! How can such a gross thing come from such a cute little package?”

“Hmm… well here’s a challenge we didn’t face last time we were on the bus. How are we supposed to change a poopy diaper while in transit?”

Eventually they worked out a way to lay the changing pad on Joseph’s lap and take care of the mess, tucking the used diaper and wipes into an empty plastic shopping bag, and liberally applying hand sanitizer afterward. 

“How did people travel with babies before disposable diapers?” Mary wondered aloud. “I mean, imagine having a bunch of cloth diapers while traveling through the desert in a covered wagon. Where would you wash them? Do you suppose they just started stuffing leaves in there so they could throw away the stinkies?”

“Uugh. That sounds uncomfortable.”

“Well, grape leaves are large and soft, so that might work. Moss is soft and absorbent.”

“Where are you going to find moss and grape leaves in the desert?” 

“Maybe that’s why the covered wagons went to Oregon instead of California. So they didn’t have to go through the desert.”

“Oh yes, I am sure it was all planned around diapering needs.”

“I can’t believe we are having this conversation!” Mary laughed. “It feels good to laugh after all this tension. I can’t believe it was just two days ago the visitors came. It feels like so much longer.” 

“And I can’t believe how much trouble you are causing, little Jesus! Good thing your Father is giving us some help” said Joseph, acknowledging that though he was legally Jesus’ father, really, he was the son of God. 

“Yep,” Mary agreed. “Jesus knows how to disrupt our lives. But our lives are so much better with Jesus in it.”

“That is for sure.”