Sometimes the internet just gives you the best gifts: the perfectly worded meme, an inspirational (and unattributed) quote, a video of someone making a fool of themselves-just what you need as a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. Many a time during witching hour the internet has saved me. Yesterday it gave again. With Easter in just a few days so many of you are sharing inspirational truth. My facebook newsfeed (let's use the word "news" loosely here) and my instagram are littered with pictures of three crosses silhouetted on a hill and hand-lettered scripture nested in a bouquet of water-colored flowers that I most certainly do not know the name of because I am no botanist. I kill everything green, or that is supposed to be green.
This Easter I have felt myself feeling a bit angsty over all these posts. Don't get me wrong. I love them. I love their beauty. I love their meaning. I love their truth. I even love to let out a slightly troubled laugh at the occasional Easter themed Jesus Juke. The problem isn't the posts; its me. For some reason this season I wanted more. To be honest, I have felt a little blasphemous about the whole thing. I have sat with my Bible and read and re-read the story of Jesus' last week on earth, his death and resurrection, in every book of the Gospels. I don't know what I was looking for. Did I really think I would find something new? Could there really be anything better than what was already written there- that Jesus took MY sin upon him, undeservedly suffered MY punishment and then conquered sin and death to claim victory for ME?
The story could never get old, but yet I found myself tearfully pleading with God for Him to let it wash over me with new, personal meaning. Give me something new in the Good News-some new sprout of hope, one that even I can't kill.
And then the Internet delivered in the form of a John Piper quote.
First off, let's just be clear. I am the mom hiding in the bathroom. I am my own audience here, guys. I totes hide in the bathroom on the daily, sometimes with a secret sugar, until the bathroom gets too filthy to be considered much of a refuge and then I just hide in there and shake my head at how inept our cleaning lady is. Seriously though. She's the worst.
I thought you should know that because I would hate for you to think I was preaching from some non-hiding-in-the-bathroom-and-stress-eating-mom-pedestal. And apparently I would also hate for you to think that my house was any cleaner than one notch above "hazmat". I am sure you are encouraged already. With that firm foundation laid we can move forward.
A few months back I read a familiar passage in Mark and it struck me anew, as scripture has an awesome way of doing. It was the passage from Mark 6:30-44 where Jesus feeds the 5000. Now, if you grew up in church you have probably heard this story yourself what feels like 5000 times. That's a bit how I felt reading it, but with this read the story touched me like it hadn't before, and I don't think I can ever look at it the same way again.