'Twill Be My Joy ...

Working on some edits as rain falls soft outside. The sky's gray, but light, at seven o'clock. My sister's playing her guitar across the room, kids & Mum are downstairs ... I'm bushed after a too late night & a long day's work. Spring's just about here *touches wood* & at long last. It's almost seven thirty & the sky's colored dove gray--but still it is light out. 
God's promises are yes & amen. Spring always follows winter.
So much to do ... but so much to love. To read. To pray. 
And so much to listen for. 
Mary sat at Jesus' feet instead of helping her sister in the kitchen. Martha missed out by being preoccupied with so much work "to be done under the sun" as Solomon warned against in Ecclesiastes.
Easter draws near & far too many people are preoccupied. I'm not talking about those who "do" the Easter Bunny & chocolate & plan on making this holiday the first out of two times they go to church this year.
I'm talking about us, the redeemed of the Lord. God's children. Me--His daughter. Reluctant to slow down. The road to Calvary is one not to be recalled for a mere one or two weeks out of the year. It is to be recalled in every moment when we make the choice to give into the comments & complaints that too easily can jump from our mouths. The moments when our own physical steps are limping & painful but there's still an hour or two more to the work day. 
Jesus' walk to Calvary--widely recognized as Holy Week--was not one short week in length. It began on that night when He came to earth & the angels sang, Glory to God in the highest! And on earth peace, goodwill towards men. 
His walk ended not when His steps faltered on the hill & His cross was borne by another the rest of the way. His walk to Calvary ended not even when His feet were nailed to the Cross. 
Jesus' walk ended at the precise moment foreknew since the beginning of time when His blood was spilt to atone for us all. No earlier would the Lord have uttered, It is finished.
He asked that the cup be taken from Him. But yet He uttered, Not my will but Your's be done, after crying to His father--our Father--in the Garden of Gethsemane.

I stand amazed in the presenceOf Jesus the NazareneAnd wonder how He could love meA sinner condemned uncleanFor me it was in the gardenHe prayed: "Not my will but Thine"He had no tears for His own griefsBut sweat-drops of blood for mineTwill be my joy through the agesTo sing of His love for me!

Meghan Gorecki
Meghan Gorecki

Words, history, and grace color my days here in The Burgh where I seek out the perfect coffee and red lipstick.