The day after the funeral is the hardest. The days following the death of a loved one are overflowing with friends and family, phone calls and text messages, meals and cards and hugs and stories. But the day after the funeral, it all stops.
A man’s child was dying. He was desperate, and he knew that only one person could possibly save his son. The father traveled 16 miles by foot, and found Jesus in the little town of Cana in Galillee. He begged Jesus to heal his son, and Jesus did. Jesus spoke, “Your son lives,” and at exactly that hour the boy was healed. This is the second sign Jesus performed.
There’s a story I’ve been listening to for years about a woman who met a man at a well. I’ve heard the woman called many things. Sinful. Scandalous. Promiscuous.
She was married five times, and when we meet her in the story, she was living with a man who wasn’t even her husband.
But what if we’ve missed something all this time?
Following Jesus isn't about Law. It's about love. It's about living dedicated to a love that carries us forward. Living grateful for the love that redeems us. It's about living inspired, and compelled to extend the love and grace extended to us by Jesus.
I’ve been praying since I could talk. I was never taught; never guided. I was simply told to have a conversation; to speak my requests. I’ve prayed for a new cabbage patch doll at Christmas time, acceptance into college, and for a miraculous A on a test I didn’t study for. I’ve prayed for jobs, for pregnancy and childbirth, for healthy children, for healing, and for safe travels.
I zoomed in, and in, and in, until I could closely see the cuts and curves of a blade of wild grass. Everything behind it blurred and blended into the background. Chiggers gnawed at my ankles as I circled around the shot, trying to capture the desired hue of orange and magenta bursting through the empty spaces in the frame.