Sunday, 24 March 2013


For many years, our family would head to a mountain cabin for just a few days around New Years without the distractions and technology of home.  It was there I found a book of Ruth Bell Graham's poems, Footprints of a Pilgrim. I copied a few of my favourites into a journal.

Blinking back the tears
I'm thinking
may just clear
the heart for sight:
as wind-shield wipers
help us
on a stormy,
windswept night.

Jesus wept.
But why?
Knowing what lay ahead
moments away...
Was it because
He had not come,
when He heard
Lazarus might die?
Lazarus was dead!
Was it in sympathy
with their raw grief?
Faith's impotent lack?
Or could it be
because He
had to bring him back.

The first, I thought of often throughout the year, the second only a week ago. Not a weepy week. I placed a big photo of Jordan on my desk at work and I often find myself smiling at his image...knowing how often he would encourage me whenever I felt stuck or overwhelmed by something God was asking of me.  His probing question usually sounded like, "What does Jesus have to say about it?"