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It’s Been a Wonderful Life

She never seemed scared. Never seemed angry at death. If anything, she got impatient for it at times; she did not enjoy being a burden. But the overwhelming emotion she communicated was peace. Years of dealing with congestive heart failure had worn her out. She knew her time had come and she was ready to go home. 

Some time, I would like to talk about the many virtues of my mom; but today, I can’t. (You can check out this post…and perhaps more to come). Today, I just want to put down a marker as a reminder of sweet moments that came near the end of Mom’s journey home. I’m realizing that many moments that I thought I’d never forget I’ve already forgotten.  (But then, my brain is foggy from the events and sleep deprivation of the last few weeks…so there’s that.)

There were sweet moments with my Dad, my brother, and my sisters as we talked together, cried together, and worked together to figure out each next step as hospital stays unfolded into a terminal diagnosis.  None of us knew what we were doing.  Each of us gave what we had. I guess God knew we’d make a pretty good team. 

There were sweet moments with my mom. Even with all of the days we had—there was not enough time to talk about everything I would have liked to have said. But she knew I loved her and I knew she loved me. The things she said in those final days meant so much. 

There were sweet moments with grandkids as they said they’re hellos and goodbyes. They sang to her, read to her, played harp, piano, violin, and even trumpet for her. She had all the music she could stand. The last night, she was unresponsive but we still gathered by her bed and sang “Trust and Obey;” our family song.  She was such a good grandma. She loved her grandkids…near and far.

There were sweet moments as I felt the body of Christ surrounding us. So many kind folks texted their words of sympathy, affirmation, and support. It meant a lot to mean as I was out of church several weeks traveling to and from Greenville and then New Hampshire. 

There were sweet moments as we felt God’s presence through all the things—little and big. Being able to see family.  Being able to bring her home. Having kind friends volunteer their resources to fly her home from Greenville, SC. Being able to meet little needs along the way. 

There were sweet moments as Mom’s her body and mind were slipping that she would burst into song—sometimes mid sentence or completely out of the blue. She seemed so happy. 

There was a sweet moment as I lay in bed listening to my mom’s weak voice and my dad’s broken one singing, “God is so good. God is so good…”

There were a few funny moments as she began to ask for things…my not-at-all fussy mom became quite the water connoisseur—wanting only certain cold water from glass bottles. How we worked to try to find good water! I’ll never forget the smile on her face when she said, “now that’s the water I’ve been waiting for!”  “This is wonderful!”

Mom appreciated every picture that was drawn, every gift she was given, and flowers that came. She usually responded with a slurred but happy, “Wow!”  But her most common word was “Wonderful!”  I wish I counted the number of times I heard her say that over the past week or two. 

Dad started writing down some of the things she said toward the end. One of the very last things was, “it’s been a wonderful life!”  

I’m so thankful for the three years she was Grandma to my girls—what a good grandma she was.  Wonderful, in fact. 

We had many lasts over the past few weeks…and today, she had one grand first. Many goodbyes…and this morning, one huge, celebratory hello. Many tears…and now she’s in a place of rejoicing. And we are thankful.

I would bet the first thing she said upon entering heaven—“this is wonderful!”

Thank you, Aunt Penny…for letting us treat your house like a boarding house for a week. Thank you, Aunt Kay, for making shrimp scampi that you knew she’d never eat. Thank you, Allyson, for bringing Gladly to hang out with us. Thank you, Paul, for making the trip to SC with a pregnant wife, sick kids, and power out at your house. Thank you, Curtis, for helping us get my mom home. Thank you, Kevin, for driving home Dad’s car. Thank you, Sharon, for getting the piano tuned. Wow. You are wonderful.
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Love Comes Softly

Our story is an unusual one.

But as it has unfolded, I can only look back and say, “God’s hand was in this.” Not that I always perfectly followed His will; not that I had faith every step of the way; but that only God could author a story that takes bitter things and makes them this sweet. 

Ours is a “love comes softly” story. 

Curtis and I met nearly twenty years ago when I came to work at the Bostic Law Group. He was happily married with five well-behaved children. I was fresh out of law school simply looking for a return on my investment in a law degree.  When he interviewed me, he asked what I wanted to do be doing in the next 3-5 years and the answer that came to me was, “doing the next right thing.”  But what I really hoped was that in the next few years, I would be someone’s wife and soon thereafter, a mother. 

Over the years, the next right thing—as best I knew it— was a mix of a lot of hard work; episodes of fun; and great opportunities for ministry.  But even though I enjoyed what I did, I had to fight for contentment as a single person.

As one year rolled into the next into the next, I could feel the dreams of a family slipping through my fingers. My attempts at relationships were confusing and painful.  I tried.  But as the clocked ticked, it started to sink in that despite my God-given desires, it did not seem that marriage was going to be in my future.

But slowly, I began to feel God’s peace in the “letting go” of my dreams.  Even though life wasn’t shaping up the way I had wanted it to, God could be trusted. He gives good gifts.

As I looked for ways to honor God in my singleness, my heart and doors were open to children through foster care.   Eventually, God forever changed “me” into “we” through the miracle of adoption.  God allowed me to become “Mama” to two beautiful girls.  It has been an adventure…single parenting is not for cowards.  

Even in parenting, for me, love came softly. 

Meanwhile, over the years, Curtis and Jenny became both friends and family. Our relationship was not just employment and the related travel, but included church, ministry, and just doing “real life” together. 

Jenny had been diagnosed with cancer long before I met the Bostics. And though the disease was frequently in our thoughts and prayers, she always seemed able to rebound from setbacks and the way she ate healthfully and exercised diligently she seemed invincible. It didn’t take much to believe in our hopes and dreams that she was going to outlive us all. 

But a year and a half ago, it became clear that God was calling Jenny home.  It was a dark time. It was terribly difficult for Curtis, as he bore (and still bears) the grief of losing his beautiful partner of 35 years, the glue of his family, and his life as he knew it.  It was also very painful for me because I was losing my dear friend, my connection with my “Charleston family,” and my life as I knew it.  

Those months were a blur.  But as God began to lift the clouds, we realized that we were still doing life together. We were still giving our lives to the same priorities. We were still involved in the same ministries.  We still worshipped the same Jesus. We still loved the same friends. We still enjoyed working side by side…And we both wanted to be married. 

Which makes it sound so simple. 

In real life, blending families is not simple.

Our first conversations were hurtful. Our first date was awkward (and it was six weeks before we had a second!). The first person I told was not happy for me. Some of our “firsts” would be hard to identify at all. How do you put a beginning on a relationship born out of a friendship and partnership of twenty years?  

So…when a friend described it as “love comes softly” romance, I had to agree. For us, love came softly, and slowly, and sometimes even painfully.

But it did come. And we are oh, so happy. 

Is it still awkward at times?  In a word, yes. Curtis does and always will love Jenny. In a different way, so will I, (and so will many others who were privileged to spend time with her). I’m so thankful I knew her. I’m so thankful that I learned from her. I’m thankful that I was loved by her—it takes the sting out of “second” for me.  Knowing her kindness and character helps me understand why those close to her are fiercely loyal. 

Our relationship came too quickly for some people. Too slowly for others. Too loudly. Too quietly.  Real life is much more complicated than the movies. 

If that weren’t enough, it’s challenging dating in front of your kids. I don’t wish that on anyone. Just sayin’.

But as the months have unfolded, both of us have had a growing conviction that this is the “next right thing.”  And we are so thankful for the wise counsel, kind words, and encouragement of many, many godly people who know us well.

In this new season…I fall in love with Curtis every time I listen to him share the gospel—which is often.  When I see him be gentle and kind.  When I watch him play with children. When he dreams big—and then gives big. When he works hard.  When he makes me stop working. When he leads worship in a way that causes us to lift our eyes to heaven and see Jesus is better, fuller ways. When I see his passion for Bible teaching (especially in its historical and geographical context!).  When he takes time each day to share something he learned from Scripture.  When our gifts seem to fit. 

That is why, when he got down on his knee on the hill overlooking Galilee and asked me “To the glory of Jesus Christ, would you be my wife?“

I knelt with him and answered, “I would be honored.”

Our story is an unusual one…And I wouldn’t wish it to be any other way.  

When I think about it, I can only marvel at our great God who has the ability to bring life from death, beauty from ashes, and hope from despair.  He who gives freedom to laugh and love again after the darkest of times is the author of our journey of faith. 

Some of the most beautiful love stories come softly. Painfully. Tenaciously. Courageously.  

This one did. 

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Fruit that Remains

The vibrant colors of autumn have faded.  The landscape of empty limbs is broken up by an occasional evergreen proudly displaying its needles or by a limb full of stubborn brown leaves trying to beat the odds of winter.  There are still leaves on the ground; but mostly, just leaf crumbs. Reds and golds have muted into shades of brown.  It’s as if fall has been told to sit down and hush. 

This is New Hampshire at Thanksgiving.  It’s pretty in its own way, but not the type of thing people come from far away to witness.

But I traveled to New Hampshire this week.  It just seemed like the thing to do on my mom’s first birthday in heaven.  I wanted to be able to cheer on my dad who has been very brave over the last six months.  He and I stood at her grave today and shed a few tears together.  I wanted to talk; but tears have a way of stealing words.

The last 18 months or so have been quite a season for grief.  It seems most everyone I know has been touched by it and many of those closest to me lost someone dear to them recently.

That’s why, when my sister pointed out the faded-but-still-beautiful landscape today, it resonated with me.  It tells a story that I want to tell; and it doesn’t require words.  The vibrancy that New England is famous for is gone for a time; but all is not lost.  There is still a simple, quiet beauty left. If we choose to see it.

One of the great conundrums of grief is that we want to heal and yet we do not want to forget.  Some people leave books they’ve written, songs they’ve sung, or history they’ve changed.  Those people can be assured that their names will continue to be repeated long after their hearts have stopped beating.  My mom was an extraordinarily hard worker, but she didn’t leave a book beyond the dozens of binders of science lesson plans.  She left no music—except dozens of grands puffing on trumpets and sawing on violins. 

Just a few weeks ago, my mom had another grandchild born bringing the count to even twenty-eight.  Our family is perhaps her greatest tribute.  But even then, we are just a bunch of fallen human beings.  We may have impressive quantity, but we have our share of problems and then some.  And even if we could do her justice; we will not live forever. 

Will she be forgotten?

As I pondered my mom’s life and the fading glory of fall, I was reminded of John 15:16, “You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain...”

I cannot unpack all that is in those words spoken by Christ on the night of his betrayal.  It is interesting though that Jesus did not convince the majority of the Jews that He was the Messiah.  After his death, most of them saw Him only as a rabbi who had lived with them for a short while.  He never set up his kingdom—which was the single most important thing the Jews were looking for in a Messiah.  They wanted a military leader to free them from the Romans.  After His death, they wrote Him off.  He did not do the one thing that his nation hoped He had come to do.

He lived a short life, left no offspring, wrote no book, sang no songs, and built no lasting structures.  By all measures, He should have been forgotten.

However, the night before He died, when He spoke of bearing fruit that would “remain,” He knew He was commissioning His disciples with a life work that would change the entire world forever, not just the four corners of Israel. 

The disciples were a band of misfits, but they did choose to live and die for Christ.  They did bear fruit.  And that fruit has “remained.”  In fact, it turned the world upside down.

I think of some of the last conversations I had with my mom.  I think of how happy she was to meet Jesus.  How blessed she felt and how ready she was to let go of this world. 

I think she would tell me it’s okay to let this season drop its leaves and hush as the next season gets ready to take it’s turn.  

She will never be forgotten by those of us who knew her.  But more importantly, her fruit will always remain.  Because it never was about her.  She invested her life in what she knew would last for eternity; The fruit of her life was always about Jesus.

Sometimes I don’t have the words to say the truth to a hurting world. Sometimes, I don’t have the courage. But if I could stand up and tell the world one thing, it would be to invest their life on earth in the cause of Christ. That is the only way to insulate yourself from fear and enjoy the beauty of the changing seasons of this world.

And, tonight, we are expecting a beautiful snow.

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The Great New Years’ Clean Out

All of us have too much stuff.  When we have too much stuff, it’s next to impossible to keep our houses neat and clean.  The difference is: some of us want a neat and clean house; some of us want stuff. 

After years of doing property management and dealing with tenants who have left behind stuff, junk, trash, dirt, and more stuff, I think I’ve grown more and more appalled by the hoarder mentality.  It’s amazing to me how people with no money to pay rent accumulate So. Much. Stuff.  And when they have to move, they suddenly realize all that stuff means nothing to them.  They have no way to move it and no place to put it and so they leave it behind for someone else to put in a dumpster.  And then they start over; accumulating stuff again.   

But it’s that sort of nonsense that encourages me to continually purge our house of stuff.  I don’t want so much stuff that I can’t find my stuff.  I don’t want so much stuff that I can’t take care of my stuff.  I don’t want so much stuff that my house looks like I’m in love with stuff.  I’m not a minimalist but I confess, I get a certain thrill when I pop my hatch at Goodwill and start unloading bags and boxes.  Occasionally, I even get so extreme as to not buy stuff because I know it will just be…more stuff. 

When I do bring home more stuff, I try to even it out by simplifying and decluttering enough to keep the equilibrium.  In fact, I always keep a give-away bin where I toss things ready to be banished to Goodwill.  I even try to do an extra purge before the holidays.  But Christmas always bring more stuff than I thought it would and New Years always brings with it this burst of motivation coupled with a tiny sliver of time in which I try to accomplish a weeks’ worth of cleaning and sorting in a single day all the while putting away Christmas decorations, writing thank you notes, grocery shopping, and now…watching kids.

But I still have this drive to lighten our stuff load in 2023.  So I’ve taken a few minutes to put my own twist on some of the best tips and tricks I’ve gleaned from the smart ladies who make the TV shows and YouTube videos. 

Generally, I think of starting my clean up by putting away the things that are out.  For example, I had gifts people have given the girls and me; bags from travel that needed to be unpacked; Christmas decorations, boxes, and wrapping that had accumulated while my bedroom was a staging area for Christmas; a few misc gifts that never been given; bills and mail that had piled up, plus a few days of “life stuff” that was out because in the general rush of things, our house had gotten a bit disheveled.

But I know I’ll get to those things.  So I started with making room for all the stuff floating loose around the house screaming to be put away.

The black bag, the brown box, and the clear tub

For me, it works best when I start by getting a black trash bag for stuff I am throwing away (it must be black so no one in the family can see it once it goes in!); then a box or two for stuff I am giving away (I recommend a box because some times it’s easier if you tell yourself you will store it for a week or two and if you miss anything in the meantime, you can take it back out).  And ideally, a plastic bin for things I come across I want to keep but need to go somewhere else (if I am constantly trying to run things where they belong, I get sidetracked and NEVER finish!).  I like a clear tub, but if you’re overrun with Amazon boxes and tubs are in short supply, don’t let that hold you up.

The 75% Rule

Here’s my suggestion: Make a list of your most crowded storage spaces (ie – clothes closet, linen closet, pantry, bathroom drawers, etc).  If you really want to stay organized, you have to keep the major storage junctions of your home (closets, drawers, cabinets, bookshelves and bins) at or under 75% capacity.  If they are full and running over, you can’t add anything to them and if you can’t add anything, you can’t clean up efficiently. 

Let the container be the bad guy.  You don’t need more space, you need less stuff.

If you have the luxury of time, you can tackle each one by taking everything out of that space and putting items back in one at a time–sorting as you go–so that in the end, you have a beautiful looking closet.  But unless you have a LOT of time to devote to one space, I don’t recommend you start that way.  Instead, tell yourself you need to reduce this storage space by 25%.  In my clothes closet for example, I glanced through and did some rough math and figured out about how many items I needed to get rid of in order to reduce by 25%.  I figured I needed to pull out at least 25 items of clothing…and it’s never as easy as I think it’s going to be.  Even though our many clothes choices overwhelm us, the thought of fewer choices scares us.  Go figure.

But because this is New Years, I tried to be especially ruthless…I stopped counting at 26 items and I definitely could tell a noticeable difference. 

Side note—if you get rid of a bunch of stuff in your closet, get rid of the hangers too!  I don’t keep more than a few extra hangers or else I’m just inviting new stuff.  Besides, it looks so much more spacious when you see the actual rod, not a mass of messy hangers.

If you have containers within your space (bins, baskets, boxes) and, as an aside, I highly recommend you do: the same rule applies.  They need to be kept at 75% of capacity.  I’ve found the most effective way of doing this is often to glance in, choose the things I most want to keep, hold my nose, and dump the rest in the trash.  This is especially effective for junk drawers and places where tons of little nothings collect!

The Bulging Hamper Principle

For spaces like a sock drawer, I start by asking myself, “how many pairs of socks do I really need?”  If the answer is 6 pair of athletic and 5 pair of black dress socks, I match up that many pairs and dump the rest in the give away box.  Keep in mind that you really don’t want to go more than a week without doing laundry anyway.  Who wants three weeks’ worth of stinky clothes piled in the hamper?  Yuk. 

The same principle applies, for example, for storage containers in the kitchen…how much rotting food do you want to keep in your refrigerator at any given time?  How many bottles do you want piled up in your sink?  How many mugs do you want to unload from the dishwasher?  How many pens and pencils do you want lying around the house?  How many towels do you need under the sink?  If there are four people in your family, you don’t need twenty mugs even if you do have plenty of cabinet space for them.  You don’t need more than two sets of sheets for any bed.  Truly.  You don’t. 

Fill up those give away boxes with vases and water bottles and don’t worry about who gave them to you!

The Timer

After setting a rough goal of how much to purge, I set a timer.  My theory was that this would help me budget my time.  For example, If I have 10 spaces on my list that needed to be cleaned out to get down to 75% capacity, I can realistically only spend 15-20 minutes for each one.  The good news is that if I have your bins ready to go and you can stay focused, this is plenty of time to make meaningful headway in most spaces.

The reality was, I started on my closet at 10:00 in the morning and set a timer for 20 minutes.  I finished up at about 7:00 pm.  That’s because this is real life…and because I took my time to make it look neat…and because I ended up with a mix of my closet, bedroom, bathroom, kids room, kitchen, and hall closet…and because that’s the way it works sometimes.

I had filled up two trash bags, four give away boxes, and one large plastic “put away” bin. 

The Conclusion

I was glad I had the trash bags as proof that I had made progress because it was a little discouraging that my house didn’t look significantly different than it had at 10:00 am.  But I also knew that I had done a lot of the hard work to declutter so the next phase of cleaning could be done much quicker and with longer lasting results. 

And it did…after the Great Clean Out it only took about two hours to clean up my house and unpack because everything has a space.  Well, almost everything.  There is always another frontier. But we made progress as evidenced by a very full Highlander ready to be driven to charity.

And you should have seen the grin on my heart when I popped my hatch and began to unload.  I’m loving 2023 already.

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Eternity has Begun

If you were fortunate to have listened to Jenny speak or teach, you probably saw her hold up a large ball of twine that usually sits on her kitchen windowsill.  The very tip on the end of the strand was red. 

The small red dot was a reminder of the shortness of our life in comparison to the eternity that follows.  She frequently challenged us to run our race well; to make the most of this brief life on earth.

Jenny’s decades-long battle with cancer was perhaps a constant reminder to live well; but Jenny was not motivated by a death focus, she was not even motivated by a life focus.  She was motivated by an eternity focus. 

As Jenny has been on my mind almost constantly the past few weeks, many memories have come back to me.  Next to my mother, she’s been the most influential woman in my life.  So many miles travel with Miss Jenny over the last 18 years. So many meals shared. So many blocks walked.

I started to make a list of all the things I’ve learned (or am learning) from her.  It got long quickly: Wear comfortable shoes.  Use real plates.  Keep reading.  Appearance matters.  It is possible to be kind and authoritative.  Grieve broken relationships.  Healthy food can be tasty.  Take time to exercise.  Be thankful.  Do little acts of kindness. 

That’s just the beginning.

Perhaps what drew so many of us to Jenny is the way she humbly and joyfully did the simple tasks that make up our ordinary lives. Perhaps it was her quiet, beautiful spirit that never seemed to fight for her own way.  Perhaps it was her unusual empathy and ability to encourage others with unexpected little notes or gifts. 

I can’t help but also think of the fun that Jenny brought to life…Of her little rat “Millard” that she hid around the house for guests—suspecting and unsuspecting.  Of the rare but effective pranks she played on her family.  She never made people feel bad for having fun.  Yes, godly people can enjoy living too.

Another thing that came to mind was a quote that she shared with me a few years ago.  It stayed on her kitchen desk for a long time:

We think giving our all to the Lord is like taking a $1,000 bill and laying it on the table, saying, “Here’s my life, Lord. I’m giving it all.”
But the reality for most of us is that God sends us to the bank and has us cash in the thousand dollars for quarters. We go through life putting out twenty-five cents here and fifty cents there.
Listen to the neighbor kid’s troubles instead of saying, “Get lost.” Go to a committee meaning; give up a cup of water to a shaky old man in a nursing home.
Usually giving our life to Christ isn’t glorious. It’s done in all those little acts of love, twenty-five cents at a time.

Jenny exemplified what it is like to give her all at twenty-five cents at a time.  She made meal after meal.  She cleaned floor after floor.  Washed dish after dish.  She hosted countless people in their home.  She kept the lights on and the candles burning.  She made everyone who crossed the threshold to feel welcome and important.  She did everything she could to meet the needs of her family and friends.

But it was so much more than that.

In the last real conversation that I was able to have with Jenny, she reminded me about something I had said years ago.  Our chat was in the context of parenting, but the essence was this: not only is it not about us; it is not even about our families. It is about worship.

We must not be motivated to live our short lives for our own comfort or even for the comfort and encouragement of others.  As we step from the red tip into the ball of twine we call “eternity,” only one thing will matter.  That is our worship of God. 

Whether it was at the keyboard or the kitchen sink, Jenny’s life was about worship.

What is worship?

Worship is saying and doing what brings God pleasure.  That is all.

Why do we worship?

Because God made us fearfully and wonderfully.  He leads us gently and faithfully.  He redeemed us lovingly and powerfully; And He will take us home for all of eternity.  That is why.

How do we worship?

We worship by laying down our lives as a whole.  We worship by laying down our lives in the quarters.  In the fifty cents.  In all of those moments when we choose to put God first, others second, ourselves last.  We worship by releasing our own will and saying, “God, I trust You.  I fear You.  I hope in You.  You know best!  You are enough.”  Those demonstrations of trust bring Him glory.

Jenny lived out her worship both in her life and also in her death.

I have not fully grieved the loss of my friend…yet.  Even through this long goodbye, I have not been able to process that earth has lost one its finest citizens.  One of its finest wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, teachers and friends.  I find myself believing I will wake up and find the last few months were just a dream.  When I face it as reality, it is hard not to ask “why?”  It is hard not to think about the horrible hole that will be here in her place.

But if I had one more chance, I would say: Jenny, I believe I will run the race better because I knew you.  I believe I will be less selfish and more worshipful…And I believe I will find a little black rat to hide around the house.  What a legacy you left, my friend.  When I see you again one day, I full expect to find you worshipping.  Maybe at heaven’s keyboard.  Maybe in heaven’s kitchen. 

Your race is done and eternity has begun.  Well done, Jenny Bostic, well done. 

1 Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.
2 The LORD builds up Jerusalem; he gathers the outcasts of Israel.
3 He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
4 He determines the number of the stars; he gives to all of them their names.
5 Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure.
6 The LORD lifts up the humble; he casts the wicked to the ground.
7 Sing to the LORD with thanksgiving; make melody to our God on the lyre!
8 He covers the heavens with clouds; he prepares rain for the earth; he makes grass grow on the hills.
9 He gives to the beasts their food, and to the young ravens that cry.
10 His delight is not in the strength of the horse, nor his pleasure in the legs of a man,
11 but the LORD takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love.

Psalm 147:1-11

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Day Seven-Walking Where Jesus Walked…and your friends have not

The first part of our morning was consumed with the exciting task of getting our pre-flight COVID tests. As much as we had all enjoyed the trip, when our plane lifted off the tarmac that night, we wanted to be sitting on it.

It was the Sabbath, so clinics were closed but we managed to find an Arab non-emergency “hospital” that would take our cash and swab our noses.

We had another full day in front of us beginning with hiking Wadi Qelt–also known as the Jericho trail–a path through the Judean desert between Jerusalem and Jericho that would have been well traveled by many names we recognize in the Bible. David would have fled from Absolom along this road. Mary and Joseph would have traveled it as part of their journey to Bethlehem. And Christ himself would have traversed it and sometimes stopped along the way to teach his disciples.

It was a beautiful, warm day and I should probably be quiet for a moment and let these photos speak for themselves:

Given the cooler, wetter spring they’ve had in Israel this year, it was much greener than this area would typically be. We saw herds of sheep and goats navigating the rocky mountains and this put a very real spin on the word picture of a shepherd leading his sheep to green pastures and beside still waters.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name sake…” Psalm 23:1-3

Herod, of course, had his fingerprints along this path. An aqueduct he built brings fresh water right through the valley and would have been faithfully filling the swimming pool for his Jericho palace.

We didn’t see any bandits, but that would have been an issue at the time of Christ and perhaps the reason that his famous tale of the Good Samaritan was set along this road. (Luke 10:25-37)

Robbers would not have been the only danger along this path. It had a lot of uneven terrain, a seven mile stretch of scrambling over rocks and up and down inclines…of course, the beautiful views made it absolutely worth every step in March. I don’t believe it would have been enjoyable at all in July or August.

I can’t say I walked the whole way, though…thanks to Abraham and his friendly donkey, Shushu.

After a few minutes on a donkey’s back, I’m convinced once and for all that Mary did NOT ride on a donkey down to Bethlehem. Quite frankly, sitting on a donkey that’s losing it’s footing on the loose rocks on the side of a mountain goes a long way toward making you realize that walking is a great exercise. I’m just saying.

Anyway, it was an awesome way to spend the final morning of our trip and it made the land of the Bible come alive in its own right.

Just as we were reaching our destination, we took a final detour to see what remains of Herod’s winter palace at Jericho. What was once the opulent vacation home of one of the world’s most powerful men is now a pile of ruins surrounded by a few ratty homes and a ton of garbage. Standing in Herod’s Olympic-sized swimming pool made me think of the words of Jesus, “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Luke 12:32-34)

Herod’s great power and wealth led to a life of heartache and paranoia. He murdered one of his ten wives and at least three of his own sons; He slaughtered innocent babies; and Josephus tells us that he was so hated by his subjects that he ordered the killing of all the Jewish leaders on his death because that was his only hope that there would be mourning.

What a stark contrast to the simple life and death we had retraced in Jerusalem just the day before. A Jewish contractor with no home, no political status, no fancy swimming pools. His life was not wrenched from Him, it was laid down for all of us. And He changed the world.

His teachings are as counter cultural today as they were two thousand years ago…He is the Good Shepherd asking us to place our simple trust in Him and not where moths and corrupt and thieves break in and steal.

The third of Herod’s praetorium pools we visited this trip

We had one final tourist destination, Qumran. As you know, this was where the Dead Sea scrolls were discovered. Instead of the usual walk through the roped off areas around the digs and watching a move in the museum, we hiked a bit of the cliffs and explored a few caves and tunnels. It was fun. I highly recommend it.

Curtis gave us our final devotional. I’ll be honest and admit I don’t remember it although I’m sure it was good. My brain was just too full at this point. Too many Magnum bars.

We then all ate (okay, almost all ate) an insect in memory of John the Baptist who was likely raised by the Essenes who lived here…I probably shouldn’t tell that detail so it can be a surprise when you come on the next trip. You should. I highly recommend it.

Staci, we saved one for you!

As we headed back toward the van after our second substantial hike of the day and our seventh day of adventure, I noticed that even Jack had stopped taking pictures. When Jack stops taking pictures, you know it’s time to go home.

Thankfully, we were good and tired so we could sleep some on the fourteen hour flight to Miami. The days had gone by quickly but they left a sincere impression I will be slow to forget.

There was a few tense moments at the airport. I guess we looked like a suspicious band of COVID trafficking terrorists. For a moment; it looked like they weren’t going to let us leave. But never mind that story…I have to save something for another day.

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Day Six-The Old City of Jerusalem; in no particular order

We got to sleep in until like…7:00 am. The hotel breakfast was worth getting up for though. By all accounts, the Israelis know how to do coffee.

We needed to be at Herod’s Jerusalem praetorium by 8:00 because Curtis had pulled some strings and they were opening especially for us despite the night of Purim parties. We also needed to hurry through the key sites we wanted to see because it was Friday and many things were shutting down early for Sabbath.

We had seen a fair bit of Herod’s handiwork by now but there was still a lot more to come. Herod’s Jerusalem praetorium is a fairly recent dig which has answered a lot of open questions about where much of the Roman occupation force would have been housed.

Pilate would have been staying at this location at the time of the trial of Christ. In fact, Jesus likely would have been tried on the steps Curtis later took us which are now just an inconspicuous stack of rocks jutting out of the city wall. Pilate would have been roused to preside over the trial of this humble Jew and the crowds chanted, “Crucify him! Crucify him.” But we’ll come back to that.

After a quick walk through the remains of what was once a pretty impressive complex complete with numerous swimming pools (I don’t believe there are any cruise ships with more swimming pools that what Herod had) They let us up the narrow metal stairs onto the ramparts and we walked on the top of the city walls to our next stop of the day. Your friends have not done this. It was fortunate for us because we had five minutes to do a 10-minute walk to the Western Wall. As we walked those thick, high walls it was crazy to think that Jerusalem, for all its defensives, was attacked 52 times and conquered 44 of those with two complete destructions.

We were headed back to catch a new tour that will take you down to digs under the city that date back to first century and even the Hasmonean period (~100 years before Christ). We had a lively Jewish tour guide who very much seemed to enjoy helping us make sense of the various rocks we were looking at. Given all the destruction, it’s pretty amazing that they can piece together the story as much as they have; according to the guide, they have only finished excavating about 5% of the potential sites so we still have a lot to learn. One thing that we continually marveled at are the huge hewn stones used to construct the Temple Mount. To this day, they have no idea how some of those monsters were transported from the quarry.

We could see ways that the Jews had mixed their customs and ceremonies (like ceremonial baths and the many mikvahs) with Roman/Hellenistic ideas like theaters. It helps make sense of the scene back at those judgment steps when the religious leaders prosecuted Jesus:

“But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your King? The chief priests answered, We have no king but Caesar.” John 19:15

Some of the religious leaders had been put in place by Rome; some profited from the corrupt and lucrative temple system; some were perhaps just caught up in the excitement; regardless, Israel as a nation was less than a hundred years from their own independence with factions still wanting to rebel and others choosing to make the bold claim to have “no king but Ceasar.”

By the time we finished, the Jewish quarter was shutting down so we had lunch in the Arab quarter (and got ripped off a little bit, I might add…not that I’m bitter or anything). I was starting to get a little tired of roasted chicken, humas, and their many salads, but they also brought french fries. I never get tired of french fries.

My feet were starting to complain again from hours on stone, but we had to crisscross the city a few more times in order to get in the sites we wanted to see.

One, the Church of the Holy Sepulture. This is the traditional site of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Meaning, it was identified by Helena sometime in the 3rd century. Churches have since been destroyed and rebuilt on that site a few times since and the current structure is partially owned and managed by like six or seven different churches. And while it may well be the actual site of Jesus’ death and resurrection, it was hard to feel any connection for me because the place is so gaudy and even downright creepy.

So, to be frank, it was like a breath of fresh air when we went from there to the Garden Tomb. This is another site that has been identified as a potential place for the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. And while we can’t know for sure where these history-changing events occurred, I love how the volunteers there–including our blind guide– encourage worship of the risen Christ. And I will just add, there are some compelling facts pointing to this site.

Did I mention we were taking things out of order? It just kinda worked that way. After a quiet communion there at the Garden and a few minutes in the gift shop, our feet hit the stone again and some of us chose to retrace the steps of Jesus the night before the Crucifixion.

We went out across the Kidron Valley to the Mount of Olives where Jesus went to pray the night of his arrest. The Garden of Gethsemane was empty and there was a slight drizzle of rain that created a peaceful backdrop. There is a large stone there that many believe Jesus prayed on; and a large basilica–one of the few we went in our whole trip.

I could have lingered there a little longer, but we made our way back up to Jerusalem and through the sheeps’ gate and toward the general location of his first trial at Caiaphas’ house. He would later be taken to the Praetorium where we had started out our day or perhaps to the steps we had sat on–just outside the current city walls.

It’s a little hard to absorb it all–even when you’re there for a second time. And it probably didn’t help that we had had to take the places for the events of Jesus’ final days all out of order. But it still helped it all come together in my mind. And there is nothing quite like walking the city on your own two feet, experiencing the awkward blend of old and new; Jewish, Arab and Christian that wets my appetite to know more not only about the biblical history but also the current confusing culture unique to Israel.

Our day wasn’t quite done. We had high hopes to make it to Mamre; but turns out we’ll have to save that for another trip. We did, however, spend a few unplanned Sheckels in a cool gift shop and enjoy some delicious Mexican food in Bethlehem. To close out the night, we drove by the church of the Nativity. Like I said, we took things a little out of order. But we got the bookends right–we started the day with coffee and ended it with a hot shower and a pillow. In the middle, we marveled more than a little bit at this intriguing city of Jerusalem.

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Day Five–Long Walk Through Time

Our feet hit the stone early as we headed down to the City of David.  There’s no way to describe out day without a little bit of a history review…If you are at all familiar with the Old Testament, you know that the little boy Hannah brought to the tabernacle at Shiloh would later anoint the first king of Israel, Saul, and the second king of Israel, David.

Roughly 1000 BC David conquered the Jebusite city on a finger of land sandwiched between the Kidron valley and the valley of Hinnom from the inside out by sending someone up the water shaft. He then moved the capital of Israel from Shiloh to this new city, called Jerusalem which not only had a strategic defensive but also an excellent water source, the Gihon spring.

The city was small but Solomon would later add on and build the first temple—a grand structure that would attract attention from around the world.

The View from the City of David

We descended on the City of David along with more tour groups than we had seen at any location we had been in so far in our travels.  Curtis wanted to stay in front of them, so we didn’t linger long as we passed through the excavations of David’s palace and the likely residences of his staff. 

Since the city’s position at the top of hill and it’s water source below created a vulnerability, King Hezekiah connected a water tunnel later to divert the water under the mountain and add to the impenetrability of the city. 

We passed through the enormous caverns leading down to Hezekiah’s tunnel which still flows clear spring water.  It was chilly, but once you get used to it, the water doesn’t seem so bad.  We were the first of the morning through the long, impressive tunnel chisel into rock from two directions for a third of a mile to meet in the middle.  It was a lot longer than you think it’s going to be and a little concerning if you’re claustrophobic.  Thank goodness I had Lonnie behind me constantly saying, “keep moving!”  It is dark, damp, and there are no emergency exits.

The tunnel ends at a pool of water which Jewish men still bathe in for ritual cleansing.  We got through just in time to inconvenience a few who were waiting to take their baths in the chilly out of doors.

Despite all the defensives, Jerusalem was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar and the Babylonians in 586 BC after a string of godless kings; just like Jeremiah prophesied that it would.  There is evidence of the 18 month siege of the city and of course, the temple was destroyed and all of the implements carried off.

A lot happened between that time and the time of Christ, but the main thing to know when you are visiting is that when Jerusalem’s walls were rebuilt by Nehemiah and the temple was rebuilt by Zerubbabel, they were built on the hill above the original site.  Thus, when we refer to the “Old City” and the “Temple Mount” we would be referring to the Jerusalem that Jesus would have traveled to during his lifetime, not the Jerusalem David would have called home.  The mix of this history and the current structures in place make it difficult to picture the cities the way they used to be either at the time of David or the time of Christ (which were very different), but we could catch glimpses such as at the excavated portion of the Pool of Siloam—where travelers to Jerusalem for festivals would have bathed prior to ascending to the temple.  There are some excavations revealing the original steps leading to the temple—one of the few places in Jerusalem where you can walk “where Jesus would have walked.”

What the streets near the temple might have looked like in Jesus’ time

We worked our way toward the temple mount—the site where the temple was rebuilt after the Babylonian captivity and where Herod would later “renovate” on top of an enormous and impressive temple mount.  Curtis took us up the actual front steps of the temple mount…you can’t access the mount itself from there anymore, but I didn’t realize how much happened there on the temple steps until we sat and looked at several of the verses.  The Temple was the hub of Jewish life in Jesus’ day and he would have first been carried here as an infant, later be “lost” here as an adolescent and later make a nuisance of himself here as he threw out moneychangers and overturned tables of merchandise. 

Herod’s temple, of course, was also destroyed as Jesus himself predicted and access is now restricted due to the site being controlled by the Islamic Waqf.  We timed our day so that we would be able to enter the temple mount during the one hour it was allowing tourists.  They confiscated the Bible one person in our group had in his backpack and they cracked me up by asking me to wrap my neck due to it being too exposed!

Jews do not go up to the Temple Mount for fear of stepping on the site of the Holy of Holies and thus pray and do their worship at the small section of the Western Wall of the mount that’s been exposed. But I thought it was worth the hassle of covering my collarbone to walk around the sacred site was well worth it even though it is now the site of a mosque and, of course, the Dome of the Rock.

They kicked us off the Temple Mount in no time at all which was a shame except for the fact that I was starting to melt under the raincoat zipped up to my chin.

We were ushered out through the Muslim quarter which was a buz with vendors selling food and trinkets. For a country so concerned with COVID, there were sure a lot of people in the narrow streets.

We eventually found our way to the Jewish quarter and to the Blue and White art studio. There, a world-class Messianic Jewish artist named Udi tells the story of Christ through art. He has become particularly special to our family.

We had walked about seven miles so far in this day and the fun was just beginning. It was Purim and the Jewish quarter was getting into party mode. They dress up in costumes and celebrate the historical rescue of their people from the wicked Haman through the story of Esther as if it were yesterday.

Technically, it was “free time” in the city but most of us followed Curtis back to the Arab quarter to meet up with a new friend–a licensed antiquities dealer with a winner manner and a crazy-disorganized shop.

Ancient Roman glass vases were pulled out of old shoeboxes stuffed with trash…he pulled out one valuable after another from shopping bags and piles of debri. It was getting chilly again so I was glad to be sitting by the heater upon which the tea kettle was perched.

What made the experience especially surreal were the recommendation letters he showed us from an eclectic clientele including Chuck Swindoll, Bill Clinton, Gavin Newsom, Metalica, and others. He has been featured in National Geographic on more than one occasion. We passed a few happy hours shivering and marveling at tiny treasures.

Eventually, my interest in food began to eclipse my appreciation of old coins and pottery and we walked outside the Jaffa gate to a classy Italian restaurant in the Mamilla mall. I was exhausted and my feet were complaining from a long day of walking on stone, but it was Purim and the city was still very much alive so we decided to pay an evening visit to the heart of the city–the Western Wall.

Did I mention the Jews know how to party? They abstain form a lot of things but alcohol is not among them. All in all, though, it seemed to be a sincere celebration of the deliverance of God.

On this particular day, we had walked about twelve miles and climbed the equivalent of 64 flights of stairs. We had covered about 1700 years of history from David to the Dome of the Rock. As we finally puttered our way back to the hotel, I didn’t feel like we could have packed much more into our first day in the Old City.

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Day Four—A Lesson in Contrast

It was an especially early start as we rolled our bags to the van for a long drive through West Bank to Shiloh. What different scenery as we left the lush Galilee area and headed south to the Judean dessert.

West Bank is largely Arab, of course, and the difference is striking. As an aside, huge amount of humanitarian dollars get spent there including in new construction. We could see the evidence in the form of many large homes and apartments that are newly built but empty. West Bank and the other “occupied territories” present all kinds of complicated issues.

But first, Shiloh.

Shiloh was the home of the tabernacle for three hundred years between the Exodus and the building of Solomon’s temple. What an awesome dig and find! Your friends have not been here.

The team working the dig has done a thorough job (see Associates for Biblical Research) and that makes it extra cool. You can actually see where the tabernacle was erected and it is surreal to think the Ark of the covenant was in that very spot. All around in the surrounding hills, the twelve tribes would have camped prior to their conquest and when they traveled to make their sacrifices three times a year.

In the last few days, we had covered thousands of years from about 64 BC to present history. Now we were stepping another 1400 years back in time from the first century sites we had been largely focused on. I was thankful Curtis was constantly working to help us understand the full timeline of Israel’s colorful history.

And Shiloh definitely holds its share of colorful history. Those hills could tell so many stories over the centuries…from the days of Joshua to more recent civilizations. The site of the tabernacle has been especially convincing through the many pottery finds and even some rare finds such as 8 scarab beetle—the seal of the Egyptian pharaoh which to me is strong evidence for biblical account of the Exodus.

Hannah would have stood there at that tabernacle and prayed in desperation that God would give her a son. A few years later, she would have returned with little Samuel.

I regretted that we didn’t have more time to linger at Shiloh. There have been other civilizations at that site over the years as well (mostly irrelevant to biblical history) and so we really only scratched the surface at that hallowed place.

Masada was our next destination and we soon found ourselves peeling off layers of clothing…some of us eventually making it down to our shirt sleeves for the first time this trip.

What a fascinating place Masada is. Thanks to Herod’s wealth and ingenuity, two thousand years later, we can still appreciate the genius of his water collection and storage enabling a mountain on the top of the desert to house a garrison of men that would virtually never, ever run out of water.

I had been here once before and surprisingly, I think I actually found it more fascinating the second time. There are battling theories about its usage a hundred years after Herod for the last stand of the Jews against the Romans siege (now we are back to 70 AD). I pulled up the history on this and read one lady’s opinion that this has been a mere occupation of days or weeks. Clearly, this “scholar” had never been there to see the synagogue erected on the top, the Torah rooms, and the converted Mikvahs. Jews had definitely made this their home. Not only that, but the Romans trying to lay siege outside had clearly spent some time there as well—they built walls and cities around the city…conquering this hilltop fortress was clearly a substantial effort.

As you know, the Romans eventually did conquer the massive fortress and the story is that the Jews inside had committed mass suicide the night before the Romans entered.

Several of us really wanted to hike the Snake trail down the mountain from Masada, but by the time we were leaving, the trail was closed and we had to ride down in the gondola like your friends did. Nonetheless, Fitbit was pretty happy with me as a job well done.

Our final stop was by the Dead Sea. Only a few of the guys would brave the water considering it was not super warm or super sunny. Since I had been in once previously, and since the changing rooms were locked, I chickened out.

In one day we went from the lush Galilean countryside, through the dirty streets of West Bank, to the simple green valley of Shiloh, up to the dry barren heights of Masada, down to the lowest point on earth dotted with luxury resorts. And we weren’t quite done.

After a quick dinner, we completed our last drive pulling in the Jaffa gate in the dark and winding our way through the narrow streets of the Old City of Jerusalem.

I loved that we were staying in the Old City. Your friends have not stayed in the sold City…they stayed in the modern city just next door that most people refer to when they say, “Jerusalem.” That is, I would soon love that we’re we staying in the Old City. At that moment, I was much too tired to soak in the lively atmosphere between the high walls and stone streets.

One good shower and day four was in the books.

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Day Three

We continued our theme of going where our friends have not gone by heading to Gamala. It was cold. So cold in fact, that it turned out the trail was closed and we could not actually hike out to the site. We were able to huddle above at the overlook, however, and Curtis told us the story. This was the site of the last stand of the Jewish rebellion circa 64 BC. The Rabbi Gamaliel later spoke of it when he encouraged the religious leaders in Jerusalem to leave Jesus alone because if it wasn’t from God it would come to nothing just like the uprising that culminated there at Gamala.

It helped us understand better the political climate of the sliver of time between the Hasmonean dynasty and the failed rebellion that would come in AD 70. Jesus came to a diverse culture full of zealots and Hellenists…Pharisees and Sadducees…Jews and Samaritans…it was an ever-thickening hot mess of strong opinions and corrupt leaders; high taxes and low tolerance of others.

Sounds a little familiar.

Gamla was never rebuilt and it’s ruins were silent. Just us and the birds soaring overhead did not seem to be bothered by the cold.

Again, Jesus likely did come here although it was not specifically named in Scripture. He likely brought His simple message to these redneck farmers. Maybe many times.

From there we took a hard turn and studied some of Israel’s modern history from the unlikely university of the Eli Cohen. Your friends have not been here.

The building lies in a quiet strip of nothing, almost on the current Syrian border (and within the disputed territory). It was a fabulous and fabulously cold experience to walk through the long, graffiti covered halls and ponder the years of hatred and conflict, plotting and planning that was hosted in the many rooms. (If you aren’t familiar with Eli Cohen, you can see the dramatized version of his story in the Prime Video feature, Impossible Spy)

We shivered our way back to the van and it took a while even then to warm up. We headed from there to Banis—there’s nothing quite like visiting the gates of hell on a snowy March day.

Banis is beautiful but it was the site of some of the most grotesque pagan practices of that time. There is record of Jesus coming to this area—known then as Cesarea Philipi. In fact, Jesus may have stood on the same rock we stood on near the temple to the god Pan a/k/a the “Gates of Hell” when he famously declared that he would build his church and the gates of hell would not prevail against it.

It was sunny, windy, and snowy alternately so we didn’t loiter too long before making our way into the restaurant there for a delicious “Lebanese” lunch.

When we were sufficient full of chicken kabobs and hummus, we headed towards Nimrods castle—not an original plan but kinda a cool place if you ever find yourself in Israel with a couple of hours to kill.

The most pressing question on many of our minds was…how in the world did they heat this place? I can’t even imagine living in a stone structure on top of a snowy mountain with nothing but cold wind for company. Brrr.

Clearly, tons of time and effort was spent building this incredible defensive. It now provides an amazing house for the Irex (?) which appear to be living there quite comfortably despite the weather.

Our last stop was beside the side of the road to get some fresh pomegranate juice. The local vendors seemed very glad to see a van of tourists pull up. I suspect it has been a long two years of shut down for them.

I was exhausted by the time we reached the guest ranch and more interested in a hot bath than dinner. The front desk lady took one look at me and asked, “where on earth did you go on this cold day?”

So I told her: A cold place, a really cold place, and an even colder place.

So I told her: A cold place, a really cold place, and an even colder place. I guess I should have told her the truth: a closed national park, the Israeli/Syrian border, and the gates of hell. So…what did you do today?