Maundy Thursday.

It's chilly in Dallas today.  Spring has been slower to come this year and today is one of those days where I can't seem to get warm.  I'm a wimp when it comes to the weather - cold especially.  I get pretty miserable really fast.  Compound it with wind and I'm done.  When my brother went through Hell Week during Navy SEAL training, he described how the instructors would repeatedly call for the men to "get wet and sandy".  They would run into the frigid Pacific Ocean, exhausted already, and then have to roll up the beach, covering themselves in sand, and then just lay there freezing in the surf until the instructors released them.  Sometimes, it was hours.  When he made it through, and we saw pictures of him, he had a large kind of bump on either side of his face.

"What's that on your face, bro?" (I don't really call him 'bro' - I'm not cool that way.)

"They're my jaw muscles - it's from shivering".

No.

So, in West Dallas, the homeless in the cold always get to me.  Sometimes, shelters are full and the habits are strong and I've seen men change into gifted long underwear in the closed car wash at the 7- eleven because they weren't allowed in the store anymore.


And a couple of thousand years after the fact, I think about the night Jesus was arrested.  The trial.  The scourging.  And the sympathy and justice teased out but abandoned in the hunger for blood and power. The Bible speaks to all of this.  And sometimes, I wonder if it was compounded by cold.  Did his toes feel numb and did the wind blow dust in his eyes all night testing his resolve even more?  Did he sit on a concrete floor longing for days in the sun with his disciples?  Or infinitely better yet, in the warmth of the presence of his Father?

The greatness of his sacrifice already levels me.  What the Lord endured for my freedom and the kind of death that was required on my behalf is overwhelming.  But sometimes, I think about the simple physical pain he felt.  How all his resources were stripped away with his freedom and he was at the mercy of guards and men who wanted him dead.

Grace.  It all was grace.

A couple of months ago, friend of mine asked me contribute to an Easter devotional she was putting together.  My topic was, He is Sacrifice, and since writing it, I keep seeing more and more ways Jesus was that for me before I even knew I needed it.

Here's an excerpt...

"Beloved, we are not intrinsically drawn to stories or even songs of sacrifice because of pithy sentiment. Our hearts jump out of our chests because we are beneficiaries of the greatest, most profound sacrifice ever made. We can't help but love even dim reflections because they ultimately point to the one-of-a-kind glory in Jesus Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, who died so that we might live".

The devotional along with Easter Ornaments can be ordered at It's Treedition.

May you enjoy a blessed Easter and see glimpses of His sacrifice all around you.

Overexposed.

Our family has attended Park Cities Presbyterian Church for years.  And years.  Coming out of a bible church background, the whole 'high church' style of worship was new to me.

Our pastors wear robes.

Sometimes, when I'm getting dressed on Sunday mornings and spend all my time trying to find clothes for my children that are clean, I wish I could wear a robe.

I love singing hymns with a full choir and a large organ or piano.  Maybe because I can't hear myself singing loud and off key.  A little glimpse of Heaven.

Anyway, the fine Women's Ministry folk have started a devotional page just for men.  not really, it's for women - but that would be funny.

And those fine women folk asked me to write this week's devotional.  It's below, but you can also subscribe to it here.  And you can read it in your robe.  Win/win.

Overexposed.

Growing up in the eighties and early nineties, I perhaps didn't clearly grasp the need for adequate sunscreen.  I may have used Crisco.  And I have indeed seen the inside of a tanning bed more than thrice.  Now, at 41, I'm seeing the results of my solar misconduct firsthand.  Upon first meeting my dermatologist, he took one look at my sun-damaged skin and said a little too excitedly, "Oh, you're going to be a good patient."  Now he sends me Christmas cards from his lake house that I'm sure I've helped fund.

These days, epidermal-y speaking, we're taught to cover up.  That, if we avoid exposing our delicate skin to the harsh rays of the sun, we will preserve it's tenderness and health.  We use SPF 55, wear long, gauzy, sleeves in the burning heat, and don hats with brims the size of bistro tables.  And, I'm wondering if we've begun to employ that practice in our relationships as well.  I'm wondering if, in an effort to protect our delicate hearts and preserve their tenderness,  we are covering them from exposure in our community of Christian women.  Perhaps its a predisposition to self-protect, or perhaps we've been burned before and the sting and residual damage has caused us to reflexively pull our metaphorical sweaters a bit tighter over our shoulders.  But the idea of being known isn't something we should fear - it's something we were created to long for.  I talked to a new mom the other day at school and, when I asked how the adjustment to Dallas had been, she said, "You know, I've realized how important it is for us to be really known.  That's been the hardest thing about moving - no one knows us."

She's right.. 

Being known, in fact, is an extravagant gift of our Heavenly Father.  First Corinthians 8:3 says, "But if anyone loves God, he is known by God" and as his body, the fact that we are not only completely known by our Father but even in our known-ness, we are absolutely beloved, brings us liberty without fear.  And from that beautiful, primary relationship, we are able to literally overflow with a deluge of blood-bought love toward one another.  Reckless, fearless, love. 

The other day, I spoke at the Bridge and it terrified me.  I told the women that I love to write but speaking, not so much. I feel exposed and I can't edit and I'm all too familiar with the verse, "Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." (Matt 12:34).  I feared how what I said might expose what lied deep in my heart - how it might change perceptions of me.  I cried and stuttered in front of a group of you.  There was snot.  And the evil surmising began the moment I walked out the door.  "Why did you say that?"  "For sure you offended someone with that comment!" "What in the world are people going to think of you now when they see you in church"!  It was super-fun.

Opening up to one another takes practice and it's scary.  I think we all fear friendly-fire and so it feels safer and even right to cover those parts of our lives that are tender, ugly, or different.  But, I pray as I move forward - as we all move forward - in this church, I will resist the urge to protect and preserve my heart like shielding my skin from the harsh sun.  Instead I hope to practice being known and knowing one another in the deep places of our souls that we might walk in transparent friendship and honesty.  Our lights together in the body of Christ are brighter than our light alone - reflecting the Son.