BROKEN...

On Easter evening, we celebrated the Lord’s Supper with our congregation, and when it was my turn to take the unleavened bread, the server held the silver tray before me and whispered, “This is the Lord’s body…that was broken for you…

Broken for me? Yes…He was broken.

I will admit; over the years, my heart has been broken―more than once. I am human like anyone else. I cry, I bleed, and I feel. How could I have thought that my heart would not be broken, that I would always be strong, that God would not allow me to experience brokenness―helplessness? Could I expect to be different?

When a loved one dies, when your children suffer, when someone you love goes astray, your heart may break. But His heart and body were broken. He understands heartache. He knows.

I understand in a deeper sense the meaning of His brokenness. His body was broken and He was broken in heart. He wept over Jerusalem, over lost humankind. He suffered; He bled; He died…and I am not alone. From my brokenness, I find strength in Him. I become more aware of others, their pain. I seek to offer compassion.

If we are never broken, we cannot be mended by the master Potter who knows just how to mend a broken vessel. A heart never broken will never understand that we can be made whole again. It is an enlightening and encouraging reality. Our Lord understands brokenness. From the chards of our shattered heart, He picks us up the pieces and lays them on the potter’s wheel. The potter knows the clay. He will make us whole again.

Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. Then the word of the LORD came to me, saying, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the Lord. Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand…

Jer. 18:3-6

©ruthellinge5/2011

THE CROSS...

For the Christian believer, the cross represents the instrument used to torture and crucify Jesus Christ and is the best-known religeous symbol of Christianity. The cross-shaped sign is formed by the crossing of two lines at right angles, and is a symbol that dates back to early civilization. The symbol was used by various peoples for reasons as simple as kindling a fire, as a strong architectural support for building, even as a sign of power. The ancient Egyptian Christians attracted by its form, and perhaps by its symbolism, adopted it as an emblem. It was carried by Egyptian priests as the symbol of their authority.

While visiting Scotland, the numerous crosses used at burial sights was unusually noteworthy. During the Protestant reformation and the centuries following, the cross signified a believer’s hope in the resurrection and eternal life and a believer’s triumph over sin and death.

Today, the cross reminds us of God's act of love and compassion and of Christ's sacrifice at Calvary—"the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." The cross is symbolic of Jesus' victory over sin and death, and the hope of the resurrection to come. It is not simply a symbol of Christ’s torture, but also of his triumph over Satan, and of God’s eternal love.

When I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it Lord that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ my Lord.
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice t hem to his blood.

Who I am...

Who am I? A women who loves a cup of tea, sweetened with honey, and a screened porch where I sit on a glider while jasmine and gardenia perfume the air. I love my cottage gardens, front and back, my spa sheltered by miniature palms and potted herbs spicing the breeze. I love my southern home and my get-away cottage in the Midwest where another porch beckons me to rest awhile.

My personal style has evolved from a country rearing and living in many different area of the US and even in other countries. From my background, I have gathered the most treasured parts of life, those things literal and spiritual that I call, “keepers.” I love all things family, all things Scottish, sad Celtic music, and the history of the world, cultures and peoples. I am a student of people, their passions, their pathos.

I am a born and raised child of the earth, from the rich and fertile fields of Ohio where golden rod and Queen Anne’s lace and apple trees border the harvested fields. I love the earthy simplicity of life with a touch of whimsy to sweeten the journey. My thoroughly Scottish father was a complex person, and my mother was a dreamer. I am a mixture of both, but find my Scottish side most dominant.

The passion and pathos of my ancestry mixed with dreaming of another life created the writer in me. I, too, am a complex person, but the One who knows me best, goes before me, leading me gently through this life to the next. He also gave me a soul mate to travel beside me. Life has been good. I have been blessed.

SPRING...

This wee writing is for those who love the smell of damp earth turned toward the sun to dry, waiting for the precious seed to sink into the dark depths of the soil. Then…to be covered over…to die. But, once again, life will spring from what seemed cold and dead and hidden. And like the certainty in the cycle of life, we know that God is real and His handiwork speaks of Him. The marvelous and undeniable lessons we see in nature live forever, just as He abides forever.