Sometimes I sing songs to myself, quietly, affirmations.
I may sing “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” or “I am weak though art strong, Jesus keep me from all wrong.”
The other day, I spoke to a group of women philanthropists and in detailing data and outcome, I kept circling back around to story.
I stood in front of them, some questioning, some listening, some disenchanted and some quite enthralled.
I told them, “I am a storyteller.” and some smiled, maybe thinking “Yes, you are.” Because theres a touchable lightness, a clarity I know, I can feel, when I have an invitation to tell. I have a friend who calls this the “Aura of God” He is all around us when we are being who he made us to be, the aura of God, maybe you know too.
“I love to tell the story of Jesus and His love. Tell me the story of Jesus, write on my heart every word, sweetest that I’ve ever heard. Tell how the angels in glory sang as they welcomed his birth. Living he loved me. Dying he saved me…oh, glorious day!”
I’d loved to have been there. To sit with the two Marys. I believe I would have had no need to question or speak , although there would be much to understand.
I’d loved to have simply been in their presence when they mourned the horrible death of Jesus, when they stretched out their faithful allegiance to him for as long as they could, lingering where he’d been laid.
I wonder how long they would have remained had he not risen and then walked beside them to reveal his resurrection to them, His presence.
Oh, what a comfort that must have been.
What joy, what a humbling privilege.
I cannot imagine.
I’d love to have been able to sit with them. I know they must have told the story to thousands and certainly countless times. Still telling it to me as I make markings of how I conjure them to have been.
“Early on Sunday morning, as the new day was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went out to visit the tomb. Suddenly there was a great earthquake! For an angel of the Lord came down from heaven, rolled aside the stone, and sat on it. His face shone like lightning, and his clothing was as white as snow. The guards shook with fear when they saw him, and they fell into a dead faint. Then the angel spoke to the women. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.”
I’d love to have heard their sharing, been captivated by their sadness and joy as they sat before me, women who told their Easter morning story of Jesus.
I met Jesus when a country preacher told me to just pray for his mercy. So, I did and every single day I feel more forgiven and I have more new and amazing stories of his mercy towards me that tells makes clear, “Yes, Lisa you are worthy of mercy and grace.”
That’s the way of my moment by minute walk, it’s a growing journey, this song I sing…
“Just a closer walk with thee” and let me ever be aware of you Lord, let me not get so distracted and independent of you Lord.
Let me linger in the place where death held your battered body.
But, only just a little while. Because you live.
This is why I sing, “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross”
May I be like the Marys, may I know where to stay.
Tomorrow I’ll sing with our choir made up of women.
I have a few lines to myself, a solo.
“The love of God is greater far than any tongue or pen can tell.
It goes beyond the highest star and reaches to the lowest hell…oh, how he loves you and me.”
What a story I get to tell because of mercy, unmerited favor. His death sacrificial.
“Oh how he loves you and me…if we with ink, the ocean fill and we’re the skies of parchment made, if every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade…
to write the love of God above
would drain the ocean dry.”
“Love’s like a hurricane, I am a tree
The weight of his wind and mercy.”
In Jesus name and because of mercy
“This is my story. This is my song. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.”