Remembering Lucy Martin by J.Lyn Jones

Lucy Martin gripped the embroidery needle shakily with her left hand. The worn oak rocker gave a cocoon of comfort to her tired soul. A few months earlier she suffered from a stroke that caused her right hand to rest motionless in her lap. Her halo of gray white hair reflected the soft lamp light of the room. She gingerly reached into her sewing basket. With clumsy movement, she managed to pull out the baby blanket she had been embroidering. Stitch by stitch. Just a few more stitches and it would be complete. If only her right hand would work the way it had before the stroke. Every stitch was made with painstaking effort. Each thread sewn, a symbol of persevering love. Her eyes watered, it was just so difficult. She must complete it soon. The baby would be born any day now. The new mother would need a blanket for her infant daughter, to protect her from December's icy chill. She completed as many stitches as her left hand would allow, and placed her handiwork back in the basket. The daily ritual continued until the day arrived when the final stitch was knotted. The blanket was gently folded and wrapped. Finally, it was lovingly given.

The baby was me, 42 years ago. Lucy Martin, an elder sister in Christ, had a stroke which left her with many challenges. She loved a young couple, (my mom and my dad) and their baby. She showed her love with her gift. Stitch by stitch she persevered in spite of her disability. Many years have passed and Sis. Martin has gone on to her reward. She will be remembered for her selfless giving. We will never forget the dear lady who made the blanket, stitched with sacrifice and love. 

 

 

 

 

"Great is his faithfulness;

 

 his mercies begin afresh each morning.

 

I say to myself, "The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in Him." 

 

The Lord is good to those who depend on him,

 

to those who search for him." 

 

Lamentations 3:23-25 NLT

 

 

 

 

The Servant

 

Dark limestone walls reveal, an open solitary window in an upper room.
 

The oil lamps flicker, reflecting shadows of men seated in a circle.
 

The last supper. Sweet incense mixes with smells of fresh baked bread.

 Then, uncomfortable silence.

Thirty-three year old Messiah, is on his knees. He calls for a towel and basin of water. 
 

The young everlasting King is kneeling?

Rough aggresive men, some former fishermen, stare in disbelief. 

"If any among you would be great, let Him be a servant."

 

The words fall like rough stones. A servant? 

That doesn't feel great at all. Wash another's feet? 

What is He thinking? 

 

"No servant is greater than his Master."

 

One by one dirty calloused feet are rinsed. One by one humility washes over calloused hearts. 
 

The oil lamps become brighter, the wall shadows grow larger.
 

 "Love one another as I have loved you..."

"Greater love hath no man than this, than a man would lay down his life for his friends."
 

"Love your neighbor as yourself."

 

 

 

When the mind of Christ is in us, then we become great.

Trusting God through the Storm

The strong Florida winds ripped through the trees.  Lighting flashed, creating a light show which illuminated the cab of the swaying truck.  I gripped the steering wheel more tightly.  The safety of home was a few miles away.  I could make it.  I hated to drive in rain, much less a thunderstorm of this magnitude.  I was used to the tropical weather, had survived several hurricanes, but at the moment I felt like my heart would pound through my chest.  Suddenly a bolt of lighting struck a transformer.  The loud crack, and power surge that connected from the heavens to the power pole lit up the sky.  I needed to get home, but was aware of the danger that surrounded me.  I started singing, "Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other..." My daughter in the front seat began to sing with me, trying to calm our frayed nerves.  With each deep puddle splash that washed over the windshield, our song got stronger.  My five year old in the back seat wasn't singing, so I said, "Sadie, you should sing with us!"  She said, "Mom, I'm praying."  Snails pace driving, praying and singing, we made our way home.

There are storms that arise in our lives.  Our fear mounts. Our knuckles become white with worry. Will we make it?  Will we survive? Will the elements of the situation tear us apart?  Where is God in the midst of this?  God is the creator and controller of the storm.  No he doesn't have plans  to destroy us. He doesn't have plans to harm us or crush us. He has plans to give us hope and a future.  Sometimes all we can do is hang on for dear life to the hope He has given us.  We are safe in Him.
Sing and pray your way through the storm and know that our God who made the storm, can speak to the storm and say, "Peace Be Still!"---j. jones

 

"So let the storm rage high, the dark clouds rise, they don't worry me, for I'm sheltered safe within the arms of God. He walks with me, and none of earth can harm me. Sheltered safe within the arms of God."  Sheltered in the Arms of God
 by Dottie Rambo