Sometimes, the hardest journeys we take aren’t the ones with steep hills, but the ones that look deceivingly flat.

Back in February 2023, for my 63rd birthday, I packed a bag, strapped on a headlamp in the early morning darkness, and set out on a solo bike ride toward Lancaster. I had a vision of a triumphant, physically demanding ride. But along the way, I hit a stretch of trail that taught me a profound lesson about the difference between a genuinely hard path and what I now call the “Lukewarm Road.”

I was reflecting on this journey again recently and realized that many of you who joined this newsletter over the last couple of years have never seen this piece. I am pulling it out of the archives today because its core message—the danger of apathy, the trap of rigid self-focus, and the realization that true purpose often requires flexible desires—feels just as relevant now as it did then.

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On February 6, 2023 I turned 63. I wanted to ride my bicycle to Lancaster from Shippensburg, PA. This ambition came to me 7 years ago after being at dinner with some friends and my friends two sons shared how they had rode to lancaster a year earlier. They shared a bit of their adventure. But as I was listening I started to fantasize of me doing the same thing. It would have been quite a fantasy also considering I was about 50 lbs overweight and was virtually on medication to control my high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and pre-diabetes. My doctor was hounding me to lose weight, and take his pills. I eventually did lose weight and I did not take his pills. But this fantasy that was developing in my mind had less to do with my capabilities than actually envisioning me in their place.

And so it is they say a person can succeed when they envision themselves in the place of the story they are reading. Or even sales people talk in pictures to their prospects as they describe the car or house they are selling. “ What road do you see yourself driving in this new car?” Or “Where do you think you’ll take this new red car on its first trip?” “Who will you take with you on this trip?” “Whom will you first entertain on the new patio? Livingroom? Dining room? What room will be for sonny, or cissy?” All of these paint pictures in our mind and develop a vision for each of us to help drive toward our future. Likewise, a vision of our savior on the cross, for some, is themselves, others see a person of kingship and authority, or as a person whom they will never allow to suffer to die for their sins, but rather they can atone for the sins they bore in Adams flesh—themselves. And there are those that see that it was them that deserved to die but instead this kind loving savoir, wanted to pay the price of judgement and let us be free from the prison of death. So when we see this last vision it almost encapsulates all of the above visions, where any one of the above are lacking, something the later gives a person is a one to one relationship with Jesus. “I pray they are one as we are one” This is the type of vision I gained by listening to the story of my young friends. I could see myself riding down each street; feel the cold air blowing in my face the blood filling my thighs; my calves aching as I climb each hill and then the relief I felt going down each hill, and the tears being pushed out of my eyes as the wind pushing against me with vengeful force, yet I overcame as I pulled into Lancaster! The reward is accomplished. But salvation is only the beginning of the race to eternity. the reward will come to the visionary and the humble.

So on the morning of February 6, I got up at 3am. I crawled out of bed with regret. “I’m too tired and old for this nonsense” I thought. Then I fumble around with some coffee and sat down to plan my route. I really should have done this earlier,but I have learned through the Lord, hard desires are of no value in my relationship with Him. It is best to have flexible desires or soft desires that can be detoured for Him and others in my life. That is what had occured the last few days my plans to prepare were spared for the desires of others. So I choose a route that was flat and easier route as per the advice from google. I truly didn’t know what to expect or what I was going to get into. This is the similitude of life in Christ.

I packed my stuff bringing only enough water as I thought I would need; about 2 to 4 ozs of meat from the fridge; Some dark chocolate; and a 2 oz meat stick. After packing in my backpack, I loaded it all in the basket of my bike, putting on my headlamp and turning it on I headed into the dark at 530am, Monday morning.

I could feel the cold air in my face and my eyes were filling with tears as the wind was pushing into my face, the tears began dripping down my cheeks, and into my beard. Cars were passing me on rt 11. They were ever so kind pulling to one side a little, giving me more room. Although, it would appear that Rt. 11 is relatively flat it really has some moderate hills that don’t stop the biker but rather cause him to slow and drop in gear on the way up, and increase the gears on the way down. I learned how close a relationship a biker has with the geography and of the landscape around him. It’s perhaps not as deep or as strong as one whom walks the road or hikes trails, but it is one that is dependent on the environment around him.

As I go through Carlisle, and strive into Mechanicsburg darkness fades into twilight and then continues into dawn and a beautiful sunrise evolves in front of me. Mornings like this remind me of an easter morning and I liken it to the resurrection, my first and and perhaps my second. These thoughts bring a resurrection of my tired legs and a renewed strength in my vision that was beginning to fade as the sun was beginning to dominate the day. Then I make it to Market street bridge that crosses the Susquehanna river. This is a river that at one time separated the west from the east. It is pretty shallow and it’s a mile wide in some places. This is my first quick stop. As I cross the market street bridge, I’m reminded by the scenery around me that this is a city of bridges. I take some pics and send to some friends to document my travel. But it was just 200 years ago that pioneers would cross just south of here in columbia using a ferry to carry their heavy loaded conestoga wagons across this mile wide river. Around 1832, they completed the first bridge spanning the Susquehanna river. It was a covered bridge that eventually was burned during the civil war, as the union army retreated from the rebel forces. This was an act of self destruction for the sake of self preservation. The Susquehanna river has 8 bridges crossing it in Maryland; 77 in Pennsylvania; and 58 in New York. 11 of these bridges are in Harrisburg area alone. And I can see at least six from the market street bridge where I’m about to cross.

I wrap up my thoughts and enjoy the mile long journey across the the first section to city Island and continue to the stop light at the intersection to market street. As I descend off the curb of the bridge to the street I’m greeted with a near miss as a speeding car whizzes by me with it pushing wind up against me I almost loose my hat and my life. I now realize I’m in the real world of commuters on their way to work and in no way are they interested in the courtesies I experienced earlier this morning. Now being in the world of hard desires focused on self there is little room for someone like me. I need to be careful navigating in this world for it is full of pitfalls. What would happen to me if I did encounter some sort of danger like in the stranger that came across some thieves in Luke 10. Would there be some good Samaritan to provide me help. As these thoughts pass I find my way to the capital area greenbelt. It is similar to a rails to trails it is a relatively peaceful journey through Harrisburg first meandering next to the river then continues through some parks and recreation areas in Harrisburg. It crosses a railroad, makes a sharp turn and to the right I see one homeless encampment. On my ride through The Capital Area Greenbelt section I see total of five various homeless encampments. People permanently living in tents. How sad, that they have to live in this manor when there is so much wealth around them just across the street. Some chose this way of life, others don’t. I guess those that chose this, perhaps makes me wondered how safe this section would be at night. And those that didn’t choose this perhaps they too fear the night. The weather starts to cloud more and turns to overcast like it will rain shortly.

Now I enter Steelton. At one time it was prosperous, the steel industry’s darling. Now its a large compound with a river on one side and a canal with a company railroad adjacent. In this compound there are various buildings, in various states of disrepair. Some buildings have no doors, or glass in the windows. But there still is an industry in the facilities island compound. And then a company train goes by me and we are going approximately the same speed which I try to put the power to my legs and I do. And then pass this train! I speed up to an intersection to stop and get a picture of it heading toward me, this I’ll send to my grandchildren. Success! And the engineer waves to me. I catch up with them again when they stop and both wave to me again and I chat a bit with them.

At a sheetz in Highspire I make my first rest stop. I did buy a quest bar and some peanuts, coffee and a soda water. I thought I would save my snacks that I brought.. This was at 10:30 am. I stay for 45 minutes and then continue on my journey. Eventually, I find myself on a rails to trails, connecting to Lebanon county and this will now take me to Ephrata. This is a nice road I’m thinking, I won’t have to worry about hills or make any navigation decisions. This is an easy path. It’s only 20 miles. I’ll knock this off pretty easy. The gravel was small and flexible, offering no roll. This means I’ll be pumping the whole way. My legs burned on this part of the trail. I stopped twice and the second time I fell asleep on a park bench. I know I fell asleep because I woke up! I never notice when I fell asleep. I start thinking how this seems like an easy trail but it is definitely harder then the hills. But I’m so focussed on the flat that I won’t even consider giving up the difficulty for the easier hills. Nothing was going to change my mind. because as hard as it was it had a perception of being easy. I lost my vision and I start thinking. This reminds me of apathy, or that someone told me once this is “Lukewarmness”, and now as I pump my tired old legs I can see how this is just like the “Lukewarm Road”. One nothing was going to change my mind. I was on a journey, if someone was hurt or needed help I would be like the priest that past the stranger. I would stay on my road and even avoid a stranger like the levite did. This is a hard road but lukewarmness seems to be easy but it is one that develops from a hard desire. One that can’t be flexible. A spirit that can’t be pulled away from one’s thoughts, opinions, or ideology, for the sake of others. I think how many times I have forsaken the needs of others because of a hard desire. How many times God could use me and placed the needy in my way but I said I didn’t have the time, because of this or that. Yes, I can justify some good in my life where I have stopped and helped someone. But this road of lukewarmness, is different, because, a Christian can be hot or cold, but not lukewarm. Or rather he could be a christian in name only(CINO), meaning that his desire is so hard that with all the need that is around him/her, it is not of interest to him. He sees the loyalty to self, commitments, fear of being disliked, breaking with peer pressure, promises to institutions or employment, as being noble and honest. But forgetting the first promise, the first love, the savior redeemer and friend. So the road to lukewarmness is all of desire to serve self. But it appears to be a road of deception perhaps. Howbeit that Jesus said, He would rather to have us Hot or Cold than lukewarm.

There was a time when I was sharing my experience or conversion to Christ at a mission. I asked to hear the other guests revelation toward God and how they became converted. Each took their time and we listened to each other then it came to a woman whom simply said, I’m ok of been in this church for 40 years and have been faithful and love God, I’m just alright. Some might say that she was modest and humble. But what I noticed is she lacked something that each of us were saying. That is our completeness was in Christ, and not in an institution, or our rank in life, but rather, we needed him, daily. And at times we even fail but because of the promise of the Holy Ghost, He convicts our conscious and we have regrets, repent and find ourselves back serving Christ. He sits with us and sups with us because of the Holy Spirit. But she lacked nothing, she was complete. Complete in what I’ve often wondered. This was the rebuke for the church of Laodicea. “you say you are rich and have need of nothing” Which is an actual quote from the city leaders of Laodicea, when there was an earthquake that destroyed much of their city, Rome offered help they refused saying, “ we are rich we are in need of nothing”. I imagine when the Lord spoke their own words back to them they shuddered. Like the woman at the well. “you’ve told the truth you have had five husbands and the one you have now isn’t your husband.” Was this mission lady “lukewarm” I’m not sure but one thing hot or cold I don’t think means one is preaching on the street corner necessarily, or running to every disaster. It might be. But I think it is more like compassion and a willingness to do the will of the Father when he gives us the opportunity. Or knowing our failings and having a willingness to look deep into them and repent and receive courage through the holy spirit.

God is always faithful in helping us see our need of him, even in Laodicea, Christ is calling us to see our need in him. So often we find people in our lives that have needs, when we are hot or cold these little or least ones tend to touch our heart and it gives pause to think and a choice to make. One time when I was working as a delivery driver, I went into an alley there was only enough room for my van. On each side of the van was brick and wood structures of all sorts. on each side of the tires of my van were wedged between the sidewalks. I got out and then in my van through the back door to get a package. A very nice Cadillac pulled in behind me. Then another car behind him and another yet. I had no idea that this alley was a thorough fare. But it instantly became a congested traffic jam. I was the congestion. Then it happened. The van door closed, the inside latch was broken, and I was stuck inside.. The horns from the Cadillac and others behind started to honk endlessly and I became frantic. I was the cause of all this commotion but, there was nothing I could do. I peered through the back window banging on the glass motioning in some way, to someone for help. The man that was most disgusted with me, that had the coldest heart was beeping and making foul gestures to me and yelling, he got out of his car. Then came to the door, and opened it from the outside, turned and left back to his car. At that moment I was saved by a man whom Jesus said was cold. Not lukewarm, but cold. Somehow Jesus stirs the compassion in those that are cold and those that are hot. But the lukewarm might have gotten out of his car and redirected traffic out of the alley, but left me their stuck. Yes he would have been a hero to some, but to this lamb, he would have abandoned. In fact I’m convinced the lukewarm would do that with most people. It takes a lot of insensitivity to continue in your task when others around you are in need. But the biggest problem is the lukewarm perhaps has a form of self-centeredness, that they can’t see their own need. Was Felix like that, having many concerns for his kingdom, he became indifferent to his own needs? Paul shares his most precious pearl with him and Agripa. But Felix says that he will consider another time. In the case of lukewarm desire, or apathy, tomorrow never comes. Have I been that way with others my life busy in church life, work, recreation, that I don’t have time to stop and help those around me? Yes, it seems that way for me. But, there is another, form of self-centeredness, its fear. Yes, “what will others say if they see me”, helping, talking, or even visiting this person. This form might help others but, only if the group will help. Is this wisdom from above or from the earth? Again making deliveries in Harrisburg, Pa. I saw a person, on the side of the road. I ignored him. Then I saw a person walking with a gas can, I ignored him I had too much to do. Then on the Harvey Taylor bridge a car stopped and the cars in front of me, went into the opposing lane to pass this stopped car, then it was my turn. I had moved up in line now I’m at the cars bumper; I have a choice, cars are now beeping at me; Do I go around this car and leave the help to someone else or do I go and see if I can help? I get out of my car as the man in the Cadillac did with a disgusting attitude. As I get closer my attitude changes I see a woman scared or anxious maybe—I think of my wife. As I approach I see this woman was almost in tears and this scene now starts to warm my heart. I get a little closer and the woman says to me “My car died and it won’t start. I have help coming but I’m stuck on this bridge, and I can’t do anything and everyone is making all this commotion behind me and around me.” I ask, “would you want me to push you off the bridge to the park on the other side over there” I point beyond to the right. She responded, “yes, please! Then triple A, can help me. Just please do that for me I would be very grateful.” So I went to her need for a selfish reason(cold), then it changed to an unselfish desire(hot). So I pushed a woman off the bridge and she was happy. When I got home and told my wife my day. “And by the way I have confessing to make, honey, I pushed a woman off a bridge today” “What how could you?”

“She wanted me to”, I coyly responded. Then I told her the rest of the story. We both laughed.

I get back on my Bike and start out again I have five miles left to the end of this. lukewarm road. and it starts to get easier. It starts to go down hill a little just slightly but it is slightly relieving. and I can gain some speed. So, perhaps what makes it so addictive to a lukewarm person is after some time of practicing ignoring others needs—it gets easier. I start thinking again of vision, can a lukewarm person have a vision for this desire, like I had when I started? I had a vision of me on this trail, I saw myself riding my bike, I saw myself in pain, and in joy—my vision led me to where I am. Perhaps, a lukewarm person, is so focused on his journey in life earthly goods, position, rank, status, or materialism, they can’t see or won’t see the will of the Lord.

At the end of the trail I see a mennonite girl trying to exercise on this trail by doing some jogging. I Exit the trail and look ahead on the road in front of me—Hills! Yes a welcome sight real work! Hills! My thoughts go to my other observations in life, can a lukewarm spirit turn into something worse—Apathy. Apathy is a condition that is like lukewarm but, where you are of no use to the Lord, you also, become of no use to the world either. I knew a man that became so disillusioned, lost his friends, and all he had and became apathetic—and got fired from his job. Notice that apathy is caused through disappointment, whereas, lukewarmness comes through success, pride and self righteousness. Yet, all things can be repented of including apathy and lukewarmness. Yet it seems that only God, can reach this person or perhaps they have to lose it all to see their condition and even then they have to have a strong desire to stay on “Lukewarmness Road”. When I worked in sales the sales manager had this cartoon mounted in a frame on his desk. It reminds me of the danger for caring so little that you won’t even pick up the phone when a person calls or return a call when received. I heard a man give an excuse one day to a friend of his, “sorry I didn’t return your call, I’m not much of a phone person” This was a moderately wealthy business man speaking to a lower ranking person in his life. The friend just smiled looked downcast, and away. He knew how he ranked in his friends life and it wasn’t very high. I thought, would this businessman treat his customers the same way? If he did, it would be like the following cartoon. Yes with all the excuses we can come up with not to help others, or not visit with them, or at least return their calls, the one that makes the least sense to the Lord is I didn’t have time. “If I don’t return the call maybe they will stop bugging me” Apathy

No, I decide, as I climb this hill and welcome the burning of my legs going up the hill there is a reward coming, ah, yes, my vision is the reward. I can’t see it as I climb I just know there is one coming! What it is I’m not sure but it will alleviate my pain and become like a balm. So is apathy a fruit of disillusionment, perhaps caused by, those that are generally good people, but are lukewarm. Therefore, apathy is similar to lukewarm however, its roots are reactionary, where as lukewarmness is without cause. Yet apathy, is also choice. So although, lukewarmness, and apathy have to be hard roads like this rails to trail—Lukewarmness road. It has exits—repentance. And renewed spirit to look forward to the hills and valleys and not desire the easy road. But those exits are hard to desire or to envision, its appealing to keep ignoring others, and staying on this perceived easy path to Lancaster.

Now I reach the top of that hill, and exit onto Rt. 322 outside of Ephrata. It starts going downhill! Downhill fast! Like real fast! This road is a state highway going through a state forest. As I go around the bend in the road I see yet more down hill and I check my speed on my watch—27 miles and hour! I have to brake, there little break left for this tremendous drop. Then I come into Ephrata, and another hill. The rest from the down hill grade was an encouragement to this hill in front of me. And I pump my legs again not feeling the pain I did on “Lukewarmness Road”. And this is my road now lukewarmness is behind and now I enjoy the hills and valleys to Shady maple. I pull into the smorgasboard, thinking I have such an appetite that I’ll put them out of business! I wait for my wife and grandchildren to arrive. I call and find out that one of the grandchildren, are ill and my wife needs to take them to an urgent care for an ear infection. When they finally showed up the restaurant was closed, and I didn’t care that I missed my free birthday meal. My reward wasn’t as important to me as my grandson getting the care he needed for the pain. I was overjoyed to see them. And they were too. We headed home together in our van and stopped at some restaurant closer to home that was open late. I didn’t put them out of business, and my stomach wasn’t as empty as I thought it.

Howbeit that God loves us so much he puts situations in our way to soften our hearts to desire the hills and the valleys of life. The challenges in life that add depth and meaning to our time on this earth, so when we meet Him at the judgement our soul will say “When did we feed you? When did we clothe you? When did we visit you?” And our soul will be filled with joy of His answer.

When you did to the least (in your life) you did to me…..

Happy trails

jmacwrites

If you’re in the Central PA area—or looking for a great weekend road trip—I’d love to invite you out to the Newville Fountain Festival on Saturday, June 20th!

I’m pulling double duty this year, blending two things that keep me moving: fitness and storytelling.

• Bright & Early (8:30 AM): I’ll be kicking off the morning running in the Fountain Festival 5K. If you’re out there early, come find me near the starting line at the big fountain to say hello or wish me luck before the whistle blows!

• Festival Hours (Post-Race): Once I cross the finish line, I’ll be shifting gears from running to writing. I’ll be heading straight over to set up my jmacwrites book signing table for the rest of the day.

I’ll have copies of Nourished by Grace, my children’s books, and more on hand. Come out to enjoy the local arts, crafts, and excellent food trucks, and make sure to stop by the table to talk about health, faith, self-publishing, or just to catch up!

If you’re planning to come, you can let me know and check out the event layout on the official Facebook Page here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1182486940660396

Can’t make the drive to Newville but still want to grab a copy of the books? They are always available online via my jmacwrites.com page!

Blessings,

jmacwrites

There was once a man—a hard man—that developed a soft heart for fallen man. When he found that he also was a fallen man, he found courage in the Lord through acts of humility. One such action was the sensitivity of a man who, at one time, was like the unjust judge. He became sensitive to the needs of others, so out of sheer love for God, he became a laborer in His kingdom by first becoming His servant—not only to his fellow man, but to all creatures great and small, to include the tadpole in the puddle on the trail.

Hiking in the Appalachians gives you insight that you don’t find in the city. That closeness makes you realize that you are just as dependent as a lion, a rabbit, or even the tadpole found on the journey in front of you. You might see a bug that has turned over its body and is now resting for eternity, looking into the sky. While the blue sky brings comfort to you, it brings death to the hard-shell insect looking at that light until the end of his life. Through the drying breeze that pulls all the moisture out of his protective scales, he is eventually harvested.

Robert Sheffey felt for his fellow man in much the same way. He knew that “two will be at churning butter; one will be taken and the other left.” Sheffey wanted both to be taken. Before the “taking,” he wanted to right every human he met before the “drying of time”—while there was still a heart of flesh that could feel the call of the Spirit. This sensitive heart was what compelled our minister to right the beetles he would see on their backs along the trail.

I remember being on the trail myself, hiking in Georgia with my friend Dennis. I sat there on a sloped tree, one end on a stump and the other stretching 25 feet down along the path. It was cut down for me and thousands like me so I could make it through the “trail of life,” much like one man was once on a tree for a sinner like me. I sat there for a break, getting some water. I have a habit of resting my backpack on a higher point, like the end of a tree, while I sit on the lower stump.

As Dennis and I chatted, I was exhausted while he maintained his usual balanced pace. He reminds me of my hero, Brother Sheffey. When our rest was over, I went to stand and fell over backward. I was like that beetle, or perhaps a turtle. Dennis chuckled as he returned to see me with legs and arms in the air, floating on my back and trying to roll over. Dennis reached out his arm and saved me. Likewise did our friend Sheffey do for man and beetle alike. I wonder if he chuckled as hard as Dennis did.

I look back at that tree we sat on, and I wonder if there is a deeper truth. Could that tree that was once fueling life through its roots, standing tall and proud in the forest, have had to be cut down—perhaps it had to fall—so it could bring forth life? As it did, it transitioned from the shadow of death to a path for thousands of travelers like me. In the same way, the “Old Sheffey”—the hard, rowdy man who would have met an offense with a fist—had to fall. He had to be “cut down” by the Spirit so that his life could become a bridge. As we all can be that connection from the invisible to the visible service of God, man’s gratitude to salvation empowers him from being a standing monument to his own pride and becomes a fallen path of service, helping right those who, like me on that trail, had ended up on their backs with their legs flailing in the air.

How does this fit with the tale of the tadpoles on the trail? Well, like our Lord lifting Peter out of the water when he lost courage, those tadpoles were losing courage as their water—their oxygen supply—evaporated. I remember fishing as a kid and pulling out a sunfish. To me, these were “trash fish,” but not to my dad. He would use a long cane pole with a fixed line, looking ever so graceful as the line followed the bait and the bobber started to bob, bob, bob.

My dad would swing that pole like a high-rise crane, and the fish would land on the bank. While he reloaded his hook, he would ask me to put the fish in a bucket filled with water. This was “Sheffey’s puddle.” After an hour, my dad would look at those fish. They didn’t look sick, but they looked like they needed to be free—just like a man who carries a debt.

Have you ever noticed a man with a debt he owes you? You never see him. He slanders you or looks away in public. Even worse is the one with no conscience; he has all the time for others but none for you. The debt he truly owes you is love. My dad looked at those fish and, like God wants to set us free, he brought the bucket to the lake. He let the lake water and the bucket water equalize, then tipped it over. The fish didn’t want to leave at first—as if an invisible bond held them—but then they rushed off into the blackness of the fertile lake. My dad looked at me and said, “I think we’ve had enough fun for the day.”

Our preacher, Sheffey, once reached into a puddle to save tadpoles. Realizing it would be a rough ride to snag each one by the tail, he used his hat like a master, casting a net. He scooped them up and released them into still water. Once free, they were free indeed.

Our Savior casts a wide net to set us free from sin. To the fish, that “sin” was lust—the desire for more even on a full belly. God saves us when we become willing to look up into His eyes. That is how Sheffey lived his life; those who offended him found the heart of God in his eyes. But they still needed to do the work and turn to God. Man cannot save eternally—only the Fisherman can. We must be willing to be forgiven and not get entangled again.

Humility and repentance are the only ways back into the water. More Sheffey stories to come—true tales about a man who rode the Appalachians and served God by serving man.

How are you doing serving God by serving man? It’s a challenge for us all, but remember the words of our Master: “But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.” (Matthew 23:11).

I hope you’re doing well on your own trail this week.

Best, jmacwrites

“And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” — Matthew 4:19

Today is a day of slow and snow. I’m sitting around, looking at this fireplace we have in the middle, with endless flames and logs that never turn to dust. It can emit heat, emit light, or do both. Even though it’s not real, it still seems to create a mood in our home; my wife and I feel a sense of peace as we sit around the fire. Fire and water each have a peaceful atmosphere emitting from their sounds and visuals. It doesn’t matter whether it's a fire pit or a water feature; friends and neighbors enjoy chilling around either. I have installed both, and I once visited a place where I had installed a water feature—three basalt stones in front of the homeowners’ roof-covered front porch. They told me how much it captures people’s attention and really engages their friends and families in conversation about many topics, including God. As I turned around and looked at the bubbling water emerging from those basalt rocks and flowing down three sides, some of it bouncing off the black, shiny rocks surrounding the scene, I had to admit we started having a little spiritual conversation right there. It was engaging, relaxing, and lovely.

Now I would have you enter my home and hear the crackling of my little fire. Cast your eyes on the wood that burns but is never consumed by the fire. It may be like the burning bush Moses witnessed. But today, I’m not seeing God; I'm seeing His creation. I look out the window above the fireplace, smoke-free, and see four deer, timidly, one at a time, peek out from the brush on one side of the driveway. The doe looks almost right at me—she’s about 150 feet away—then casts her eyes on the brush on the other side of the drive. She crosses, another enters the same zone, looks my way, and follows the other, and they both disappear into the brush. Two more show their faces; they are a bit smaller. One jumps the width of the drive, and the other skitters across as if her hooves are on slick ice; she almost falls like Bambi on her first winter ice pond. But this one is only slipping just a little and looks more like a little dancing deer. Now she’s gone.

My wife says to me, “You know, juncos are interesting. Look how they jump high into the air as if they are going to take off far away and flee to another sanctuary, but instead they just drop again, maybe six inches to a foot from where they took off.” I said to her, “Look at the window to the left; look at two birds: one is a sparrow, the other is a wren or a chickadee.” One flies up and lands on the tall grass. The grass can support one species but not the other. I assume the heavier is the sparrow, and the one that can sit at the very top of the grass is the chickadee. My wife says it’s amazing that, from the deer to the junco to the sparrow and chickadee, they can find food in the snow-covered fields, the bare brush, and the woods and forests. I look back at my non-crackling fire that seems like it’s crackling, and I drift off in thought about food.

Animals seem to know where to look for food, and they know, for the most part, what they can eat and what they can’t. Dogs know to approach some food with caution and, at other times, just gulp it down. Goats can eat poison ivy, but not humans. Cows will eat almost anything—including things that harm them, like plastic bags or wilted cherry leaves. As I have learned, there are foods that can kill humans fast or slow. But these birds and deer forage for food, and they find and survive. Today is Sunday; can I forage? I think so. It appears to me that when we have the divine nature, we can find spiritual food anywhere. We can find topics that can help bring us together with other human beings. There are many endless debates that aren’t worthy of discussion, but what brings us together is that which is needful for human survival. Not the talk of poison ivy, but rather the human journey. What does each of us encounter? This is a journey that we are on as long as we are alive.

Once, I brought some people for my annual fall New England tour. One stop was a B&B adjacent to a briskly running river. This place had a large room filled with windows that served as the restaurant’s seating area. The view of the water slapping against rocks and roots of white birch trees was splendid. However, this morning, before I was to see this spectacular view in the breakfast room, I was up at 5 a.m. I was by the coffee maker in the lobby. It had large, soft antique chairs; I think they call them wingbacks. The material’s pattern was floral. I was sitting there, listening to the water gurgle as it processed the coffee. As it percolated, it had not a possessing sound but more of a mesmerizing sound that engaged thought. I could tell another early riser was approaching. His steps creaked down the stairs through a smaller lobby into the main lobby. He was a heavy man; I would say not many doughnut shops missed him in life. He had on a lightly striped short-sleeve shirt that was nicely fitted around his midsection and a nice pair of jeans. His face was full like his shirt, and it was friendly. He said good morning to me and asked about the coffee. I said, “It went on about thirty minutes ago. But listen—it’s still percolating.” He said, “Oh yeah, it is, but it smells nice.” I said, “Sit down and relax. I think as soon as the sound leaves, it’s done.” He said, “That’s how it works.”

I now acted like the bird lifting up leaves for food. I started racking my head to find something to talk about. So I lifted up a yellow leaf: “Where are you headed?” He tells me it’s a short trip. Nothing under that leaf. Oh, a nice roundish poplar leaf. “They are pretty this time of year. What’s your name? And where are you from?” He tells me. Hmmm, nothing. The percolating is still going on. I decide to look under an old oak leaf: “How old are you?”

“I’m about fifty and facing some health issues lately.”

One thing I have always noticed about old, ugly, boring oak leaves is that they usually have something living in them: worms, snails, bugs. Always some sort of life. “Yes, I know what you’re talking about. I have some heart issues—two types of heart issues,” I say to him. He said, “My doctor is worried about cholesterol. He has me all wound up and nervous.”

“Well,” I said, “I would worry about that sugar. Sugar is the real problem. Your triglycerides will drop if you give up sugar.” He said he had heard the same thing from a friend of his who had lost a lot of weight. The percolating stopped, and he brightened up. I grabbed a nice ceramic cup—the real ones, you know, the ones you know will last a lifetime. I filled it up and asked him, “You want some cream and sugar?” He chuckled and said, “You just said sugar is bad for me.” I said, “Hey, it’s only bad for you when you know it. Would you like some?”

“I get my sugar elsewhere,” he said. I poured my coffee and sat down. He joined me, and I asked him, “You know, I think you said you’re fifty. Well, I’m turning sixty this year. You are starting to get up there at fifty. Do you ever think of death?” He says, “Well, yes, I do. I started thinking about it in my forties and realized I needed to get right with God.” I said, “I also remember when that happened to me.” Our conversation lasted an hour and another cup of coffee, but neither of us partook of the danishes and donuts when the lady brought them out, nor the cinnamon rolls. We were fed on manna.

Today, more and more of human life is becoming industrialized and commercialized. Hospitals and doctors’ offices work like car dealerships. Restaurants buy their food from Sysco, a prepared food company. When I was a delivery driver, I delivered a package to a restaurant kitchen. I asked the manager, “Could I ask you a question? I don’t mean to insult you, but where are your grill and stoves?” She said, “All our food comes in prepared—just heat and serve. Everything is microwaved; we only make some sandwiches, salads, and some soups.” I went back through the eating area as I left, passing various tables and hearing canned conversations, laughs, and jokes from a well-trained staff. If they were asked a question specifically about the food, I think they would be challenged to answer honestly—and perhaps get offended if their canned answer wasn’t accepted. I have observed this in myself while working at a car dealership. We had one manager who would put words in our mouths and have us repeat them back to the customer. We sold cars, but I didn’t like being a parrot. I felt I wasn’t human, just a robot.

So it appears to me that if we are going to look for the spiritual in life, it will need to come from diligent effort to find it. Churches today are having some success in sticking to rigid talking points, but congregants seem to struggle to express God’s truth calmly and confidently. Just as I learned that authentic conversation—not scripted sales pitches—built real relationships with customers, so too does authentic faith require more than rehearsed answers.

The other day, I saw a minister ask another, “Do you like white people?” The man hesitated. “Well, I don’t know all white people.” Later, the minister asked whether he liked brown people. This man happened to be Hispanic. “Yes, brown, black, and all shades.” Then he said, “I love everybody.” Then the first man said, “Everyone except whites.” “Well, like I said, I don’t know all whites.” So the man asked the minister, who happened to be Black, “What about you? Do you like brown people?” The man said, “Yes, I love white people and brown people.” The man asked the minister, “How can you love everyone?”

He said that when he used to be angry, he had little affection for others. “I could be a fault-finder, a complainer, and a blamer—one that doesn’t take responsibility for my actions and projects my faults onto others. But when I learned to let go of my anger, I found peace, and now I love everybody. I have learned to love my enemies. We are different, but there is enough love from the Lord above to forbear our differences, isn’t there?” The man was silent. I could tell this minister wasn’t feeding off talking points but was living his life authentically. In my car business days, being more authentic and avoiding monoculture helped me sell more cars and get more referrals. When I lived off the talking points fed to me from man, I sold more cars, but those people never came back. Authenticity is living your life as you, isn’t it? Doesn’t that mean that although I can learn from others and I can renew my mind in Christ, the learning is instead making those thoughts filtered into my blood, water, and flesh? Like Christ said: eat of my flesh and drink of my blood. Is that a talking point? No, that doesn’t sound like industrialized food or monoculturalized spiritualization, does it? He said to eat His flesh. The mystery of this—making His flesh our flesh, His blood our blood—this is where the transformative power lies. Not in the explanation, but in the living of it. Practice not in the inward only, but make His flesh your flesh.

I look back once more at the logs in my fireplace—the ones that glow but never turn to ash. They provide a certain mood, but they are a “heat and serve” fire. They don’t require the work of the woodsman, and they don’t offer the transformative power of a flame that actually consumes what it touches. Perhaps this is a fitting paradox: the fire gives me comfort but not transformation, much like moments when I seek peace over growth, warmth over the refining burn that changes me. Like the sparrow, you need to be you and search for your real food. Just like the sparrow knows he must work every day for his food—and his life teaches him how to find it by returning to the same actions and activities that yield him fruit—so it is with us. Industrially produced food lacks the nutrients we need; so does the highly processed or commercialized spiritualization of God’s word. Talking points create a monoculture of the mind, but the living Word creates a forest. God does promise that His word won’t come back void; it is nutritious, and it feeds His blood and flesh in us.

Best,
jmacwrites

ACT IV: THE FEAST OF JOY

Carol’s bed had been moved into the farthest corner of the room, and she was lying on the outside, dressed in a wonderful soft white wrapper. Her golden hair fell in fluffy curls over her white forehead and neck, her cheeks flushed delicately, her eyes beamed with joy. The Ruggleses told their mother afterward that she looked as beautiful as the pictures of the Blessed Virgin.

There was great bustle behind a huge screen in another part of the room, and at half-past five this was taken away, and the Christmas dinner table stood revealed.

What a sight it was to the poor little Ruggles children, who ate their sometimes-scanty meals on a kitchen table! It blazed with tall colored candles. It gleamed with glass and silver. It blushed with flowers. It groaned with good things to eat. The Ruggleses, forgetting that their mother was a McGrill, shrieked in open-mouthed admiration of the fairy spectacle.

But Larry’s behavior was the most disgraceful, for he stood not upon the order of his going, but went at once for a high chair that pointed unmistakably to him. He climbed up like a squirrel, gave a comprehensive look at the turkey, clapped his hands in ecstasy, rested his fat arms on the table, and cried with joy, “I beat the hull lot o’ yer!”

Carol laughed until she cried, giving orders meanwhile: “Uncle Jack, please sit at the head. Sarah Maud at the foot, and that will leave four on each side. Mama is going to help Elfrida serve, so the children needn’t look after each other, but just have a good time.”

A sprig of holly lay by each plate, and nothing would do but each little Ruggles must leave his seat and have it pinned on by Carol herself. As each course was served, one of them pleaded to take something to her. There was hurrying to and fro, and if every dish had had to be carried up a rope ladder, the servants would gladly have done so.

There was turkey and chicken, with delicious gravy and stuffing, and there were half a dozen vegetables, with cranberry jelly, and celery, and pickles. And as for the way these delicacies were served, the Ruggleses never forgot it as long as they lived.

Peter nudged Kitty, who sat next to him, and whispered, “Look, will yer! Every feller’s got his own partic’lar butter! I s’pose that’s to show yer can’t eat no more’n that. No, it ain’t neither, for that pig of a Peory’s just gettin’ another helpin’!”

“Yes,” breathed Kitty, “an’ the napkins is marked with big red letters! I wonder if that’s so nobody’ll swipe ‘em. An’ oh, Peter, look at the pictures painted right onto the dishes! Did you ever!”

“The plums is all took out o’ my cranberry sauce an’ it’s froze to a stiff jell!” shouted Peoria in wild excitement.

“Hi-yah! I got a wish-bone!” sang Larry, waving it aloft.

Sarah Maud, at the foot of the table, frantically tried to catch his eye to administer a warning kick, but Larry was beyond all earthly jurisdiction now.

“I declare to goodness,” murmured Susan softly, “there’s so much to look at I can’t scarcely eat nothin’!”

“Bet yer life I can!” said Peter, who had kept one servant busily employed ever since he sat down.

Uncle Jack, watching from the head of the table, quietly saw to it that no dish passed any Ruggles without stopping. Not a single one refused anything that was offered, even unto the seventh time. When Uncle Jack perceived that more turkey was a physical impossibility, the meats were removed and the dessert brought in—a dessert that would have frightened a strong man after such a dinner as had preceded it.

Not so the Ruggleses. They kindled to the dessert as if the turkey had been a dream and the six vegetables an optical delusion.

There was plum pudding, mince pie, and ice cream. There were nuts and raisins and oranges.

Kitty chose ice cream, explaining that she knew it “by sight, though I never tasted none.” But all the rest took the entire variety, without any regard to consequences.

“My dear child,” whispered Uncle Jack, as he took Carol an orange, “there is no doubt about the necessity of this feast, but I do advise you after this to have them twice a year, or quarterly perhaps, for the way they eat is positively dangerous. I assure you I tremble for that terrible Peoria. I’m going to run races with her after dinner.”

“Never mind,” laughed Carol. “Let them eat for once. It does my heart good to see them, and they shall come oftener next year.”

But it wasn’t the food that Carol watched—not really. It was their faces.

She saw Cornelius, usually so quiet, actually giggle when he discovered his napkin had a “C” embroidered on it, just like his name. She saw Susan reach out to touch a rose in the centerpiece, then draw her hand back quickly, then reach out again when she thought no one was looking, just to stroke one velvet petal.

She saw Sarah Maud sitting very straight at the foot of the table, trying so hard to be grown-up and proper, but unable to hide the wonder in her eyes every time a new dish appeared.

She saw little Eily carefully saving one orange in her lap, and when Uncle Jack asked her why, heard her whisper, “For Mama. She ain’t never had one.”

And Carol’s heart swelled so full she thought it might burst right there at the table.

This—this was what Christmas meant. Not the receiving, but the giving. Not the abundance, but the sharing of abundance. Not the food itself, but the joy of watching hungry children eat their fill.

“Miss Carol,” said Sarah Maud suddenly, finding her voice at last, “I just want to say—” But her throat closed up and she couldn’t finish.

“I know,” said Carol softly. “I know, Sarah Maud.”

The feast being over, the Ruggleses lay back in their chairs languidly, and the table was cleared in a trice. Then a door was opened into the next room, and there, in the corner facing Carol’s bed, which had been wheeled as close as possible, stood the brilliantly lighted Christmas tree.

It glittered with gilded walnuts and tiny silver balloons. It was wreathed with snowy chains of popcorn. And from every branch hung presents—so many presents that the tree seemed to grow gifts instead of needles.

The Ruggleses simply stared, struck dumb.

“It’s like the one in the store window,” whispered Kitty at last. “Only it’s REAL.”

“Come, come!” cried Uncle Jack. “Carol has a present for each of you. Let’s see what the tree has brought!”

The gifts had been bought mostly with Carol’s story money, and selected after long consultations with Mrs. Bird. Each girl had a blue knitted hood, and each boy a red crocheted comforter, all made by Mama, Carol, and Elfrida. (”Because if you buy everything,” Carol had said, “it doesn’t show so much love.”)

Then every girl had a pretty plaid dress of a different color, and every boy a warm coat of the right size.

But Carol had pleaded to give them something “for fun.”

“I know they need the clothes,” she had said to her father, “but they don’t care so much for them, after all. Now, Papa, won’t you please let me go without part of my presents, and give me the money they would cost, to buy something to amuse them?”

“You can have both,” Mr. Bird had said promptly.

“But that isn’t the thing,” Carol had objected. “It wouldn’t be mine. Haven’t I almost everything already, and am I not the happiest girl in the world? Now, Papa, you know very well it is more blessed to give than to receive. Why won’t you let me do it?”

And so Carol had her way, as she generally did—but it was usually a good way, which was fortunate.

Sarah Maud received a set of Miss Alcott’s books. When she opened the first volume and saw the inscription—”For Sarah Maud, who takes care of everyone else. With love, Carol”—her eyes filled with tears. She clutched the books to her chest and could not speak.

Peter received a modest silver watch. His mouth fell open. He held it to his ear, heard it ticking, and looked at Carol as if she had just handed him the moon. “Miss Carol,” he said hoarsely, “I ain’t never had nothin’ this fine in all my life. I’ll keep it forever. I’ll keep it till I die.”

Cornelius received a beautiful little dog house, painted red and white, with “PRINCE” written over the door. “For your lame puppy,” Carol explained. “So he’ll have a warm place of his own.”

Cornelius, who rarely showed emotion, crumpled completely. He sat down on the floor, holding the dog house, and wept. Not from sadness, but from a joy so overwhelming he had no other way to express it.

Clement got a tool chest—a real one, with a hammer and saw and nails.

Larry received a magnificent Noah’s ark, complete with animals, and immediately began lining them up for a parade.

Kitty got a doll—not just any doll, but a beautiful one with a china face and real hair and a dress of blue silk. She held it as if it were made of glass, afraid to touch it too firmly lest it disappear. “She’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw,” Kitty breathed. “I’m going to name her Carol.”

Susan received a sewing basket filled with colorful threads and needles and scissors with pearl handles.

Eily got a toy tea set.

And Peoria received a picture book of animals from around the world—elephants and giraffes and kangaroos leaping across the pages in brilliant colors.

Each child came to Carol’s bedside to thank her. Some mumbled shyly. Some shouted with glee. Some, like Cornelius and Sarah Maud, could barely speak at all.

But Carol received every thank-you as if it were a gift more precious than any she had given. Her face glowed. Her eyes shone. She clasped her hands together and laughed with pure delight.

“Oh, I am so happy!” she kept saying. “I am so very, very happy!”

Uncle Jack, watching from across the room, had to turn away and pretend to examine the tree more closely. His eyes had grown suspiciously bright.

Mrs. Bird stood in the doorway, one hand pressed to her heart. She had seen her daughter weak with pain. She had seen her weary with illness. But she had never seen her more vibrantly, radiantly alive than she was at this moment—giving everything away.

The candles on the tree flickered and began to go out one by one.

“Now, my darlings,” said Mrs. Bird gently, “it’s time for you to go home. You’ve had a long, wonderful evening, and Carol needs her rest.”

The Ruggleses gathered their presents reluctantly. They put on their coats and lined up at the door.

One by one, they filed past Carol’s bed.

Sarah Maud shook her hand formally, like a grown woman. “Thank you, Miss Carol. This has been the finest day of my whole entire life.”

Peter couldn’t find any words, so he just squeezed her hand hard.

Cornelius leaned down and kissed her cheek—a quick, shy kiss—and then ran from the room before anyone could see him cry.

Little Larry threw his arms around her neck. “You’re better than Santa Claus,” he announced. “I love you the best.”

And Kitty, clutching her doll, whispered, “I’m going to be like you when I grow up. I’m going to make people happy.”

When they had gone, when the last footstep had faded down the stairs and the front door had closed behind them, Carol lay back against her pillows with a deep, contented sigh.

“Mama,” she said softly, “I think that was the most beautiful Christmas there ever was.”

“Yes, darling,” said Mrs. Bird, smoothing the golden hair back from Carol’s forehead. “Yes, my precious girl.”

“Do you think,” Carol asked, her eyes growing dreamy, “do you think we kept Christ’s birthday the way He would have wanted? The way it was meant to be kept?”

Mrs. Bird’s throat tightened. “I am certain of it,” she managed to say. “I am absolutely certain of it, my love.”

“Good,” whispered Carol. “That’s all I wanted. To keep it right. Just once, to keep it perfectly right.”

Through the open window, the first notes of the evening church service drifted in on the cold December air. The organ was playing, and soon the boy-choir would sing.

“Mama,” said Carol, “would you open the window a little wider? I want to hear the music clearly.”

“But darling, you’ll catch cold—”

“Please, Mama. Just for the carols. I want to hear them.”

Mrs. Bird adjusted the window and placed the screen carefully to shield Carol from the direct draft. Then she pulled a chair close to the bed and took her daughter’s hand.

They sat together in the dimming light, listening to the music that had named Carol ten years before.

The voices rose, pure and clear:

“Carol, brothers, carol,
Carol joyfully,
Carol the good tidings,
Carol merrily!”

Carol smiled, her eyes half-closed. “They’re singing my song, Mama.”

“Yes, darling. They’re singing your song.”

And then the boy-soprano began to sing—the one with the voice like an angel—the one Carol had especially requested. The notes floated up into the winter darkness:

“I am far frae my hame,
I am weary aften whiles
For the langed-for hame-bringin’
An’ my Faether’s welcome smiles.”

“That’s the most beautiful song in the world,” Carol murmured. “Don’t you think so, Mama?”

“Yes, dear heart.”

“Like a bairn to its mither,
A wee birdie to its nest,
I fain would be gangin’ noo
Unto my Faether’s breast.”

“I’m so tired, Mama,” Carol whispered. “But it’s a good tired. A happy tired.”

“I know, my darling. I know.”

“For He gathers in His arms
Helpless, worthless lambs like me,
An’ carries them Himsel’
To His ain countree.”

Carol’s breathing grew soft and even. Her hand relaxed in her mother’s.

“Mama?” she said, so quietly Mrs. Bird had to lean close to hear. “I think I’ll go to sleep now. It’s been the loveliest day. The very loveliest of all.”

“Sleep well, my Christmas Carol,” whispered Mrs. Bird, her voice breaking. “Sleep well, my precious girl.”

The music continued, rising and falling like a gentle tide.

And Carol, who had come into the world on wings of song—on a Christmas morning ten years ago when the choir sang “Carol, brothers, carol”—slipped peacefully out of it the same way.

The little bird had flown home.

ACT V: THE LEGACY

So sad an ending to a happy day!

Perhaps—to those who were left. And yet Carol’s mother, even in the freshness of her grief, was glad that her darling had slipped away on the loveliest day of her life, out of its glad content, into everlasting peace. She was glad that Carol had gone as she had come—on wings of song—when all the world was brimming over with joy. Glad of every grateful smile, of every joyous burst of laughter, of every loving thought and word and deed the dear last day had brought.

Mr. Bird stood at the window of the library, looking out at the snow-covered garden, at the little house in the alley where lights still burned bright. He could picture the Ruggles children showing their treasures to their mother one more time before bed, hear their excited voices, see their shining faces.

“She gave them something,” he said at last, his voice rough. “Something more than gifts. She gave them a day they’ll remember all their lives. A day when they were welcomed. When they were loved. When they mattered.”

“Yes,” whispered Mrs. Bird. “And they gave her something too. They gave her joy. Pure, complete, uncomplicated joy. They let her be exactly who she was meant to be.”

Uncle Jack, who had not left the house, sat alone in the library later that night. He thought of Carol’s words: “I want to make somebody happy every single Christmas that I live.”

She had lived ten Christmases. And on this last one, she had poured out everything she had—her carefully saved money, her strength, her attention, her love—on nine children who had nothing. And in doing so, she had received everything back tenfold in their delight.

“I’ll take care of them,” he said aloud to the empty room, to Carol, to God, to whomever might be listening. “The Ruggleses. I’ll see they’re looked after. I promise you that, little bird.”

Sadness reigned, it is true, in the little house behind the garden.

When the Ruggleses had arrived home, tumbling through the door with their arms full of treasures, Mrs. Ruggles had wept—not from grief, for she didn’t know yet, but from overwhelming gratitude that her children had been so honored, so loved, so blessed.

They had shown her everything. The watches and books and dolls and dog houses. The warm coats and pretty dresses. They had talked over each other, interrupting, laughing, reliving every moment.

“And Miss Carol said I could keep the books forever!”

“And she MADE the comforter herself, Mama, with her own hands!”

“And she wasn’t even MAD when I got stuck in the hat-tree!”

“She said Cornelius’s puppy deserved a palace, not just a dog house!”

Mrs. Ruggles had tucked them into bed one by one, listening to their prayers—every single one of which included “God bless Miss Carol” without her prompting.

The next morning, when the news came, Sarah Maud’s face went white as snow.

“It was us,” she whispered. “We made her sick. We made her worse. We killed her.”

She threw on her shawl and ran—ran through the snow, ran the whole mile to Dr. Bartol’s house, ran up his marble steps and pounded on his door.

When the old physician opened it, she fell at his feet, sobbing.

“Oh, sir! It was me an’ our childern that went to Miss Carol’s last dinner party, an’ if we made her worse, we can’t never be happy again!”

Dr. Bartol, that kind old gentleman, took her rough, work-worn hand in his and drew her inside, away from the cold.

“Dry your tears, child,” he said gently. “Neither you nor any of your flock hastened Carol’s flight. Indeed, I tell you truly—had it not been for the strong hope and joy that filled her heart these last weeks, planning that dinner, she could not have stayed with us long enough to keep that last merry Christmas with her dear ones. You gave her a gift, Sarah Maud. You gave her a reason to hold on. You gave her one last perfect day.”

Sarah Maud looked up at him, wanting desperately to believe. “Truly, sir?”

“Truly,” he said. “On my honor as a physician and a man. Carol died happy. She died complete. She died having done exactly what she was put on this earth to do. There are many who live seventy years and cannot say as much.”

And so the old years, fraught with memories, die one after another, and the new years, bright with hopes, are born to take their places.

But Carol lives on.

She lives in every Christmas bell that peals glad tidings.

She lives in every Christmas carol sung by children’s voices.

She lives in the warm coat that Peter Ruggles wore to his first real job, and in the books that Sarah Maud read to her own children twenty years later, and in the silver watch that Peter’s son inherited, and in the way Kitty looked at her own daughter and thought, “I will love her the way Carol loved me.”

She lives in the Ruggles family itself, which Uncle Jack quietly supported through the years—helping Peter finish school, finding work for Cornelius, making sure the younger ones had clothes and books and chances. Not as charity, but as a sacred trust. A promise kept to a little girl who had given everything away.

She lives in the memory of one perfect Christmas, when nine poor children sat at a rich table and were treated like royalty, and discovered that they mattered, that they were seen, that they were loved.

She lives in her mother’s heart, where every generous impulse, every kind word, every gift given in love echoes with the whisper: “This is what Carol would do.”

She lives in the question she asked on her last night on earth: “Do you think we kept Christ’s birthday the way He would have wanted?”

For she had answered it herself, in the living of her brief, bright life.

Yes, Carol. Yes, you did. You kept it perfectly right.

The little Christmas child, who came on wings of song and left the same way, had shown them all what it meant to truly celebrate: not in receiving, but in giving; not in abundance, but in sharing; not in the comfort of the blessed, but in the blessing of the uncomfortable.

She was ten years old. She never left her room. She never ran or played or danced. She never grew up or married or had children of her own.

But in the economy of heaven, where lives are not measured by years but by love, Carol Bird lived a lifetime—and more than that, an eternity—in ten short Christmases.

And every December, when the snow falls soft on city streets, and carolers sing in the twilight, and church bells ring out their glad tidings, and children press their noses to shop windows, and families gather close, and the poor are remembered, and the broken are comforted, and the lonely are welcomed in—

There, in all of that, in the very heart of Christmas itself, the little bird still sings.

Carol, brothers, carol.

THE END

After the Story

When I look at Christina’s World now, after reading Carol’s story again, I see something I missed before.

Christina is crawling toward that house on the hill. We assume she wants to get there. We assume she’s frustrated by how slowly she moves, how much effort each inch requires. We project our own impatience onto her.

But maybe she’s not frustrated at all. Maybe she’s just... going. Maybe she’s noticed the particular way the grass bends in the wind. Maybe she’s felt the sun warm on her shoulders. Maybe the house will be there when she arrives, and that’s enough.

Carol never made it outside to play with the Ruggles children. She never ran through a field or climbed a tree or danced at a party. Her world got smaller and smaller until it was just one room, one bed, one window.

And yet.

She found a way to love nine rowdy children she could barely reach. She earned her own money and spent it all on others. She threw a feast that changed lives. She asked the single most important question at the end: “Did we keep Christ’s birthday the way He would have wanted?”

And then she let go.

I think about my own landscape sometimes. Where does my reach end? What can’t I change no matter how hard I try?

My limits aren’t physical. They’re the invisible ones. The fear of offering a glass of water to a stranger. The regret that I didn’t do more when I had the chance. The quiet suspicion that I’ve somehow missed my moment.

These limits can feel insurmountable.

But what if Carol and Christina are trying to tell us something we desperately need to hear?

What if the size of our lives has almost nothing to do with our circumstances, and almost everything to do with our attention?

Carol couldn’t leave her room, but she learned the name of every Ruggles child. She knew about Cornelius’s lame puppy. She noticed that Eily had never tasted an orange. She paid attention to the particular ache in Sarah Maud’s overwhelmed heart.

She saw beauty where she was. And in seeing it, she became it.

So here’s the question I’m sitting with, and maybe you are too:

What beauty am I missing because I’m so focused on where I can’t go?

Not in some abstract, spiritual way. I mean concretely. Today. This week.

Who is in my “landscape” that I’ve stopped really seeing? What small joy am I overlooking because I’m grieving something larger? What gift could I give from exactly where I am, with exactly what I have, to exactly who is nearby?

Carol spent ten years in that room. Ten years watching children play in an alley. Ten years with a body that wouldn’t obey her. And on the last day of her life, she said it was “the loveliest day. The very loveliest of all.”

Not despite her limits.
Maybe because of what those limits taught her to see.

I don’t know what limits you’re facing. I don’t know what binds you or holds you back or keeps you smaller than you wish you were.

But I know this: you’re standing somewhere right now. And from exactly where you stand, there is something beautiful you can perceive. Someone nearby you can love. Some small gift you can give.

Your landscape might be smaller than you hoped. Mine too.

But maybe that just means we can see it more clearly.

The Ruggleses are already in your alley. You just have to look out the window.

That’s where the magic lives. Not in grand gestures or changed circumstances, but in noticing. In the small gift. In the window opened. In the choice made right now, from exactly where you are.

Merry Christmas.

jmacwrites

In 1948, Andrew Wyeth painted a woman in a pink dress, crawling through a field toward a distant farmhouse. Christina’s World became one of the most beloved American paintings of the 20th century, not despite Christina Olson’s disability, but perhaps because of how Wyeth captured her particular way of seeing the world.

Andrew Wyeth, Christina’s World, 1948. Tempera on panel. © Wyeth Foundation for American Art / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Image courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art

Sixty years earlier, in 1887, Kate Douglas Wiggin wrote about another young woman who couldn’t walk—a girl named Carol Bird who spent her days in a room overlooking a garden and an alley where poor children played.

Both faced limits with grace. Both found ways to move through the world that had nothing to do with legs. And both came to understand something vital: the landscape of a life is shaped not by how far you can walk, but by how much beauty you can perceive from where you are.

Yes, both women faced limits they could not change. Their bodies would not carry them far. But perhaps you and I face our own kinds of limits, ones that are not always physical. Sometimes what binds us is fear. Sometimes it’s old hurt. Sometimes it’s the quiet belief that we are too small, too late, too broken to matter.

But Carol and Christina both prove otherwise: the scope of a life is shaped not by how far you walk, but by how much beauty you can perceive from where you are.

“I used to think, when I first found I couldn’t go out any more, that I should miss the birds... but you see, they all come to me... I have the sky and the sun and the trees, and then I have my ‘Ruggleses’ too. It’s like a little world of my own, and it’s a very happy one.”

— The Birds’ Christmas Carol

This is Carol’s story.

ACT I: THE CHRISTMAS CHILD

It was very early Christmas morning, and in the stillness of the dawn, with soft snow falling on the housetops, a little child was born in the Bird household.

They had intended to name the baby Lucy, if it were a girl. But they hadn’t expected her on Christmas morning, and a real Christmas baby—everyone agreed—was not to be lightly named.

The family gathered in the nursery to debate the matter. Mr. Bird, having assisted in naming three boys already, announced he would leave this decision entirely to Mrs. Bird. Donald, age nine, wanted the child called “Maud” after a curly-haired girl who sat beside him in school. Paul, age seven, chose “Luella”—for Luella was the nurse who had seen him through babyhood up to the dignity of his first trousers, and the name suggested all sorts of comfortable things.

Uncle Jack declared that the first girl should always be named for her mother, “no matter how hideous the name happened to be.”

Grandma said quietly that she would prefer not to take part in the discussion. Everyone suddenly remembered that Mrs. Bird had once mentioned naming the baby Lucy—for Grandma herself. While it would be indelicate for Grandma to favor that name, it would be against human nature for her to suggest any other.

Hugh, the “hitherto baby” (if that is a possible term), sat in the corner and said nothing. He felt, in some mysterious way, that his nose was out of joint. There was a newer baby now—a possibility he had never considered. And a girl-baby at that, which made the treason complete.

But Mrs. Bird had not been asked, and everyone felt it rather absurd to forestall a decree that was certain to be absolutely wise, just, and perfect.

The reason the subject had been brought up at all, so early in the day, lay in the fact that Mrs. Bird never allowed her babies to go overnight unnamed. She was a person of such great decision of character that she would have blushed at such a thing. She said that to let blessed babies go dangling about without names for months was enough to ruin them for life.

And so the boys scattered—Donald to his new velocipede, Paul to his musical top—while Hugh remained on the top stair, banging his head against the railing to uncork the vials of his wrath.

Meanwhile, dear Mrs. Bird lay in her dim, quiet room, weak but safe and happy, with her sweet girl baby by her side. The shutters were closed against the morning cold, but the side windows that looked out on the Church of Our Saviour were open wide.

Suddenly, a sound of music poured into the bright air and drifted into the chamber. It was the boy-choir singing Christmas anthems. Higher and higher rose the clear, fresh voices, full of hope and cheer:

“Carol, brothers, carol,

Carol joyfully,

Carol the good tidings,

Carol merrily!

And pray a gladsome Christmas

For all your fellow-men;

Carol, brothers, carol,

Christmas Day again.”

Mrs. Bird, half dreaming in the music, thought she had slipped into heaven with her new baby, and that angels were bidding them welcome. But the tiny bundle stirred—scarcely more than the ruffling of a feather—and she awoke, for the mother-ear is so close to the heart that it can hear the faintest whisper of a child.

She drew the baby closer. The infant looked like a rose dipped in milk—this pink and white blossom of girlhood, with her halo of pale yellow hair finer than floss silk.

“Carol, brothers, carol,

Carol joyfully...”

The voices brimmed over with joy.

“Why, my baby,” whispered Mrs. Bird in soft surprise, “I had forgotten what day it was. You are a little Christmas child, and we will name you Carol—mother’s little Christmas Carol!”

“What’s that, dear heart?” said Mr. Bird, coming in softly and closing the door.

“Donald, don’t you think Carol is a sweet name for a Christmas baby? It came to me just now, in the singing, as I lay here half asleep and half awake.”

“I think it is a charming name,” said Mr. Bird, bending to kiss her forehead, “and that it sounds just like you. And I hope that, being a girl, this baby has some chance of being as lovely as her mother.”

Mrs. Bird, though she was as weak and tired as she could be, blushed with happiness.

And so Carol came by her name.

Uncle Jack declared, laughing, that it was very strange if a whole family of Birds could not be indulged in a single Carol. Grandma, who adored the child, thought the name much more appropriate than Lucy—though she was glad people would probably think it short for Caroline.

Perhaps because she was born in holiday time, Carol was a very happy baby. Of course, she was too tiny to understand the joy of Christmastide, but people say there is everything in a good beginning. She may have breathed in, unconsciously, the fragrance of evergreens and holiday dinners, while the peals of sleigh-bells and the laughter of happy children wakened in her a glad surprise at the merry world she had come to live in.

Her cheeks and lips were red as holly berries. Her hair was the color of a Christmas candle-flame. Her eyes were bright as stars, and her tiny hands forever outstretched in giving.

Such a generous little creature you never saw!

When she was still in her high chair, she could not enjoy her supper until Mama or nurse had taken the first spoonful of bread and milk from her own bowl. Whatever bit of cake or sweetmeat found its way into her pretty fingers was straightway broken in half and shared with Donald, Paul, or Hugh. When they pretended to nibble the morsel with affected enjoyment, she would clap her hands and crow with delight.

When she was three, on Christmas morning, she received a beautiful new doll with a china face and real hair. She held it for perhaps thirty seconds, then asked, “For Kitty?” When told it was her very own, she looked troubled until her mother relented and let her take it to the neighbor’s daughter, who had no doll at all.

When she was four, she gave away every single one of her birthday presents before the sun set—a sash to the cook’s daughter, a picture book to the gardener’s son, a small purse to the woman who came to do the washing. “They didn’t have birthday,” she explained simply.

When she was five, just before the illness came, Paul fell and bloodied his knee badly. Carol took off her own new locket—a gift from Uncle Jack—and pressed it into Paul’s hand. “To make the hurt go away,” she said solemnly. Paul wore it on his watch-chain ever after.

There were other moments, too—so many that to tell them all would fill pages. But they filled something else instead: they filled the pages of her mother’s heart. And Mrs. Bird, like Mary of old, treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.

“Why does she do it?” asked Donald one evening, after Carol had insisted he take the largest slice of her birthday cake. “None of us boys ever did.”

“I hardly know,” said Mrs. Bird, catching her darling to her heart, “except that she is a little Christmas child, and so she has a tiny share of the blessedest birthday the world ever saw.”

Carol had seen five Christmas trees lighted on her birthdays when the first shadow fell.

She had always been delicate—a fairy child who seemed to live half in this world and half in some brighter one. But one winter morning, shortly after her fifth birthday, she came down to breakfast walking strangely.

“Does your leg hurt, darling?” asked Mrs. Bird.

“A little,” said Carol. “May I sit in your lap instead of in my chair?”

She was content to nestle close to her mother all that day, dozing and waking, and saying she would “rather not go out to play, please.”

At first, hope stirred constantly in Mrs. Bird’s heart. Carol would feel stronger in the summertime. She would be better when they spent a year in the country. She would outgrow it. They would try a new physician.

But by and by, it came to be all too sure that no physician save One could make Carol strong again, and that no summertime nor country air—unless it were the everlasting summer in a heavenly country—could bring the little girl back to health.

The limp grew more pronounced. She tired easily. The gay child-laugh that had been like a chime of Christmas bells gave place to a smile so lovely, so touching, so patient, that it filled every corner of the house with a gentle radiance.

Donald and Paul and Hugh grew quieter. They played their noisiest games in the far garden now, and when they came to Carol’s room, they came with soft steps and softer voices. Something in their little sister’s patience taught them a tenderness beyond their years.

It was a December evening, just before Carol’s tenth birthday. The famous Dr. Bartol had visited that afternoon and spoken his verdict. Now the children were all asleep, and Mr. and Mrs. Bird sat together in the library.

“Dear heart,” said Mr. Bird, pacing the floor, “it is no use shutting our eyes to it any longer. Carol will never be well again.” His voice broke. “It almost seems as if I could not bear it—to think of that loveliest child doomed to lie there day after day, and suffer pain we are helpless to keep away. Merry Christmas! It gets to be the saddest day of the year to me.”

He sank into a chair by the table and buried his face in his hands.

“But, Donald, dear,” said Mrs. Bird, with trembling voice, “Christmas day may not be so merry with us as it used to be, but it is very happy—and that is better—and very blessed, and that is better yet.” She moved to sit beside him, taking his hand in hers. “I suffer chiefly for Carol’s sake, but I have almost given up being sorrowful for my own. I am too happy in the child, and I see too clearly what she has done for us and the boys.”

“That’s true, bless her sweet heart,” said Mr. Bird. “She has been better than a daily sermon in this house ever since she was born.”

“Yes. Donald and Paul and Hugh were three strong, willful, boisterous boys, but you seldom see such tenderness, such devotion, such thought for others in lads their age. Why? Because Carol would hear quarreling, and it would distress her. She is so full of love and goodness. The boys study with all their might, partly because they like to teach Carol what they’ve learned, to amuse her by telling her what they read.

“When the seamstress comes, she likes to sew in Carol’s room, because there she forgets her own troubles—which, Heaven knows, are sore enough. And as for me, Donald, I am a better woman every day for Carol’s sake. I have to be her eyes, ears, feet, hands—her strength, her hope. And she, my own little child, is my example.”

Mr. Bird raised his head and managed a smile. “I was wrong, dear heart. We should not repine, but rejoice instead, that we have an angel in the house like Carol.”

“And as for her future,” Mrs. Bird went on softly, “I think we need not be over-anxious. I feel as if she did not belong altogether to us. When she has done what God sent her for, He will take her back to Himself.” Her voice faltered. “And it may not be very long.”

Now it was Mr. Bird’s turn to comfort her, and they sat together in the firelight, holding fast to each other and to the gift they had been given—however briefly—one Christmas morning, ten years ago.

ACT II: THE BIRD’S NEST

Carol herself knew nothing of motherly tears and fatherly anxieties. She lived on peacefully in the room where she was born.

But you never would have known that room, for Mr. Bird had made it just as beautiful as it could be made.

The room had been extended by the building of a large addition that hung out over the garden below, and was so filled with windows that it might have been a conservatory. The ones on the side were nearer still to the Church of Our Saviour; those in front looked out on the beautiful harbor; and those in the back commanded a view of nothing in particular but a small alley.

Nevertheless, the back windows were the pleasantest of all to Carol, for the Ruggles family lived in the alley, and the nine Ruggles children were a source of inexhaustible interest.

The carpet was of soft grey, scattered with clusters of green bay and holly leaves. The furniture was of white wood, on which an artist had painted snow scenes and Christmas trees and groups of merry children ringing bells and singing carols. On top of the high wainscoting ran a row of illuminated pictures in narrow gilt frames, illustrating fairy tales in dull blue and gold and scarlet and silver. From the door to the closet ran “The Fair One with Golden Locks.” From closet to bookcase: “Puss in Boots.” From bookcase to fireplace: “Jack the Giant-Killer.” And on the other side of the room were “Hop O’ My Thumb,” “The Sleeping Beauty,” and “Cinderella.”

Love-birds and canaries hung in their golden houses in the windows. They, poor caged things, could hop as far from their wooden perches as Carol could venture from her little white bed.

On one side of the room was a bookcase filled with hundreds of books—books with gay pictures and books without, books with verses and books with stories, books that made children laugh and some that made them cry. This was Carol’s “Circulating Library.” Every Saturday she chose ten books and slipped cards into them that said: “Please keep this book two weeks and read it. With love, Carol Bird.”

Then Mrs. Bird stepped into her carriage and took the ten books to the Children’s Hospital, bringing home ten others that she had left there the fortnight before. Some of the Hospital children who were old enough to write sent Carol cunning little letters about the books, and she answered them, and they grew to be friends. It is very funny, but you do not always have to see people to love them. Just think about it, and see if it isn’t so.

But of all Carol’s pleasures, the Ruggles family was perhaps the greatest.

The little house at the end of the back garden had been built for Mr. Carter’s coachman, but Mr. Carter lived in Europe now, and the gentleman who rented his place didn’t care what happened to the coach-house. So this poor Irish family—nine children strong—had moved in, and Carol had discovered them.

At first, she simply watched them play in their back yard. They were so strong, so jolly, so good-natured. Then one day, when Carol had a terrible headache, Donald went out and asked them if they would please not scream quite so loud. They had been playing circus, but they explained they would be happy to change to “Deaf and Dumb School” all afternoon instead.

Carol smiled at them from the window when she was well enough to be up again. After that, Sarah Maud—the oldest—would come to her door when the children arrived home from school. If Mrs. Bird nodded “yes,” that meant Carol was very well, and the little Ruggleses would yell and play with wild abandon. But if Mrs. Bird shook her head “no,” they played quiet games instead.

One day, Cary, Carol’s pet canary, flew out of her cage. Peter Ruggles—the second oldest—caught her and brought her back. Carol had him brought up to her room to thank him, and that was the beginning of the “window-school.”

In warm weather, Carol was wheeled out on her little balcony. The Ruggleses would climb up and walk along the garden fence, then sit on the roof of the carriage-house. That brought them quite near, and Carol would read to them and tell them stories.

She learned all their names: Sarah Maud, the oldest, who helped with the washing. Peter, who was a dressmaker’s errand boy. Then came Kitty, with her bright red hair. Susan and Clement and Eily. Cornelius, who had found a lame puppy and loved it fiercely. Peoria—named because she was born in Peoria, Illinois. And finally Baby Larry, fat and cheerful and always hungry.

On Thanksgiving Day, they came up for a few minutes—it was quite warm at eleven o’clock—and Carol asked them each to tell what they were thankful for. Their answers mystified the adults. Susan was thankful for “trunks.” Cornelius for “horse-cars.” Kitty for “pork steak.”

But then Clement, very quiet and serious, brightened when his turn came. “I’m thankful for my lame puppy,” he said softly.

Papa Bird had to leave the balcony for fear of laughing—or perhaps crying. “That might teach some of us a lesson, mightn’t it?” he said later.

Now Christmas was coming, and Carol had a plan.

Uncle Jack was coming from Europe for the holidays. The whole house was electric with anticipation, but no one was more excited than Carol. Uncle Jack—dear, funny, jolly, loving, wise Uncle Jack—who came every two or three years and brought so much joy with him that the world looked black as a thunder-cloud for a week after he went away again.

The mail had brought his letter in late November:

LONDON, Nov. 28th, 188-

Wish you merry Christmas, you dearest birdlings in America!

Preen your feathers, and stretch the Birds’ nest a little, if you please, and let Uncle Jack in for the holidays. I am coming with such a trunk full of treasures that you’ll have to borrow the stockings of Barnum’s Giant and Giantess. I am coming to squeeze a certain little lady-bird until she cries for mercy. I am coming to see if I can find a boy to take care of a little black pony I bought lately. It’s the strangest thing I ever knew—I’ve hunted all over Europe, and can’t find a boy to suit me! I’ll tell you why. I’ve set my heart on finding one with a dimple in his chin, because this pony particularly likes dimples!

[At this point, Hugh had shouted “Hurrah! Bless my dear dimple; I’ll never be ashamed of it again!”]

Please drop a note to the clerk of the weather, and have a good, rousing snow-storm—say on the twenty-second. None of your meek, gentle, nonsensical, shilly-shallying snow-storms; not the sort where the flakes float lazily down from the sky as if they didn’t care whether they ever got here or not, and then melt away as soon as they touch the earth, but a regular business-like whizzing, whirring, blurring, cutting snow-storm, warranted to freeze and stay on!

I should like rather a LARGE Christmas tree, if it’s convenient—not one of those ‘sprigs,’ five or six feet high, that you used to have when the birdlings were not fairly feathered out, but a tree of some size. Set it up in the garret if necessary, and cut a hole in the roof if the tree chances to be too high for the room.

Tell Bridget to begin to fatten a turkey. By the twentieth of December, that turkey must not be able to stand on its legs for fat, and then on the next three days she must allow it to recline easily on its side, and stuff it to bursting. One ounce of stuffing beforehand is worth a pound afterwards.

The pudding must be unusually huge, and darkly, deeply, lugubriously blue-black in color. It must be stuck so full of plums that the pudding itself will ooze out into the pan and not be brought to the table at all.

And Carol must decide on the size of the tree—she knows best, she was a Christmas child. She must plead for the snow-storm—the clerk of the weather may pay some attention to her. She must look up the boy with the dimple for me—she’s likelier to find him than I am. She must advise about the turkey, and Bridget must bring the pudding to her bedside and let her drop every separate plum into it and stir it once for luck, or I’ll not eat a single slice.

For Carol is the dearest part of Christmas to Uncle Jack, and he’ll have none of it without her. She is better than all the turkeys and puddings and apples and spare-ribs and wreaths and garlands and mistletoe and stockings and chimneys and sleigh-bells in Christendom. She is the very sweetest Christmas Carol that was ever written, said, sung, or chanted, and I am coming, as fast as ships and railway trains can carry me, to tell her so.

Your loving,

Uncle Jack

Carol’s joy knew no bounds. Mr. and Mrs. Bird laughed like children and kissed each other for sheer delight. When the boys heard it, they whooped like wild Indians, until the Ruggles family gathered at their door and wondered what was “up” in the big house.

Uncle Jack did arrive on the twentieth. The snow-storm came too. And Donald came home from college with down upon his upper lip and Greek and Latin on his tongue and stories—bless me, you couldn’t turn over a chip without reminding Donald of something that happened “at College.”

One or the other was always at Carol’s bedside now, for they fancied her paler than she used to be, and could not bear her out of sight. But it was Uncle Jack who sat beside her in the winter twilights, when the room was quiet and almost dark, save for the snow-light outside and the flickering flame of the fire.

Carol’s hand—all too thin and white these latter days—lay close clasped in Uncle Jack’s, and they talked together quietly of many things.

“I want to tell you all about my plans for Christmas this year, Uncle Jack,” said Carol on the first evening of his visit. “Because it will be the loveliest one I ever had. The boys laugh at me for caring so much about it, but it isn’t altogether because it is Christmas, nor because it is my birthday. Long, long ago, when I first began to be ill, I used to think the first thing when I waked on Christmas morning: ‘Today is Christ’s birthday—and mine!’ I did not put the words close together, because that made it seem too bold. But I first thought ‘Christ’s birthday,’ and then, in a minute, softly to myself: ‘and mine.’ ‘Christ’s birthday—and mine!’

“And so I do not quite feel about Christmas as other girls do. Mama says she supposes that ever so many other children have been born on that day. I often wonder where they are, Uncle Jack, and whether it is a dear thought to them too, or whether I am so much in bed, and so often alone, that it means more to me. Oh, I do hope that none of them are poor, or cold, or hungry. And I wish—I wish they were all as happy as I, because they are my little brothers and sisters.

“Now, Uncle Jack, dear, I am going to try and make somebody happy every single Christmas that I live, and this year it is to be the Ruggleses in the rear.”

“That large and interesting brood of children in the little house at the end of the back garden?”

“Yes! Isn’t it nice to see so many together? We ought to call them the Ruggles children, of course, but Donald began talking of them as the ‘Ruggleses in the rear,’ and Papa and Mama took it up, and now we cannot seem to help it.

“Now, I’m going to give this whole Christmas to the Ruggleses. And Uncle Jack, I earned part of the money myself.”

“You, my bird? How?”

“Well, you see, it could not be my own, own Christmas if Papa gave me all the money. I thought to really keep Christ’s birthday, I ought to do something of my very own. So I talked with Mama—of course she thought of something lovely; she always does. Her idea was to let her write down, just as I told her, a description of how a little girl lived in her own room for years, and what she did to amuse herself. We sent it to a magazine and got twenty-five dollars for it. Just think!”

“Well, well!” cried Uncle Jack. “My little girl, a real author! And what are you going to do with this wonderful money of yours?”

“I shall give the nine Ruggleses a grand Christmas dinner here in this very room—that will be Papa’s contribution—and afterwards a beautiful Christmas tree, fairly blooming with presents. That will be my part, for I have been adding to my twenty-five dollars. I should like it very much if you would sit at the head of the table, Uncle Jack. Nobody could ever be frightened of you, you dearest thing that ever was! Mama is going to help us, but Papa and the boys are going to eat downstairs, for fear of making the little Ruggleses shy. And after we’ve had a merry time with the tree, we can open my window and all listen together to the music at the evening church service.”

Uncle Jack squeezed her hand and said nothing for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with feeling.

“It shall be exactly as you wish, my darling girl. Exactly as you wish.”

ACT III: THE RUGGLESES PREPARE

Before the earliest Ruggles could wake and toot his five-cent tin horn on Christmas morning, Mrs. Ruggles was up and stirring about the house. For this was a gala day in the family—gala day! Were not her nine “childern” invited to a dinner party at the great house? And weren’t they going to sit down free and equal with the mightiest in the land?

She had been preparing for this grand occasion ever since the receipt of the invitation, which had been speedily enshrined in an old photograph frame and hung under the looking-glass in the most prominent place in the kitchen, where it stared the occasional visitor directly in the eye and made him pale with envy:

BIRDS’ NEST, Dec. 17th, 188-

Dear Mrs. Ruggles,

I am going to have a dinner party on Christmas Day, and would like to have all your children come. I want them every one, please, from Sarah Maud to Baby Larry. Mama says dinner will be at half-past five, and the Christmas tree at seven, so you may expect them home at nine o’clock.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, I am,

Yours truly,

Carol Bird

Mrs. Ruggles had read that invitation so many times she could recite it backward. Now, on Christmas morning, she served a scanty breakfast—it was an excellent day for short rations, though she heaved a sigh as she reflected that even the boys, with their India-rubber stomachs, would be just as hungry the day after the party as if they’d never had any dinner at all.

As soon as the meal was over, she announced the plan of campaign.

“Now Susan, you an’ Kitty wash up the dishes. Peter, can’t you spread up the beds so I can get to cuttin’ out Larry’s new suit? I ain’t satisfied with his clothes, an’ I thought in the night of a way to make him a dress out of my old plaid shawl—kind of Scotch style, you know, with a kilt. Clem, you and Cornelius hop into bed with Larry while I wash your underflannels; it won’t take long to dry ‘em. Sarah Maud, I think it would be perfectly handsome if you ripped them brass buttons off your uncle’s old policeman’s coat an’ sewed ‘em in a row up the front of your green skirt. And there! I came mighty near forgettin’ Peory’s stockings!”

She paused dramatically and counted on her fingers.

“I counted the whole lot last night when I was washin’ of ‘em, an’ there ain’t but nineteen any way you fix ‘em, and no nine pairs match nohow. An’ I ain’t goin’ to have my childern wear odd stockings to a dinner party, brought up as I was! Eily, run out and ask Mrs. Cullen to lend me a pair of stockings for Peory, an’ tell her if she will, Peory’ll give Jim half her candy when she gets home. Won’t you, Peory?”

Peoria, being young and greedy, thought the remedy worse than the disease and set up a deafening howl at the projected bargain. Her mother started in her direction with flashing eye and uplifted hand, but let it fall suddenly.

“No, I vowed I wouldn’t lick ye Christmas Day, even if you drive me crazy. But speak up smart now an’ say whether you’d rather give Tim Cullen half your candy or go bare-legged to the party?”

The matter being put so plainly, Peoria collected her faculties, dried her tears, and chose the lesser evil—Clem having hastened the decision by an affectionate wink that meant he’d go halves with her on his candy.

“That’s a lady,” cried her mother. “Now, you young ones that ain’t doin’ nothin’, play all you want before noontime. But after you get through eatin’ at twelve o’clock, me an’ Sarah Maud’s goin’ to give you such a washin’ and combin’ and dressin’ as you never had before an’ never will again. An’ then I’m goin’ to set you down an’ give you two solid hours’ trainin’ in manners. An’ it won’t be no foolin’, neither.”

“All we’ve got to do is go eat!” grumbled Peter.

“Well, that’s enough,” responded his mother sharply. “There’s more than one way of eatin’, let me tell you, Peter Ruggles. Lord sakes, I wish you childern could see the way I was fetched up to eat. Never took a meal of vittles in the kitchen before I married Ruggles. But you can’t keep up that style with nine young ones an’ your Pa always off to sea.”

The big Ruggleses worked so well, and the little Ruggleses kept from “under foot” so successfully, that by one o’clock nine complete toilets were laid out in solemn grandeur on the beds. The law of compensation had been well applied: he that had necktie had no cuffs; she that had sash had no handkerchief. But they all had boots and a certain amount of clothing, the outside layer being in every case quite above criticism.

“Now, Sarah Maud,” said Mrs. Ruggles, her face shining with excitement, “everything is ready an’ we can begin. I’ve got a boiler an’ a kettle an’ a pot of hot water. Peter, you go into the back bedroom. I’ll take Susan, Kitty, Peory, and Cornelius. An’ Sarah Maud, you take Clem, Eily, and Larry, one at a time, an’ get as fur as you can with ‘em. Then I’ll finish ‘em off while you do yourself.”

Sarah Maud scrubbed with decision and force, and the little Ruggleses bore it bravely—not from natural heroism, but for the joy that was set before them. Not being satisfied, however, with the “tone” of their complexions, she wound up operations by applying a little Bristol brick from the knife-board. This served as the proverbial last straw, and the little Ruggleses emerged rather red and raw and out of temper.

When the clock struck three, they were all clothed and mostly in their right minds, ready for those last touches that always take the most time. Kitty’s red hair was curled in thirty-four ringlets. Sarah Maud’s was braided in one thick pigtail. Susan’s and Eily’s were done in two braids apiece. Peoria’s hair resisted all advances in the shape of hair oils and stuck out straight on all sides, like that of the Circassian girl in the circus—so Clem said, and he was sent into the bedroom for it, too, only to be dragged out forgivingly by Peoria five minutes later.

Then came linen collars for some and neckties and bows for others, and—eureka!—the Ruggleses were dressed! Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

A row of seats was formed directly through the middle of the kitchen. There were not quite chairs enough for ten, since the family rarely wanted to sit down at once, somebody always being out or in bed. But the wood-box and the coal-hod finished out the line nicely.

The children took their places according to age—Sarah Maud at the head and Larry on the coal-hod. Mrs. Ruggles seated herself in front, surveying them proudly as she wiped the sweat of honest toil from her brow.

“Well,” she exclaimed, “if I do say so as shouldn’t, I never have seen a cleaner, more stylish mess of childern in my life! I do wish Ruggles could look at you for a minute!

“Now, I’ve often told you what kind of family the McGrills was. I’ve got some reason to be proud. Your uncle is on the police force of New York City—you can take up the newspaper ‘most any day an’ see his name printed right out: ‘James McGrill.’ An’ I can’t have my childern fetched up common, like some folks’. When they go out, they’ve got to have clothes and learn to act decent!

“Now, I want to see how you’re goin’ to behave when you get there tonight. Let’s start in at the beginnin’ an’ act out the whole business. Pile into the bedroom, every last one of you, an’ show me how you’re goin’ into the parlor. This’ll be the parlor, an’ I’ll be Mrs. Bird.”

Mrs. Ruggles drew herself up in her chair with an infinitely haughty and purse-proud expression that would have surprised modest Mrs. Bird.

The bedroom was small, and there presently ensued such a clatter that you would have thought a herd of wild cattle had broken loose. The door opened, and they straggled in—all the little ones giggling, with Sarah Maud at the head looking as if she’d been caught stealing sheep. Larry, being last in line, seemed to think the door a sort of gate of heaven which would be shut in his face if he didn’t get there in time. He struggled ahead of his elders and disgraced himself by tumbling in headfirst.

Mrs. Ruggles looked severe. “There! I knew you’d do it in some such fool way. Try it again, an’ if Larry can’t come in on two legs, he can stay to home!”

The matter began to assume a graver aspect. The little Ruggleses stopped giggling and backed into the bedroom, issuing presently with lockstep, Indian file, a scared and hunted expression on every face.

“No, no, NO!” cried Mrs. Ruggles in despair. “You look for all the world like a gang of prisoners! There ain’t no style to that. Spread out more, can’t you, an’ act kind of careless-like. Nobody’s goin’ to kill you!”

The third time brought deserved success, and the pupils took their seats in the row.

“Now, you know,” said Mrs. Ruggles, “there ain’t enough decent hats to go round, an’ if there was I don’t know as I’d let you wear ‘em, for the boys would never think to take ‘em off when they got inside. So here’s what you’ll say. You needn’t wear no hats, none of you. An’ when you get into the parlor an’ they ask you to lay off your hats, Sarah Maud must speak up an’ say it was such a pleasant evenin’ an’ such a short walk that you left your hats to home. Now, can you remember?”

All the little Ruggleses shouted “Yes, ma’am!” in chorus.

“What have you got to do with it?” demanded their mother. “Did I tell YOU to say it? Wasn’t I talkin’ to Sarah Maud?”

The little Ruggleses hung their diminished heads. “Yes, ma’am,” they piped more feebly.

“Now get up, all of you, an’ try it. Speak up, Sarah Maud.”

Sarah Maud’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.

“Quick!”

“Ma thought—it was—such a pleasant hat that we’d—we’d better leave our short walk to home,” recited Sarah Maud in an agony of mental effort.

This was too much for the boys. They exploded in laughter.

“Oh, whatever shall I do with you?” moaned the unhappy mother. “I suppose I’ve got to learn it to you!”

Which she did, word for word, until Sarah Maud could have stood on her head and said it backward.

“Now, Cornelius, what are YOU goin’ to say to make yourself good company?”

“Dunno!” said Cornelius, turning pale.

“Well, you ain’t goin’ to set there like a bump on a log without sayin’ a word to pay for your vittles, are you? Ask Mrs. Bird how she’s feelin’ this evenin’, or if Mr. Bird’s havin’ a busy season, or somethin’ like that.

“Now we’ll make believe we’ve got to the dinner. That won’t be so hard, ‘cause you’ll have somethin’ to do—it’s awful bothersome to stand round an’ act stylish. If they have napkins, Sarah Maud down to Peory may put ‘em in their laps, an’ the rest of you can tuck ‘em in your necks. Don’t eat with your fingers. Don’t grab no vittles off one another’s plates. Don’t reach out for nothin’, but wait till you’re asked. An’ if you never GET asked, don’t get up and grab it.

“Now, we’ll try a few things to see how they’ll go. Mr. Clement, do you eat cranberry sauce?”

“Bet yer life!” cried Clem, not having taken in the idea exactly.

“Clement Ruggles! Do you mean to tell me you’d say that to a dinner party? I’ll give you one more chance. Mr. Clement, will you take some of the cranberry?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank ye kindly, if you happen to have any handy.”

“Very good, indeed! Mr. Peter, do you speak for white or dark meat?”

“I ain’t particular as to color—anything that nobody else wants will suit me,” answered Peter with his best air.

“First-rate! Nobody could speak more genteel than that. Miss Kitty, will you have hard or soft sauce with your puddin’?”

“A little of both, if you please, an’ I’m much obliged,” said Kitty with decided ease and grace.

At which all the other Ruggleses pointed the finger of shame at her, and Peter grunted expressively.

“You just stop your gruntin’, Peter Ruggles! That was all right. I wish I could get it into your heads that it ain’t so much what you say as the WAY you say it.

“Eily, you an’ Larry’s too little to train, so you just look at the rest an’ do as they do, an’ the Lord have mercy on you an’ help you to act decent!

“Now, is there anything more you’d like to practice?”

“If you tell me one more thing, I can’t set up an’ eat,” said Peter gloomily. “I’m so cram full of manners now I’m ready to bust, ‘thout no dinner at all.”

“Me too,” chimed in Cornelius.

“Well, I’m sorry for you both,” rejoined Mrs. Ruggles sarcastically. “If the amount of manners you’ve got on hand now troubles you, you’re dreadful easy hurt!

“Now, Sarah Maud, after dinner, about once in so often, you must say, ‘I guess we’d better be goin’.’ An’ if they say, ‘Oh no, set a while longer,’ you can stay. But if they don’t say nothin’, you’ve got to get up an’ go. Can you remember?”

“About once in so often!” Could any words in the language be fraught with more terrible and wearing uncertainty?

“Well,” answered Sarah Maud mournfully, “seems as if this whole dinner party sets right square on top of me! Maybe I could manage my own manners, but to manage nine mannerses is worse than stayin’ to home!”

“Oh, don’t fret,” said her mother good-naturedly. “I guess you’ll get along. I wouldn’t mind if folks would only say, ‘Oh, childern will be childern.’ But they won’t. They’ll say, ‘Land o’ Goodness, who fetched them childern up?’

“Now it’s quarter past five. You can go. An’ whatever you do, don’t forget your mother was a McGrill!”

The children went out the back door quietly and were presently lost to sight in the snowy twilight. Sarah Maud slipped and stumbled along, reciting under her breath: “It—was—such—a—pleasant—evenin’—an’—such—a—short—walk—we—thought—we’d—leave—our—hats—to—home.”

Peter rang the doorbell, and presently a servant admitted them. She whispered something in Sarah Maud’s ear and drew her downstairs into the kitchen. The other Ruggleses stood in horror-stricken groups as the door closed behind their commanding officer.

But there was no time for reflection, for a voice from above was heard saying, “Come right upstairs, please!”

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do or die.

Accordingly, they walked upstairs, and Elfrida, the nurse, ushered them into a room more splendid than anything they had ever seen.

But oh, woe! Where was Sarah Maud?

And was it Fate that Mrs. Bird should say at once, “Did you lay your hats in the hall?”

Peter felt himself elected by circumstance the head of the family. Casting one imploring look at tongue-tied Susan standing next to him, he said huskily, “It was so very pleasant—that—that—”

“That we hadn’t good hats enough to go round,” put in little Susan bravely, trying to help him out—and then froze with horror that the ill-fated words had slipped off her tongue.

However, Mrs. Bird said pleasantly, “Of course you wouldn’t wear hats such a short distance—I forgot when I asked. Now, will you come right in to Miss Carol’s room? She is so anxious to see you.”

Just then Sarah Maud came up the back stairs, so radiant with joy from her secret interview with the cook that Peter could have pinched her with a clear conscience.

Carol gave them all a joyful welcome. “But where is Baby Larry?” she cried, looking over the group with searching eye. “Didn’t he come?”

“Larry! Larry!” Good gracious, where WAS Larry?

They were all sure he had come in with them, for Susan remembered scolding him for tripping over the doormat. Uncle Jack went into convulsions of laughter.

“Are you sure there were nine of you?” he asked merrily.

“I think so, sir,” said Peoria timidly, “but anyhow, there was Larry.” And she showed signs of weeping.

“Oh, well, cheer up!” cried Uncle Jack. “I guess he’s not lost—only mislaid. I’ll go find him before you can say Jack Robinson!”

“I’ll go too, if you please, sir,” said Sarah Maud, suddenly remembering her responsibilities. “For it was my place to mind him, an’ if he’s lost I can’t relish my vittles!”

The truth was that Larry, being deserted by his natural guardian, had dropped behind the rest and wriggled into the hat-tree to wait for her, having no notion of walking unprotected into the jaws of a dinner party. Finding that she did not come, he tried to crawl from his refuge and call somebody, when—dark and dreadful ending to a tragic day—he found that he was too much intertwined with umbrellas and canes to move a single step.

He was afraid to yell. When I have said this of Larry Ruggles, I have pictured a state of helpless terror that ought to wring tears from every eye.

The sound of Sarah Maud’s beloved voice some seconds later was like a strain of angel music in his ears. Uncle Jack dried his tears, carried him upstairs, and soon had him in breathless fits of laughter.

The other Ruggleses, meanwhile, stood rooted to the floor. Was this a dinner party, forsooth? And if so, why were such things ever spoken of as festive occasions?

But Carol, bless her heart, soon had them all talking and laughing. By the time Larry arrived, pink-cheeked and restored, they had forgotten to be afraid.

END PART 1

I have had this book on my mind for several years. It began as a seed planted right here in this newsletter, and I want to thank you for staying interested, reading, and commenting as it grew. This year, I decided to “mine” those past posts—from Shelty to Nourished by Grace—to create this expanded, 44-page illustrated edition of Hockey Nets.

This is a story for children and parents alike. It is a mirror for our relationships and a guide for those who have been betrayed, hurt, or tempted by bitterness. Most of us have experienced the pain of being the “cast-out”—the one standing on the curb while others play. Yet, we must also recognize the “oppressors”—those who penalize others to climb the social ladder. In the book, Ricky and Robbie’s choice to lie was their way of climbing, but it left them in a position where they needed a forgiveness they didn’t yet know how to ask for.

As we complete our Christmas season and head into a new year and a new tomorrow, we reflect on the ultimate gift: that God loved His creation so much that He gave His only begotten Son while we were yet sinners. His grace is the only thing that severs the Gordian Knot of sin—that impossible tangle of human failure and pride that we cannot untie on our own.

However, there is a part we must play in this divine action. Without the act of asking for that forgiveness, the knot remains. We can spend the rest of our lives—and our strength—exhausting ourselves trying to untie what cannot be untied by human hands, only to continue in the cycle of sin. In the legend, Alexander the Great used a sword to cut the knot; in our lives, Christ uses the cross to sever the ties that bind us to our past. But the moment we ask, the sword falls, and the knot is severed.

Once that which was bound is set free, we find ourselves bound to a new purpose: forgiving others the way Christ did for us. Greg’s journey in this book reflects this freedom—the choice to forgive despite what he went through, because he understood that grace is a gift meant to be passed on.

Start the New Year with a Story of Grace

I invite you to bring this message into your home. Hockey Nets is more than a sports story; it is a tool for teaching the character and compassion that our world so desperately needs.

[Button: Buy “Hockey Nets” on Amazon] (Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GCLGBMTM)

You can also explore the other “mined” stories and publications that have grown out of this newsletter community by visiting my author page:

[Button: Visit the jmacwrites Author Page] (Link: https://www.amazon.com/stores/jmacwrites/author/B0FHSJ28NM)

Thank you for walking this path with me. Here’s to a new year, a new tomorrow, and the grace that makes us complete in Christ.

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Disclaimer on Content Use

This essay is provided solely for the purpose of academic discussion, thought provocation, and debate. It is not intended to serve as medical advice, or to be used for the diagnosis, treatment, or assessment of any mental or medical condition, including depression or mental illness.

If you are experiencing symptoms of mental illness or distress, please seek consultation with a qualified healthcare professional or counselor for an appropriate diagnosis and care.

Reliance on the information presented here for personal diagnosis is strictly discouraged.

PART 2: THE EVIDENCE AND APPLICATION

In Part 1, we discovered that jealousy and envy are not the same thing—and that the difference matters more than we realized. Jealousy protects what’s already ours; it seeks to preserve and restore. Envy resents what belongs to others; it seeks to possess or destroy. We saw this pattern in Scripture (the two mothers before Solomon, Cain and Abel) and in literature (Gabriel Oak’s patient love versus Othello’s murderous rage).

But here’s the question: How do you know which one you’re feeling?

Let’s start by seeing what psychology reveals...

WHAT PSYCHOLOGY REVEALS ABOUT US

As some ministers seek to understand God and engage in deeper thought and application of His word to their lives, while others choose to live in the form of godliness and the favor of man, so also does psychology seek to understand man and the society where he lives, and how he reacts in that society and the relationships he has. Each can give the other complementary thoughts and perspectives as they study man and society together: the one studies man, society, and godly relationships; the other studies man, society, and interpersonal relationships.

The science of studying man can reveal whether we are humble and abundant in our understanding of who we are and who we can become—good or evil. Let’s look at the psychology of jealousy and envy and see what they reveal about the human condition in each of us. This might help us understand that this is in each of us, from birth to the grave. Or can we be permanently delivered from the evil and keep the good? Or is this simply a black-and-white failure in mankind?

I’m not convinced, as some are, that jealousy can transform; instead, it’s more a choice than a transformation. The choice theory might come from the understanding that love and destruction are organic to our souls because of the depravity of man. If choice is a valid theory, that would parallel the Christian doctrine of free will. And the understanding, empathy, and compassion that “there by the grace of God go I.”

Remember that the distinction between the protective nature of jealousy and the destructive nature of envy is well established in psychology and may serve as a pillar for our analysis. Just as a farmer can learn from plant biology without becoming a scientist, Christians can glean insights from psychology without abandoning their faith. The farmer brings practical experience to the academic needs; the believer brings spiritual wisdom, but the psychologist may lack. Each discipline enriches the other.

Where Envy Begins: The Earliest Roots

The question of where envy starts in human development has been raised by psychoanalysis. Melanie Klein, in her work Envy and Gratitude, argues that destructive envy is rooted in the earliest infancy. She suggests the baby is happy when he receives the nourishment on time. However, if there is no milk or the breast is dry, it can create frustration in the child, stemming from the child’s inability to control the situation or environment. This leads to a deep-seated desire not just to possess the goodness, but to spoil or destroy its source. The child may bite or tear at the breast nipple or spit out the milk. This symbolizes spoil or destroy. Later, the infant learns to hide his or her feelings for self-preservation. And because of guilt, understands the good breast/bad breast person is a person and a single person.

Since envy is a socially toxic emotion, adults cannot openly express the primitive, destructive impulses Klein observed in infancy. Instead, we hide our desire to spoil others’ goodness behind sophisticated psychological and social defense mechanisms.

The individualistic psychology of Alfred Adler links envy to deep-seated feelings of inferiority. Adler wrote that envy “is the chief cause of unhappiness, and the hidden root of most of the hatred and enmity which exist in the world.” This suggests that Iago’s envy, Othello’s wounded pride, and even Cain’s anger are manifestations of a perceived deficit or personal inadequacy compared to the successful other (Cassio, Desdemona, Abel).

The Fork in the Road

When we feel inferior—when we’re confronted with someone who has what we want, who is what we wish we were, who threatens our sense of adequacy—we stand at a fork in the road. Adler saw this clearly: the same feeling of inferiority can drive us toward growth or toward destruction.

Path 1: Jealousy as Motivation (The Healthy Response)

This is what Adler called healthy striving for superiority—not superiority over others, but becoming superior to your former self. When you feel that burning sensation because someone has something you want, jealousy can say: “I want to be worthy of having that too. What do I need to change? How do I need to grow?”

Consider a husband who notices his wife’s eyes light up when she talks about a male colleague at work. The colleague is ambitious, asks about her day, and remembers details she shares. The husband feels a burning in his chest. He’s standing at the fork:

He can choose jealousy: “I love her too much to lose her through my own neglect. When’s the last time I asked about her work? When’s the last time I really listened? I need to become a better husband.” This burning sensation becomes fuel for positive change. His jealousy for their marriage motivates him to grow.

Or he can choose envy: “How dare she admire him. I’m her husband. She should appreciate me as I am. That guy is probably a fake anyway.” This leads to control, criticism, and the slow poisoning of the marriage. His envy protects his ego but destroys the relationship.

The same initial feeling—two completely different outcomes.

Path 2: Envy as Compensation (The Inferiority Complex)

When feelings of inferiority become unbearable, Adler observed that people develop what he called an inferiority complex—a deep-seated conviction that they are fundamentally inadequate. This creates what looks like the opposite: a superiority complex. The person begins to tear others down to build themselves up.

This is envy in its purest form. The person cannot tolerate the gap between where they are and where the successful person is. But instead of working to close that gap through growth (jealousy), they work to eliminate the gap by destroying the other person’s success (envy).

Think back to Cain. His offering wasn’t accepted. Abel’s was. Cain felt inferior—and that feeling was accurate. His offering was inferior. God even gave him a choice: “If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted?” In other words: “Cain, you can respond to this inferiority by doing better. Improve your offering. The path is open.”

But Cain couldn’t tolerate that path. The inferiority was too painful. So rather than grow, he destroyed. Rather than become worthy of acceptance, he eliminated the person who was accepted. Envy took root because he wouldn’t let jealousy motivate growth.

Why Jealousy Can Motivate Growth

Righteous jealousy looks at the gap and says, “This matters too much to lose it through my own failures.” It’s inherently other-focused:

• “I want to be worthy of this marriage”

• “I want to serve this mission well”

• “I want to honor this calling”

• “I want to become the kind of person who deserves this blessing”

This creates what Adler called healthy striving—the engine of human growth and excellence. Every great achievement begins with someone feeling inferior to a standard and working to meet it. Every improved marriage begins with a spouse recognizing they’re failing and choosing to grow. Every spiritual breakthrough begins when someone realizes they’re not close enough to God and pursues Him more intentionally.

Gabriel Oak embodied this. When Bathsheba rejected him, he felt that inferiority keenly. But his jealousy for her welfare (not his ego) motivated him to become exactly the kind of man she would need: steady when she was impulsive, practical when she was romantic, faithful when others abandoned her. He didn’t demand she recognize his superiority. He simply became superior to his former self—and eventually, she recognized it.

Why Envy Cannot Motivate Growth

Envy, by contrast, is self-focused. It looks at the gap and says, “This is unfair. I deserve this. They don’t.” It cannot motivate growth because it denies there’s a legitimate reason for the gap:

• “I’m already a good husband; she’s just ungrateful.”

• “I built this company; they should appreciate me.”

• “I’m spiritual enough; they’re just showing off”

Where there’s no acknowledgment of a deficit, there can be no growth. Envy protects the ego by blaming others, but it traps the person in stagnation.

Iago perfectly illustrates this. He felt inferior to Cassio (who got the promotion) and Othello (who had success and love). But he never once asked: “What could I learn from them? How could I grow?” Instead, he devoted his considerable intelligence to tearing them down. He ended the play in exactly the same place he started—bitter, inferior, and now exposed.

The Test

So when you feel that burning sensation—when someone has what you want, when someone threatens your adequacy, when the gap between you and them feels unbearable—ask yourself:

“Am I willing to let this feeling show me where I need to grow? Or am I going to protect my ego by tearing them down?”

That’s the difference between jealousy and envy. Same starting point. Two completely different paths.

Envy as the Love of Death

The psychoanalyst Erich Fromm defines malicious envy as a manifestation of the desire for destruction. Fromm distinguishes between the love of life (biophilia) and the love of death (necrophilia). Malicious envy is intrinsically tied to the necrophilous character, who is drawn to that which is destructive. This explains the self-destructive spiral of figures like Judas, who, after betraying the purest good, is so consumed by his destructive act that the spirit turns inward, leading to his suicide. The goal of the envy was not profit, but destruction.

But again, as we grow, our envy grows with us like the gourd covering Jonah’s head. His envy ruled over him because of rank and power. He said that God would destroy Nineveh in so many days, and God had mercy. It made Jonah impotent. Envy grew in him over time. He knew God would spare Nineveh.

So, as said before, envy isn’t socially acceptable. But, like that vine or poison ivy, it must grow and attach itself but look like part of the tree. It derives its power from another source, another root. But clings to the tree. And over time, it will consume the light from the tree, and the tree will die, but remain standing with nothing left but poison ivy. It reaches across the sky to another tree or sends up another root near a tree to climb. Therefore, envy must hide to survive.

Jealousy as Protection: The Evolutionary Perspective

In contrast to envy’s destructive nature, evolutionary psychology recognizes jealousy as a necessary and protective mechanism. Leading evolutionary psychologist David Buss views jealousy as an evolved mechanism that alerts an individual to relationship threats and helps maintain the social bond. Buss explains, “Jealousy is an evolutionarily selected emotion because it alerts the individual to potential threats to a valuable relationship. It deters infidelity and abandonment.” This perspective fully validates the protective, “stewardship” function we see in Gabriel Oak and in God’s covenant with humanity.

Contemporary psychologist Jordan Peterson summarizes the difference, explaining that jealousy arises from a fear of losing something you already possess, while envy is the malicious desire for someone else’s misfortune—the “wish that they didn’t have what they had.”

So psychology confirms what Scripture has been teaching all along: There’s a world of difference between protecting what’s yours (jealousy) and wanting to destroy what belongs to another (envy).

Now let me show you how this plays out in everyday life—because envy is everywhere, but it’s almost always in disguise.

HOW ENVY HIDES IN PLAIN SIGHT

Humans, in society, whether in small groups or large groups, will show these patterns. Perhaps you remember scents of envy or jealousy in high school, college, your job, church, or volunteer organizations.

So from infancy to adulthood to the grave, we can grow envy and hide it. Here are some examples of how envy disguises itself:

1. Backhanded Compliments (Spoiling the Goodness)

Example: “That promotion is fantastic! It’s too bad you’ll never see your family now, but at least the title looks good on paper.”

Goal: To diminish the joy, proving that the envied object (the promotion) is not as perfect or valuable as it seems.

2. Destructive Gossip and Criticism (The Mask of Moral Outrage)

As we mentioned earlier, envy often hides behind the mask of injustice. If a person’s success can’t be spoiled directly, the envious spirit tries to spoil their reputation or character.

Example: When a colleague wins a major award, the envious person doesn’t praise the work but instead spreads rumors about favoritism, saying, “They only got that because they’re friends with the boss. The system is rigged.”

Goal: To replace the narrative of merit with a narrative of corruption or cheating, thus justifying why the envied person is undeserving and therefore should be torn down (the Mask of Moral Outrage).

3. Emotional Coldness and Withdrawal (Inferiority)

This is the defensive response rooted in deep inferiority. If the envious person feels too inadequate in the face of the other’s success, they choose to distance themselves entirely rather than genuinely share in the joy.

Example: A close friend gets engaged, but the envious friend becomes suddenly busy, avoids the topic, or offers a brief, flat “congrats” without enthusiasm, failing to ask any follow-up questions.

Goal: To minimize exposure to the envied success to minimize their own internal pain, often leading to the breakdown of the relationship.

4. Celebrating Misfortune (Schadenfreude)

This is the purest, darkest fruit of destructive envy. The envious person feels relief and a sense of superiority when the envied person suffers a loss, a failure, or a setback.

Example: “I told you that the new business was too risky. Remember how excited they were? Well, they got what they deserved for being so arrogant.”

Goal: The destruction of the good thing temporarily validates the envious person’s negative feelings and restores their feeling of power or correctness.

5. The Comment: “I’m Glad I’m Not Smart”

This statement is a direct attempt to diminish the value of the envied quality (intelligence and thorough preparation). It is an act of rationalization and minimization.

The Envy Trigger: The speaker feels inferior when confronted with a complex, well-studied thought that they couldn’t produce themselves. This exposure causes pain.

The Spoiling Action: Instead of accepting the intelligence, the speaker reframes it as a liability or a burden. By saying “I’m glad I’m not smart,” the speaker implies that being “smart” comes with an implied negative cost (e.g., being a bore, being overly analytical, or perhaps being socially awkward).

The Result: The value of the envied accomplishment is internally spoiled. The speaker protects their feeling of self-worth by concluding: “I may not be smart, but I possess the better state (happiness/simplicity), and they possess the worse state (intelligence/burden).”

6. The Comment: “One Can Be So Heavenly Minded That They Can Be No Earthly Good”

This is a very powerful defense because it uses a moral or pious veneer to hide the envy, aligning perfectly with the Mask of Moral Outrage.

The Envy Trigger: The speaker is confronted by the envied person’s deep spiritual dedication, commitment to study, or profound knowledge, which makes the speaker feel spiritually or intellectually shallow by comparison (Adler’s inferiority).

The Spoiling Action: The envy is cloaked in the language of practical, down-to-earth criticism. The speaker doesn’t attack the truth of the deep thought; they attack its utility. They claim the other person is excessive or unbalanced, therefore making their high dedication useless to the community.

The Result: The envious person elevates their own position—the “earthly good” practitioner—as the true ideal, while the deeply thoughtful person is dismissed as a well-meaning but ultimately incompetent idealist. This destroys the envied person’s goodness (their devotion) by attacking their character (being “no earthly good”).

In both cases, the core motivation is the same as the false mother’s demand to “divide it” or Iago’s need to destroy Othello’s reputation: If I cannot possess the goodness (the intelligence/the dedication), I must spoil it for the person who does.

WHEN YOU’RE THE TARGET OF ENVY

But what do you do when YOU’RE the one being targeted by someone else’s envy?

This is where the picture gets more complicated, and where withdrawal—which we just identified as one of the disguises of envy—can actually be wisdom rather than sin.

The Triad That’s Really a Dyad

Here’s a situation many have faced: You work under a manager who reports to a senior leader—a CEO, superintendent, bishop, or fire chief. You’re good at your job. The senior leader notices. He values what you bring to the mission. You have a growing relationship with him through your work.

But your manager feels threatened. He’s been climbing the corporate ladder methodically. He’s worked for this. And now he sees the senior leader showing fondness for you, seeking your input, and valuing your contributions. That burning sensation hits him.

On the surface, this looks like a triangle: Senior Leader, Manager, You. But it’s really a dyad—just you and your manager, locked in a comparison he’s created in his own mind. The senior leader isn’t choosing between you; he’s just appreciating your work. But your manager experiences it as a zero-sum game.

The Envious Manager’s Strategy

Now watch what happens. Your manager has a project coming up—a product launch, a major initiative, something visible. You have a talent in this area. Maybe it’s an old skill, perhaps it’s something you bring from previous experience, but you could contribute significantly.

But your manager doesn’t want your contribution. He wants your exclusion.

So he creates a team. He gives special attention to other employees. He brings together people who will be solely dedicated to him and help him climb that ladder. And you? You’re quietly left out. Not because you lack the talent—but precisely because you have it. Your success would threaten his narrative. Your contribution would complicate his climb.

The exclusion is subtle. There’s always a plausible reason. “We needed someone with X background.” “The team was already full.” “We’re going a different direction.” But you can feel it. That cold shoulder. That deliberate overlooking.

You’re experiencing someone else’s envy, and it’s filling your well with dirt.

The Abraham Response: Withdrawal as Wisdom

In Genesis 26, we read about Isaac (Abraham’s son, but the pattern was Abraham’s before him). The Philistines envied his prosperity. So what did they do? They filled his wells with dirt. Wells he had dug. Wells that were producing water. Wells his household needed.

Isaac could have fought. He could have demanded his rights. He could have made it a battle. But instead, he withdrew. He moved on. He dug another well. They filled that one, too. He dug another. And another. Until finally, he found a place where there was no opposition, and he called it Rehoboth—”room.” “For now the LORD hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.”

This withdrawal wasn’t envy. It was wisdom.

When you’re the target of someone else’s envy, sometimes the wisest response is to step back, not out of bitterness. Not to sabotage them. Not to create distance because you resent their success. But focus your energy where it can actually bear fruit.

You can’t control your manager’s envy. You can’t make him see you differently. You can’t force your way onto his team. Those things are out of your control—just like Isaac couldn’t stop the Philistines from filling his wells.

But you can control where you dig the next well.

How to Tell the Difference

Here’s the crucial question: Is your withdrawal motivated by envy or by wisdom?

Withdrawal from envy looks like:

• “If I can’t be on that team, I hope the project fails”

• Quietly sabotaging their efforts

• Gossiping about the manager’s incompetence

• Refusing to help even when directly asked

• Bitter satisfaction if the project struggles

• Nursing the grievance and letting it poison other relationships

Withdrawal from wisdom looks like:

• “This is out of my control. I’ll focus on what I can do”

• Continuing to do excellent work in your actual role

• Being willing to help if asked, without resentment

• Praying for the project’s success (because it serves the mission)

• Quietly building in another area where there’s room to be fruitful

• Trusting God with the outcome and your reputation

The fruit reveals the root. If your withdrawal is producing bitterness, gossip, and a desire for their failure—that’s envy. If it’s producing focus, fruitfulness in another area, and freedom from the need for vindication—that’s wisdom.

When to Dig Another Well

Sometimes the wise response is exactly this: sensing the dynamic, withdrawing from that particular sphere, and focusing on the work you can actually do. Building your well somewhere else.

This isn’t giving up. It’s not cowardice. It’s not letting them win. It’s recognizing that some battles aren’t yours to fight, and some wells aren’t yours to defend.

The senior leader will eventually see the fruit. Or he won’t. Your manager will eventually succeed or self-destruct. Or the whole organization will change, and it won’t matter. But in the meantime, you have a choice: spend your energy fighting to stay in a place where you’re being actively excluded, or spend that same energy building something fruitful elsewhere.

Isaac dug well after well. Most got filled in by envious neighbors. But the last one—Rehoboth—that’s the one that mattered. That’s where God made room.

The Caution

Here’s the one warning about withdrawal: make sure it really is out of your control.

If the exclusion is based on legitimate feedback about your performance, character, or fit—that’s not envy targeting you. That’s the information you need. Run it through the diagnostics. Is there truth here? Do you need to grow?

But if you’ve honestly examined yourself, sought counsel from people who will tell you the truth, and the exclusion still doesn’t make sense except as threatened insecurity on their part—then yes, sometimes the wisest response is to dig another well. Digging another well might not mean leaving. It might mean enduring and finding value where you are, and finding peace.

A Prayer for the Targeted

If you’re being targeted by someone’s envy right now, these prayers might help:

A prayer for understanding:

“God, I don’t know if this exclusion is my fault or theirs. Show me if I need to change. But if this is their envy and not my failure, give me the wisdom to know when to stay and when to withdraw. Give me the grace to dig another well without bitterness. And protect my heart from letting their envy turn into my envy. Help me trust You with my reputation, my advancement, and my fruitfulness. Make room for me where You want me to be. Let me be faithful in building, whether they notice or not. Amen.”

Or this simpler prayer:

“Father, if these hurts I feel are a result of my own doing, show me when, where, and how to change. If they are from others, please forgive them so that they will find humility. But in either case, please remove the mountains that are out of my control between all of us. Amen.”

A WARNING TO LEADERS

We’ve just talked about what to do when you’re the target of someone else’s envy. But what if you’re the leader who has the power to stop it—or the leader who’s permitting it?

In Revelation, the church at Thyatira lost its candlestick—its very purpose as a light to the world—because the minister permitted Jezebel to teach. The rebuke was to the leader: “thou sufferest that woman Jezebel.” But the punishment fell on the whole congregation. When a leader tolerates what destroys, the entire organization loses its mission.

This serves as a sobering warning: a leader who permits envy or toxic personalities can cause the organization to lose its original mission entirely. Like leaven working through the whole lump, the envious spirit doesn’t stay contained. It becomes self-consuming—undermining the very mission the leader is trying to fulfill.

Think of Haman in Scripture, who sought advancement at the expense of Mordecai’s dignity. Think of the manager in our workplace example who excludes talented people to build his own kingdom within the organization. The worship leader who competes with the pastor. The board member who undermines leadership to prove their own superiority.

If you’re a leader, you face this choice daily: Do you protect the mission by confronting envy, even when it’s uncomfortable? Or do you permit it for the sake of peace, personal advancement, or approval?

The minister who permits Jezebel receives the rebuke. But the church loses the candlestick. Leadership failure has corporate consequences.

This is what Mike Harrison was facing. Not just a business decision, but a test of whether he would permit envy (his own and others’) to destroy what he’d built.

And it’s what brings us to the crucial question: How do we recognize it in ourselves?

THE SIX DIAGNOSTICS: HOW TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE

Whether you’re examining your own heart, recognizing envy in others, responding to being targeted, or leading through it, these six tests can help you discern jealousy from envy.

Run your feelings through these six tests:

1. The Ownership Test

Ask yourself: “What exactly am I fighting for—something entrusted to my care, or something I want for myself?”

Jealousy says: “This relationship, this mission, this responsibility was entrusted to me, and I’m protecting it.”

Envy says: “I deserve this position, this recognition, this success more than they do.”

2. The Outcome Test

Ask yourself: “What am I hoping will happen—restoration and preservation, or acquisition and vindication?”

Jealousy says: “I want to preserve what’s valuable and restore what’s broken.”

Envy says: “I want to prove I was right, get what I deserve, or see them fail.”

3. The Relationship Test

Ask yourself: “How is this affecting my relationships—am I seeking to restore and strengthen connections, or am I willing to damage relationships to get what I want?”

Jealousy says: “I’ll fight for this relationship even when I have to fight against harmful behaviors.”

Envy says: “I’ll sacrifice this relationship if it means I win or they lose.”

4. The Pride Test

Ask yourself: “Is this about my reputation and recognition, or about something bigger than myself?”

Jealousy says: “I can be invisible in this story if the mission succeeds.”

Envy says: “I need people to know this was my idea, my work, my contribution.”

5. The Fruit Test

Ask yourself: “What is this emotion actually producing in my life and in others—construction or destruction, unity or division, growth or decay?”

Jealousy produces: Creative solutions, strengthened relationships, restored trust, and protected values.

Envy produces: Gossip, sabotage, withdrawal, bitterness, and sometimes division.

6. The Glory Test

Ask yourself: “Whose glory am I ultimately seeking—God’s or my own? Will I be satisfied if God gets the credit and achieves His purposes, even if I’m invisible in the story?”

Jealousy says: “Let God be glorified, even if I’m forgotten.”

Envy says: “I need recognition for my sacrifice, my wisdom, my contribution.”

MIKE’S DECISION: THE DIAGNOSTICS IN ACTION

Remember Mike Harrison, standing at his 10th-floor window, wrestling with that burning sensation as his company’s future hung in the balance? Let me tell you what happened.

Mike couldn’t sleep that night. The burning in his chest wouldn’t let him rest. So he did something he hadn’t done in years—he pulled out a legal pad and started writing. Not a business plan. Not a strategy document. Just honest questions to himself.

The Ownership Test: “What am I really fighting for here?”

He wrote: The company’s mission to build quality through relationships. But also—and this hurt to admit—my reputation as the visionary who built this. My legacy. My proof that I was right all along.

Both. He had both jealousy and envy running through him.

The Outcome Test: “What do I actually want to happen?”

If he was honest, part of him wanted to prove Sarah wrong. Wanted Jake to fail so he could say, “I told you so.” Wanted to protect his original vision so perfectly that no one could ever question it.

But another part—the part that built Crossroads twenty-five years ago—wanted something different. He wanted the employees to thrive. The customers are to be served well. The mission to continue even if it looked different from what he’d imagined.

The Relationship Test: “Am I willing to damage relationships to get what I want?”

That’s when it hit him. If he forced his original vision on everyone to prove he was right, he’d lose Sarah. He’d turn Jake into a competitor instead of a teammate. He’d make the company about his legacy instead of their shared mission.

The Pride Test, The Fruit Test, The Glory Test:

The questions kept coming, each one stripping away another layer of self-deception. By 2 AM, Mike had his answer. He had both jealousy and envy in his heart—but he could choose which one to feed.

The next morning, Mike called an emergency meeting. Sarah and Jake exchanged worried glances as they sat down.

“I’ve been thinking about the Star Products opportunity,” Mike began. “And I realized I’ve been asking the wrong question. I’ve been asking ‘How do I protect what I built?’ when I should be asking ‘How do we preserve what matters while we grow?’”

He looked at Sarah. “You’re right that our existing relationships are precious. We can’t sacrifice them.”

Then at Jake. “And you’re right that this opportunity could secure our future. We can’t ignore growth.”

“So here’s what I’m proposing,” Mike continued. “We take the Star Products contract, but we restructure it over eighteen months instead of six. We hire two new production managers—and Sarah, I want you to train them in the relationship-first approach that’s made us successful. Jake, you work with our existing customers to ensure they know they’re still our priority.”

“It means less revenue in year one,” Mike admitted. “It means I have to let go of controlling every detail. It means the company will look different what I imagined. But if the mission survives and thrives—even if I’m forgotten in the story—that’s what matters.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. Jake nodded slowly.

“That’s leadership,” Jake said quietly.

Mike smiled. “No, that’s choosing jealousy over envy. And it’s harder than it sounds.”

The Battle Continues

Notice that even after their breakthrough, the battle wasn’t over. In the months that followed, Mike had to make that choice again and again:

• When a magazine wanted to feature the company and asked about “the visionary founder,” Mike insisted they highlight the team instead. (Pride Test)

• When one of Sarah’s new managers made a mistake, Mike’s first instinct was to say, “See? My way was better.” He had to choose to coach rather than to criticize. (Fruit Test)

• When Jake got more recognition for the growth, Mike felt that burning sensation return. He had to remind himself: Whose glory am I seeking? (Glory Test)

The choice between jealousy and envy isn’t made once—it’s made daily, in small moments and major crises.

All three leaders felt that same burning sensation when their values, positions, or contributions were challenged. The difference wasn’t in the emotion itself, but in what they chose to do with it.

• Mike used his discomfort to examine his motivations and find better solutions.

• Jake initially let his feelings drive him toward competition and vindication, but chose to redirect toward collaboration.

• Sarah wrestled between protection and adaptation, ultimately choosing growth over defensiveness

The diagnostics aren’t automatic—they require the humility to examine our own hearts honestly.

FOR YOUR OWN CROSSROADS: PRACTICAL APPLICATION

When That Burning Feeling Rises

The next time you feel that fire in your chest—in your marriage, your church, your workplace, your family—don’t ignore it, but don’t immediately trust it either. Instead, run it through the six diagnostics:

1. The Ownership Test: “What exactly am I fighting for—something entrusted to my care, or something I want for myself?”

2. The Outcome Test: “What am I hoping will happen—restoration and preservation, or acquisition and vindication?”

3. The Relationship Test: “How is this affecting my relationships—am I seeking to restore and strengthen connections, or am I willing to damage relationships to get what I want?”

4. The Pride Test: “Is this about my reputation and recognition, or about something bigger than myself?”

5. The Fruit Test: “What is this emotion actually producing in my life and in others—construction or destruction, unity or division, growth or decay?”

6. The Glory Test: “Whose glory am I ultimately seeking—God’s or my own? Will I be satisfied if God gets the credit and achieves His purposes, even if I’m invisible in the story?”

Creating Space for Wisdom

Don’t make major decisions while that burning feeling is at its peak. The diagnostics work best when we have enough emotional space to be honest with ourselves. Consider:

• Waiting 24-48 hours before major conversations or decisions

• Asking trusted friends to help you work through the diagnostics

• Praying specifically for God to reveal your true motivations

• Writing out your thoughts to see them more objectively

When You Discover Envy

If the diagnostics reveal that your burning feeling comes from envy rather than jealousy, don’t despair. Envy is the default setting of the fallen heart, but it’s not the final word. Consider:

• Confessing it honestly to God and trusted friends

• Asking for prayer for a transformed heart

• Choosing jealousy by redirecting your concern toward God’s glory and others’ good

• Taking actions that build rather than tear down, even when your feelings haven’t caught up

When You Discover Jealousy

If the diagnostics confirm that your feelings come from righteous jealousy, proceed with courage but also with wisdom:

• Engage directly with the people involved rather than talking around them

• Seek solutions that preserve what’s valuable while addressing legitimate concerns

• Fight for relationships even when you have to fight against behaviors

• Remember that righteous jealousy always seeks redemption and restoration

THE FINAL WORD: GOD’S JEALOUSY FOR YOU

Here’s the most important thing to remember: God Himself feels that burning sensation when His relationship with you is threatened. When sin, idolatry, or false loves compete for your heart, God’s jealousy burns.

But His jealousy is never toxic. It never seeks to diminish you or destroy what threatens Him. Instead, His jealousy led Him to the cross, where He fought for your relationship with Him at the ultimate cost to Himself.

When you understand that you are the object of God’s perfect jealousy—that He loves you too much to share you with anything that would ultimately destroy you—it transforms how you handle your own burning feelings. You begin to see jealousy not as a character flaw to suppress, but as a reflection of God’s own heart when something sacred is threatened.

And you begin to recognize envy for what it really is: the enemy’s attempt to convince you that you’re in competition with others for God’s love, rather than resting in the truth that God’s love is so abundant that everyone can have all of it.

CONCLUSION: THE POWER OF “LET”

What Scripture Says About Envy

Envy is listed as a severe sin that prevents one from inheriting the Kingdom of God, contrasting it with the virtue of charity (love).

Galatians 5:19-21 (KJV):

“Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.”

(Note: “Envyings” is plural, highlighting the different forms this vice can take. “Emulations” here is related to competitive jealousy that leads to division.)

1 Corinthians 13:4 (KJV):

“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up.”

(This famous verse defines love, or charity, by what it is not, placing a direct prohibition on envy.)

These verses command believers to actively shed the behaviors associated with the old, sinful nature, including envy.

Romans 13:13 (KJV):

“Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.”

(This command urges believers to walk in the light and avoid the darkness of dissension and envy.)

1 Peter 2:1 (KJV):

“Wherefore laying aside all malice, and all guile, and hypocrisies, and envies, and all evil speakings.”

(This is a direct command to “lay aside” or “rid yourselves” of envy, treating it as spiritual baggage that must be discarded.)

Titus 3:3 (KJV):

“For we ourselves also were sometimes foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving divers lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another.”

(The verse describes the destructive, hateful lifestyle that Christians have been delivered from, confirming that “envy” is central to that old way of life.)

The book of James directly links envy to earthly chaos, showing its tangible, real-world consequences.

James 3:16 (KJV):

“For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work.”

The Ongoing Battle

Please note that all these verses are written to churches—they are to believers. Their sin had been washed away. If they had been clean, apparently, they were not always clean. And some things were their responsibility to recognize, confess, and put away again. It appears the Bible shows that once cleansed, we can become dirty again. And this is the same for any business or structured organization. But it again falls into our own responsibility and power to take steps.

And I would say our power is in the power of “let.” When we need help, it is spiritual help we will need. Our battle isn’t with flesh and blood but spiritual, and our weapons need to be spiritual.

The Command and the Power

The commandment that is above all is to love God with all thy heart and soul; the second is to love thy neighbor as thyself. If it came so naturally, it wouldn’t need to be a commandment. It also means that we can’t do it in our frail human nature. And only with the divine nature can we achieve it, and that means only with God working through us with the power of Jesus’ work to cut the bond of sin.

So, it’s in the power of “Let.”

Let there be light.

Let go and let God be God.

When we let God’s jealousy for us transform our own burning feelings, when we let His Spirit choose jealousy over envy in our hearts, when we let His glory be enough—that’s when we finally understand what it means that He is a jealous God.

And we discover it’s the most comforting truth in all of Scripture.

jmacwrites

PART 1: THE QUESTION

Mike Harrison stood at his office window, watching from the 10th floor as the parking lot emptied—his employees heading home. He could see into the future in some ways: he could see the employees leaving, but he could also see the blocked traffic on B Street that would delay their commute. When he founded his company twenty-five years ago, although he couldn’t see what he sees now, he did have a vision: quality products built through genuine relationships—employees, customers, and vendors, each of mutual value to Crossroads Manufacturing. Now, facing the biggest decision in the company’s history, he wondered if that vision was about to die.

The management team meeting had ended an hour ago, but the tension still hung in the air. Sarah Williams, his operations manager and one of his most trusted leaders, had challenged the new direction.

“This isn’t what you built this company to be, Mike,” she had said.

Jake Morrison, his ambitious sales manager, had fired back: “Sometimes you have to evolve or die, Sarah. Star Products means revenue like no other. Yes, we’d have to adjust schedules for existing customers and vendors, but this is our opportunity of a lifetime.”

“At what cost?” Sarah had replied. “Gain one egg and lose the basket? How can our employees handle the extra burden? Mike, there’s more at risk here than another sale.”

What Mike couldn’t see from his 10th-floor window was Jake Morrison in the parking garage below, still thinking, still planning. The client meeting next week wasn’t just about the company’s future—this was Jake’s moment to finally step out of Sarah’s shadow and prove what real leadership looked like.

Mike felt that familiar burning in his chest as he replayed the scene. But here was the question that kept him thinking: Was Sarah’s resistance driven by genuine love for the company’s mission, or was she protecting her own influence? Was Jake’s eagerness genuinely about the company’s survival, or his own opportunity? And what about his own feelings—righteous concern for his company’s soul, or wounded pride that his leadership was being questioned?

That burning sensation—that fierce protective feeling when something precious is threatened—has a name. We call it jealousy. But as Mike wrestled with the competing motivations in his conference room, he witnessed a biblical puzzle that has confounded believers for centuries: How can God be both love and jealous?

The answer lies in understanding that jealousy and envy are not the same thing.

What if we’ve been confusing two completely different emotions our entire lives? What if jealousy—the thing we’re told from childhood is toxic and destructive—is actually a virtue when rightly understood? And what we call “toxic jealousy” is really envy wearing a disguise?

This distinction changes everything. It changes how we read Scripture. It changes how we understand God’s character. It changes how we handle that burning feeling in our own chests when something precious is threatened.

Let me show you what I discovered as I explored this question through personal experience, literature, Bible history, and psychology. We’ll examine how to tell the difference between these two emotions—and why it matters more than you might think.

[We’ll return to Mike’s dilemma later. But first, we need to understand the question itself.]

THE QUESTION OF GOD’S JEALOUSY

So, the question I and many others have—and perhaps you do too—is: how can God be a jealous God? The Bible says He is love. How can love be jealous? We’re told from a young age that it’s not good to be jealous. And love is a virtue in man through God’s creation.

As I pondered it, I found it helpful to explore it through theoretical examples.

For instance: A child says, “That’s mine!” The parent says to the child, “We are to share, little one.” And will even intervene to show an example of sharing, might take the toy or whatever away, or even ask the child to give it to his brother or friend. Is that jealousy?

Well, jealousy does say, “That’s mine, and I’m afraid of losing it.” But consider this: A husband who fears losing his wife’s attention experiences jealousy, doesn’t he? Is he protecting an existing relationship? Is that love? A person wanting to protect that which is his.

What if a person has another person come into a job, and the new person receives all the attention the original person had from the work they did in the company, even though the new person has done nothing? He is new. The existing person can rejoice with others until the new person has taken his job.

WHEN THEORY BECAME PERSONAL: MY AIR FORCE STORY

Let me share when this became more than theoretical for me.

When I was in the Air Force, I looked forward to training to become a weapons controller. I had the opportunity and referral from my direct command. So I left the tedious task of searching for bear bombers off the coast of Nova Scotia and vectored all the way back to Syracuse, NY. It was like a slice of pie. I got the position after several weeks of training and working at my job as a radar control and warning technician. In the AF, it was affectionately known as “Scope Dope.” But now I was going to become a weapons controller, issuing direct commands to a pilot or pilots operating various fighter aircraft, from F-101s to F-16s. I would be assisting in the killing of enemy aircraft and protecting our country for real after a very short time on the job.

However, during my training and short time on-the-job training, the Strategic Air Command changed directions; they no longer wanted to use enlisted officers. They decided to replace me with officers. I was to be the weapons controlling technician. That would mean I would be responsible for taking direction from the officer and pressing buttons to provide digital coordinates to the pilot. All the while, I could see the mission in real time, but I was now one step away from being directly responsible for coordinating the kill. And rather invisible, now relatively insignificant.

What were my feelings? What would be yours?

Oh, did I mention the more humbling part? I had to train the officer to take my job!

“Hi LT. Alice. What did you major in in college, weapons systems and technology or tactics and operations?”

She responds, “No, art.”

Art, I see.

Now, what feelings did I have? I trained and studied, and now that time invested was to be used to train an art major to take my job. Was this jealousy?

I’ve carried that question for years. Looking back now, with the understanding I’m about to share with you, I can see it more clearly. What I felt was righteous jealousy—I had earned that position through training and dedication, and I was protecting what was legitimately mine. The position had been entrusted to me. But here’s the dangerous part: that feeling could have easily twisted into envy if I’d tried to sabotage Lt. Alice or resented her success. The same burning sensation—two completely different paths.

That’s the choice we all face. And if I can’t tell the difference in my own experience, how can I understand what it means when God calls Himself jealous?

WHAT LITERATURE REVEALS ABOUT THE HUMAN HEART

This is where literature helps us. Great authors spend entire novels exploring these human emotions—the jealousy that protects versus the envy that destroys. In the pages of classic stories, we can see the difference more clearly than in our own lives, because we can watch the characters from a distance and see where their motivations lead them.

Let me show you what I mean.

GABRIEL OAK: THE PORTRAIT OF RIGHTEOUS JEALOUSY

As we read the account of Gabriel Oak’s love for Bathsheba Everdene in the novel Far From the Madding Crowd, we see a steadfast devotion. He asks her to marry him. When he says, “When I look up, you’ll be there, and when you look up, I’ll be there,” she feels uncertainty and fear of this comfort, and she says she doesn’t love him and won’t marry him.

He is a shepherd who owns a small farm and a growing flock of sheep. He has true devotion. But this bride, who rejects the love of a simple shepherd, is after the whims of the world in this story. She lives with her uncle. She is an educated young girl; her uncle is her family. Her uncle’s farm is much larger. When her uncle dies, she inherits this farm. She is independent. But dependent on her desires.

Over time, Gabriel loses his farm and has to seek work on other farms, and this now-prosperous young female farmer hires the man who once sought her love. Her life has successes and trauma. She has many suitors, and one is a man of the world—a sergeant in the army. She is swept off her feet in love with this dashing Sergeant Troy. And the world is also this man’s true love. The love of the world may be their common thread. However, part of her is her farm. It’s this grounded life that makes sense. He has other women and another love. Bathsheba is married in name only and faces the empty vessel of worldly love that leads to much heartbreak.

All the while Gabriel watches, feeds the sheep, and heals the sheep. He takes care of her farm. In so doing, he cares for her. What are Gabriel’s feelings when he does all the work as a husband and has to watch the life of his desired bride be filled with such tragedy, and he has to pick up the pieces again and again? Is this another example of jealousy?

Is this Godly jealousy, as Gabriel’s jealousy transforms into something beautiful—selfless guardianship? He doesn’t compete with Troy or try to win Bathsheba through manipulation. Instead, he becomes her silent protector, saving her sheep when incompetent workers would let them die, rescuing her harvest when storms threaten, preserving her reputation when scandal surrounds her.

Gabriel’s jealousy never demands recognition or reward. When Troy abandons Bathsheba, Gabriel doesn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. When the wealthy farmer Boldwood obsessively pursues her, Gabriel protects her from that unhealthy attention too. His love becomes pure service—he suffers as he watches other men hurt the woman he adores, but responds by quietly ensuring her welfare. Like a guardian saint, he asks for nothing except the privilege of keeping her safe. His jealousy protects Bathsheba’s best interests even when they conflict with his own desires. When she finally turns to him, it’s not because he pursued her, but because his patient, protective love proved itself worthy through years of sacrifice.

Gabriel shows jealousy as stewardship—guarding what you love without demanding to possess it.

This is reminiscent of God, patiently waiting for the believer to turn to Him. He patiently waits even when He doesn’t get attention.

Can I better understand the importance of the phrase, “He is a jealous God”? Is this a virtue?

OTHELLO: WHEN ENVY WEARS THE MASK OF JEALOUSY

Now let’s look at the opposite pattern—what happens when envy disguises itself as jealousy.

In Shakespeare’s Othello, the central antagonist, Iago, is consumed by envy. The tragedy begins when Othello, a respected general, promotes the younger and less experienced Michael Cassio to the position of lieutenant, a role Iago believed he deserved. This professional slight ignites Iago’s deep-seated resentment. His envy extends beyond the promotion; he loathes Othello for his success, his noble reputation, and his marriage to the beautiful and virtuous Desdemona. Fueled by this bitter envy, Iago vows to destroy Othello’s happiness by exploiting his greatest weakness—his passionate love for his wife—turning it into his fatal downfall.

Iago’s plan is a masterclass in psychological manipulation, using innocent interactions to create the illusion of an affair between Cassio and Desdemona. After orchestrating Cassio’s fall from grace, Iago advises him to seek Desdemona’s help to be reinstated, knowing she will plead his case passionately. Iago then frames her innocent advocacy as proof of infidelity to Othello. Every time Desdemona mentions Cassio’s name, she unknowingly feeds the poisonous “jealousy” Iago has planted in her husband’s mind. Othello’s trust is completely eroded, and the envy Iago feels is tragically transferred to him as a murderous spirit of jealousy, culminating in his killing his innocent wife and then himself.

Is this jealousy?

I called it “murderous jealousy,” which is a good way to describe it. This is how many summaries or cliff notes describe this scene. To describe it as anything else would go against today’s interpretation of jealousy. This story is the beginning of cloaking envy in the veil of jealousy. We might call it “dark jealousy.” But why is this occurring today, rather than long ago in Othello?

In ancient times, jealousy was a virtue. God is a jealous God. Society will almost have some sympathy for one captured in the heat of jealousy, but not in the heat of envy. An author might want some sympathy for a character and therefore frame this character as jealous, not envious.

The jealousy of Gabriel is much different than the jealousy of Othello. We can see the envy of Iago; it is almost the very definition of the rotting fruit of envy, which seeks to destroy rather than obtain what you think you deserve. You just want to cause others’ unhappiness. Where pure jealousy wants to protect, restore, and grow. “He is a jealous God” could actually serve as a comfort rather than a threat. Knowing you are special in the eyes of a jealous person builds trust and confidence. Notice, because Gabriel is hurt, he also forgives, which is clearly a fruit of the Spirit of God.

However, Othello could really be captured by the fruit of envy in its very cloak of deception. He is a superior commander in the military; he is used to obedience following him, and dealing with obstinance, but when it comes to manipulation, he senses a loss of control. This loss of control is also a loss of his possession, but love isn’t a possession. It’s a spirit of giving; it doesn’t seek out its own. The fruit that destroys his love instead of restoring it pulls the veil off what we call ‘toxic jealousy,’ revealing the envy beneath. What looked like jealousy was envy all along.

“If he can’t have Desdemona, no one can have her.”

He then kills her, and he kills himself because of that same spirit. It pulls at the heart of those who see a love so strong that the man, seeing what he has done, can’t live with himself.

Do you see the pattern emerging? Gabriel’s jealousy says, “I’d rather lose her than see her destroyed.” The false “jealousy” in Othello—which is really envy—says, “If I can’t have her, no one can.” One protects even at personal cost. The other destroys when it can’t possess.

This distinction isn’t just academic. It shows up in Scripture too—and when we understand it, some troubling passages suddenly make sense.

BIBLICAL EXAMPLES: THE FOUNDATION

Let’s look at the Bible for the clearest examples of this distinction. As we walk through these stories, I want you to watch for the same pattern we saw in Gabriel and Othello: Does the emotion seek to preserve and restore, or to possess and destroy?

[Later, I’ll give you six diagnostic questions to help you tell the difference in your own life. But first, let’s see the pattern in Scripture.]

A TALE OF TWO MOTHERS

The story of the two women who come to Solomon is a perfect example of this distinction.

1 Kings 3:16-28 (KJV):

“16 Then came there two women, that were harlots, unto the king, and stood before him.

17 And the one woman said, O my lord, I and this woman dwell in one house; and I was delivered of a child with her in the house.

18 And it came to pass the third day after that I was delivered, that this woman was delivered also: and we were together; there was no stranger with us in the house, save we two in the house.

19 And this woman’s child died in the night; because she overlaid it.

20 And she arose at midnight, and took my son from beside me, while thine handmaid slept, and laid it in her bosom, and laid her dead child in my bosom.

21 And when I rose in the morning to give my child suck, behold, it was dead: but when I had considered it in the morning, behold, it was not my son, which I did bear.

22 And the other woman said, Nay; but the living is my son, and the dead is thy son. And this said, No; but the dead is thy son, and the living is my son. Thus they spake before the king.

23 Then said the king, The one saith, This is my son that liveth, and thy son is the dead: and the other saith, Nay; but thy son is the dead, and my son is the living.

24 And the king said, Bring me a sword. And they brought a sword before the king.

25 And the king said, Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other.

26 Then spake the woman whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned upon her son, and she said, O my lord, give her the living child, and in no wise slay it. But the other said, Let it be neither mine nor thine, but divide it.

27 Then the king answered and said, Give her the living child, and in no wise slay it: she is the mother thereof.

28 And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment.”

When faced with the king’s test to divide the child, the true mother’s pure, protective love is revealed as righteous jealousy. She would rather see her child live in the care of another than see it harmed. This is an example of restoration.

The other woman’s response, “Let it be neither mine nor thine; divide it,” exposes her motive as pure envy. She did not want the child for love but initially to possess it, and when that was not possible, her veil of feigned jealousy was removed, and envy, like a light on a mountain, shining as she was willing to destroy it so that no one could have it—envy does seek out its own.

There’s the test: When you can’t have something, what do you want to happen to it? Do you want it preserved (jealousy) or destroyed (envy)?

Isn’t envy like Judas, who, seeing that he killed an innocent man, the King, the Messiah, he kills himself as the fruit of envy? It is that spirit that went into Judas at the Last Supper; it’s the same spirit that was in the madman. That spirit of envy asked to be cast to the pigs, finally succeeding in its mission to kill and destroy. Those pigs went into the water and drowned. That spirit sought to destroy not the pigs but God’s creation. It is the spirit of envy. It destroys what it can’t have and, even if it has it, will destroy for the sake of destroying anything of God—including prophets or a best friend telling you the truth.

But God is a jealous God.

THE ACCOUNT OF CAIN AND ABEL

Genesis 4:1-16 (KJV):

“1 And Adam knew Eve his wife; and she conceived, and bare Cain, and said, I have gotten a man from the LORD.

2 And she again bare his brother Abel. And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.

3 And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD.

4 And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering:

5 But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.

6 And the LORD said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen?

7 If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.

8 And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.

9 And the LORD said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?

10 And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.

11 And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand;

12 When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.

13 And Cain said unto the LORD, My punishment is greater than I can bear.

14 Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.

15 And the LORD said unto him, Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the LORD set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.

16 And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.”

Notice the structure here: Cain and Abel. Just two brothers and the comparison between them. That’s envy in its purest form—a simple, toxic comparison. Cain perhaps feels empty. “I don’t have what he has”, and that burning resentment is enough to destroy. Jealousy is different—it’s more complex, like a triangle. With jealousy, there are three: you, what you already possess, and the rival who threatens to take it from you. You’re protecting something that’s yours. But envy? Envy is just you and them in a straight line. They have it. You don’t. And you can’t stand it. As we add more people to our relationships, jealousy tends to emerge in those triangular dynamics—but envy can poison even the simplest two-person relationship.

Solomon chose to ask for wisdom. Wisdom is really defined in the Old Testament as experiences and tests of life. Solomon’s wisdom was from the tests and choices he made in his life. In his life, his poor choices are finally revealed. So when we say he was the wisest, it might not mean the smartest. At the end of his life, he was sacrificing his children to a false god, but he deserves our respect for the multitude of choices he made rightly.

So in our account above, God says to Cain, “Why art thou wroth? And why is thy countenance fallen? If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted?”

It looks to me these are the very thoughts of Cain himself. He is trying to earn a blessing from God through his good works; isn’t this self-righteousness? It is seen elsewhere in Scripture, in the same case, where God uses someone’s thoughts to give them pause to think before making a decision. It’s like the promised way out: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Corinthians 10:13, KJV).

“And Jesus, knowing their thoughts, said, Wherefore think ye evil in your hearts? For whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and walk?”

“Because thou sayest, I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing” from Revelation 3:17 (KJV)—while these might not be a direct quote from the Laodiceans to Rome, they powerfully echo the historical attitude of the people of Laodicea toward Roman assistance after a major earthquake. It must have sent shivers down their spine to hear their Savior speak their hearts back to them.

Likewise, God is suggesting to Cain that he is acting out of selfishness, and he now has a choice to make: “sin is at the door”; you have ownership of it, or it can own you. Cain chose confrontation and is filled with so much envy that he strikes and kills his brother.

Then God asks, “Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?”

Cain is doing what all try to do: hiding the action they take out of envy. And worse yet, it is said that all mankind born into sin also carry this sin for their whole lives, finding ways to cover it up. Cain’s remark could be a backhanded comment from God. Cain speaks back to God bitingly, which often happens from envious people. Either Cain or Abel was free to do what they wanted with God’s permission, although we want to help our brother when he calls upon us and be prepared to answer God’s purpose. The Creator has, from the beginning, never wanted us to oppress one another, which could be what Cain is getting at here. Often, what God intends for us, we use for selfish reasons.

“10 And he said, What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.

11 And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand;

12 When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.”

God already knew this; He is giving Cain an opportunity to confess his heart and repent. However, God still cares for Cain and spares his life so that he has the rest of his life to repent.

This is the jealousy we see in the story of Gabriel—waiting, enduring, seeing, helping, throughout the whole life of his future bride. When one confesses to God, we are dealing with the one who has been hurt by us and loves us. But sometimes, because of God’s plan for a Savior, He has to change plans so that the Savior can come and rescue. So some judgments are made that we have to accept. So, Cain lived and still suffered, but there was a reason why we don’t understand. It could be that God intended something different for Cain and for Abel, and that Cain’s choices changed that.

So, my understanding is limited also, and when we get into the weeds of why God does things or question too deeply, we can create a false doctrine, because we really don’t know. Like I really don’t know for certain the next step—I’ll explain—but to me, I see God like Mike in our first story, standing at the top of the building, looking down. He sees the future of his employees if they choose one street over the next. He sees if they can endure. He might change a light or intercede with a police officer who pulls over an employee so they don’t get into traffic or an accident because of their choices. But He always works with our choices in life. He gives us a choice, but at some point, we can either run from the officer or run the red light. That becomes our choice and our responsibility, and we pay for our choices.

God knows all except our choices; He leaves that up to us out of love and jealousy. He tries to rebuild or improve that relationship.

THE FLOOD: GOD’S TEARS OVER HIS CREATION

Let’s look at the flood—the most devastating example of God’s jealousy in action.

It pained God to destroy the world in the flood. I imagine those clouds opening up were like the tears that couldn’t be dried—as if His tears flooded the earth. He saw into the future and had to interfere in the destiny of mankind because the world was so evil, so complacent. Perhaps it was on the verge of destroying the seed of the woman, the seed that was promised at the beginning of sin. The seed that Joseph was to preserve, that seed may live in each of mankind who avails himself of the sacrifice.

Perhaps, like in our first story, Mike, standing at the top of his building, could see the future of his employees as they exited the building. God also saw the fate of man without a new beginning and needed to cleanse the physical world to make room for the Savior to cleanse the heart of man for his place in eternity.

Yes, God is jealous of His creation and the pinnacle of His creation—you. Does that make you feel a bit undeserving? As we learn more about the virtue of jealousy in preserving and protecting the relationship with mankind, God seeks to find one, and he seeks to find God, and he finds grace in the eyes of the Lord. This ark carries eight souls to safety, but they still carry both the seed of hope and salvation for all, but also the seed of sin. However, this heel has been bruised—but not for long.

This is the pain and suffering that our God has for us. But it’s His jealousy that saves us because He wants that relationship with us that, at some point beyond life, becomes permanent.

THE CRITICAL DISTINCTION

These stories reveal something that matters, a particular distinction between two verbs: jealousy and envy. This difference is significant to us to understand because these emotions lead us down completely different moral paths.

Jealousy can be very precious; if it’s from the courtyards of love, it will be constructive or reconstructive, as we see in both examples above. But envy always stems from a perceived injustice—that life has cheated us out of what we deserve. We often think on this thing we deserve as an obstacle to our happiness and desire another’s pain, or destruction, by removing what is rightly theirs. Therefore, envy doesn’t actually want the object it covets. It wants that object destroyed or removed, making the person who earned it miserable. This destruction brings twisted joy to the envious person.

On the other hand, jealousy seeks to preserve, and envy seeks to possess or destroy.

[END OF PART 1]

In Part 2, we’ll explore how psychology confirms this biblical distinction, examine how envy hides itself in our modern world, and discover the six diagnostic questions that can help you tell the difference in your own life. And we’ll return to Mike Harrison’s office to see what he decided—and how he learned to choose jealousy over envy.

I remember a man like this where I worked. I thought he was a fool, also. He was a Christian man. I was a finance manager who trained salesmen to sell additional items to increase profit on the car. I was pretty good. But my one salesman, Bob, wouldn't play along with my ideas. One time, I told him he needed to call the customer back. He said the customer would call him. I said, "Look, write down a note on your desk with the customer's name on it. You call him and say, 'I found this note that had your name on it, so I thought I would return the call.'" He said that was dishonest. I kept that in my heart.

Several years after Bob died, I was saved, and I was working as a salesman somewhere else. The sales manager asked me to do the same thing I had asked Bob to do years ago. I responded, "That would be dishonest. I'm not interested." We, the fools who aren't after money, can really impact those who call us fools. So it's always better to stand on principle than blend into the road that leads to destruction.

Enjoy this tale from Vermont—it's supposed to be true. If it is or it isn't, it's challenging and heart-warming. Best jmacwrites

IN MEMORY OF L.H.W.

He began life characteristically, depreciated and disparaged. When he was a white, thin, big-headed baby, his mother, stripping the suds from her lean arms, used to inveigh to her neighbors against his existence. "Wa'n't it just like that do-less Lem Warren, not even to leave me foot-free when he died, but a baby coming!"

"Do-less," in the language of our valley, means a combination of shiftless and impractical, particularly to be scorned.

Later, as he began to have some resemblance to the appearance he was to wear throughout life, her resentment at her marriage, which she considered the one mistake of her life, kept pace with his growth. "Look at him!" she cried to anyone who would listen. "Ain't that Warren, all over? Did any of my folks ever look so like a born fool? Shut your mouth, for the Lord's sake, Lem, and maybe you won't scare folks quite so much."

Lem had a foolish, apologetic grin with which he always used to respond to these personalities, hanging his head to one side and opening and shutting his big hands nervously.

The tumble-down, two-roomed house in which the Warrens lived was across the road from the schoolhouse, and Mrs. Warren's voice was penetrating. Lem was accepted throughout his school-life at the home estimate. The ugly, overgrown boy, clad in cast-off, misfit clothing was allowed to play with the other children only on condition that he perform all the hard, uninteresting parts of any game. Inside the schoolroom it was the same.

He never learned to shut his mouth, and his speech was always halting and indistinct, so that he not only did not recite well in class, but was never in one of the school entertainments. He chopped the wood and brought it in, swept the floor and made the fires, and then listened in grinning, silent admiration while the others, arrayed in their best, spoke pieces and sang songs.

He was not "smart at his books" and indeed did not learn even to read very fluently. This may have been partly because the only books he ever saw were old school books, the use of which was given him free on account of his mother's poverty. He was not allowed, of course to take them from the schoolroom. But if he was not good at book-learning he was not without accomplishments. He early grew large for his age, and strong from much chopping of wood and drawing of water for his mother's washings, and he was the best swimmer of all those who bathed in the cold, swift mountain stream which rushes near the schoolhouse. The chief consequence of this expertness was that in the summer he was forced to teach each succeeding generation of little boys to swim and dive. They tyrannized over him unmercifully—as, in fact, everyone did.

Nothing made his mother more furious than such an exhibition of what she called "Lem's meachin'ness." "Ain't you got no stand-up in ye?" she was wont to exhort him angrily. "If you don't look out for yourself in this world, you needn't think anybody else is gunto!"

The instructions in ethics he received at her hands were the only ones he ever knew, for, up to his fourteenth year, he never had clothes respectable enough to wear to church, and after that he had other things to think of. Fourteen years is what we call in our State "over school age." It was a date to which Mrs. Warren had looked forward with eagerness. After that, the long, unprofitable months of enforced schooling would be over, Lem would be earning steady wages, and she could sit back and "live decent."

It seemed to her more than she could bear, that, almost upon her son's birthday, she was stricken down with paralysis. It was the first calamity for which she could not hold her marriage responsible, and her bitterness thereupon extended itself to fate in general. She cannot have been a cheerful house-mate during the next ten years, when Lem was growing silently to manhood.

He was in demand as "help" on the farms about him, on account of his great strength and faithfulness, although the farmers found him exasperatingly slow and, when it was a question of animals, not always sure to obey orders. He could be trusted to be kind to horses, unlike most hired men we get nowadays, but he never learned "how to get the work out of their hide." It was his way, on a steep hill with a heavy load, to lay down the whip, get out, and put his own powerful shoulder to the wheel. If this failed, he unloaded part of the logs and made two trips of it. The uncertainty of his progress can be imagined. The busy and impatient farmer and sawyer at the opposite ends of his route were driven to exhaust their entire vocabulary of objurgation on him. He was, they used to inform him in conclusion, "the most do-less critter the Lord ever made!"

He was better with cows and sheep—"feller-feelin," his mother said scornfully, watching him feed a sick ewe—and he had here, even in comparison with his fellow-men, a fair degree of success. It was indeed the foundation of what material prosperity he ever enjoyed. A farmer, short of cash, paid him one year with three or four ewes and a ram. He worked for another farmer to pay for the rent of a pasture and had, that first year, as everybody admitted, almighty good luck with them. There were several twin lambs born that spring and everyone lived. Lem used to make frequent night visits during lambing-time to the pasture to make sure that all was well.

I remember as a little girl starting back from some village festivity late one spring night and seeing a lantern twinkle far up on the mountainside. "Lem Warren out fussin' with his sheep," some one of my elders remarked. Later, as we were almost home, we saw the lantern on the road ahead of us and stopped the horses, country-fashion, for an interchange of salutation. Looking out from under the shawl in which I was wrapped, I saw his tall figure stooping over something held under his coat. The lantern lighted his weather-beaten face and the expression of his eyes as he looked down at the little white head against his breast.

"You're foolish, Lem," said my uncle. "The ewe won't own it if you take it away so long the first night."

"I—I—know," stuttered Lem, bringing out the words with his usual difficulty; "but it's mortal cold up on the mounting for little fellers! I'll bring him up as a cosset."

The incident reminded me vaguely of something I had read about, and it has remained in my memory.

After we drove on I remember that there were laughing speculations about what language old Ma'am Warren would use at having another cosset brought to the house. Not that it could make any more work for her, since Lem did all that was done about the housekeeping. Chained to her chair by her paralyzed legs, as she was, she could accomplish nothing more than to sit and cavil at the management of the universe all day, until Lem came home, gave her her supper, and put her to bed.

Badly run as she thought the world, for a time it was more favorable to her material prosperity than she had ever known it. Lem's flock of sheep grew and thrived. For years nobody in our valley has tried to do much with sheep because of dogs, and all Lem's neighbors told him that some fine morning he would find his flock torn and dismembered. They even pointed out the particular big collie dog who would most likely go "sheep-mad." Lena's heavy face drew into anxious, grotesque wrinkles at this kind of talk, and he visited the uplying pasture more and more frequently.

One morning, just before dawn, he came, pale and shamefaced, to the house of the owner of the collie. The family, roused from bed by his knocking, made out from his speech, more incoherent than usual, that he was begging their pardon for having killed their dog. "I saw wh-where he'd bit th-the throats out of two ewes that w-was due to lamb in a few days and I guess I—I—I must ha' gone kind o' crazy. They was ones I liked special. I'd brought 'em up myself. They—they was all over blood, you know."

They peered at him in the gray light, half-afraid of the tall apparition.

"How could you kill a great big dog like Jack?" They asked wonderingly.

In answer he held out his great hands and his huge corded arms, red with blood up to the elbow. "I heard him worrying another sheep and I—I just—killed him."

One of the children now cried out: "But I shut Jackie up in the woodshed last night!"

Someone ran to open the door and the collie bounded out. Lem turned white in thankfulness, "I'm mortal glad," he stammered. "I felt awful bad—afterward. I knew your young ones thought a sight of Jack."

"But what dog did you kill?" they asked.

Some of the men went back up on the mountain with him and found, torn in pieces and scattered wide in bloody fragments, as if destroyed by some great revenging beast of prey, the body of a big gray wolf. Once in a while one wanders over the line from the Canada forests and comes down into our woods, following the deer.

The hard-headed farmers who looked on that savage scene drew back from the shambling man beside them in the only impulse of respect they ever felt for him. It was the one act of his life to secure the admiration of his fellow-men; it was an action of which he himself always spoke in horror and shame.

Certainly his marriage aroused no admiration. It was universally regarded as a most addle-pated, imbecile affair from beginning to end. One of the girls who worked at the hotel in the village "got into trouble," as our vernacular runs, and as she came originally from our district and had gone to school there, everyone knew her and was talking about the scandal. Old Ma'am Warren was of the opinion, spiritedly expressed, that "Lottie was a fool not to make that drummer marry her. She could have, if she'd gone the right way to work." But the drummer remained persistently absent.

One evening Lem, starting for his sheep-pasture for his last look for the night, heard someone crying down by the river and then, as he paused to listen, heard it no more. He jumped from the bridge without stopping to set down his lantern, knowing well the swiftness of the water, and caught the poor cowardly thing as she came, struggling and gasping, down with the current. He took her home and gave her dry clothes of his mother's. Then leaving the scared and repentant child by his hearth, he set out on foot for the minister's house and dragged him back over the rough country roads.

When Ma'am Warren awoke the next morning, Lem did not instantly answer her imperious call, as he had done for so many years. Instead, a red-eyed girl in one of Mrs. Warren's own nightgowns came to the door and said shrinkingly: "Lem slept in the barn last night. He give his bed to me; but he'll be in soon. I see him fussin' around with the cow."

Ma'am Warren stared, transfixed with a premonition of irremediable evil. "What you doin' here?" she demanded, her voice devoid of expression through stupefaction.

The girl held down her head. "Lem and I were married last night," she said.

Then Mrs. Warren found her voice.

When Lem came in it was to a scene of the furious wrangling which was henceforth to fill his house.

"… to saddle himself with such trash as you!" his mother was saying ragingly.

His wife answered in kind, her vanity stung beyond endurance. "Well, you can be sure he'd never have got him a wife any other way! Nobody but a girl hard put to it would take up with a drivel-headed fool like Lem Warren!"

And then the bridegroom appeared at the door and both women turned their attention to him.

When the baby was born, Lottie was very sick. Lem took care of his mother, his wife, and the new baby for weeks and weeks. It was at lambing-time, and his flock suffered from lack of attention, although as much as he dared he left his sick women and tended his ewes. He ran in debt, too, to the grocery-stores, for he could work very little and earned almost nothing. Of course the neighbors helped out, but it was no cheerful morning's work to care for the vitriolic old woman, and Lottie was too sick for anyone but Lem to handle. We did pass the baby around from house to house during the worst of his siege, to keep her off Lem's hands; but when Lottie began to get better it was haying-time; everybody was more than busy, and the baby was sent back.

Lottie lingered in semi-invalidism for about a year and then died, Lem holding her hand in his. She tried to say something to him that last night, so the neighbors who were there reported, but her breath failed her and she could only lie staring at him from eyes that seemed already to look from the other side of the grave.

He was heavily in debt when he was thus left with a year-old child not his own, but he gave Lottie a decent funeral and put up over her grave a stone stating that she was "Charlotte, loved wife of Lemuel Warren," and that she died in the eighteenth year of her life. He used to take the little girl and put flowers on the grave, I remember.

Then he went to work again. His sandy hair was already streaked with gray, though he was but thirty. The doctor said the reason for this phenomenon was the great strain of his year of nursing; and indeed throughout that period of his life no one knew when he slept, if ever. He was always up and dressed when anyone else was, and late at night we could look across and see his light still burning and know that he was rubbing Lottie's back or feeding little Susie.

All that was changed now, of course. Susie was a strong, healthy child who slept all through the night in her little crib by her stepfather's corded bed, and in the daytime went everywhere he did. Wherever he "worked out" he used to give her her nap wrapped in a horse blanket on the hay in the barn; and he carried her in a sling of his own contrivance up to his sheep-pasture. Old Ma'am Warren disliked the pretty, laughing child so bitterly that he was loath to leave her at home; but when he was there with her, for the first time he asserted himself against his mother, bidding her, when she began to berate the child's parentage, to "be still!" with so strange and unexpected an accent of authority that she was quite frightened.

Susie was very fond of her stepfather at first, but when she came of school age, mixed more with the other children, and heard laughing, contemptuous remarks about him, the frank and devouring egotism of childhood made her ashamed of her affection, ashamed of him with his uncouth gait, his mouth always sagging open, his stammering, ignorant speech, which the other children amused themselves by mocking. Though he was prospering again with his sheep, owned the pasture and his house now, and had even built on another room as well as repairing the older part, he spent little on his own adornment. It all went for pretty clothes for Susie, for better food, for books and pictures, for tickets for Susie to go to the circus and the county fair. Susie knew this and loved him by stealth for it, but the intolerably sensitive vanity of her twelve years made her wretched to be seen in public with him.

Divining this, he ceased going with her to school-picnics and Sunday-school parties, where he had been a most useful pack-animal, and, dressing her in her best with his big calloused hands, watched her from the window join a group of the other children. His mother predicted savagely that his "spoilin' on that bad-blooded young one would bring her to no good end," and when, at fifteen, Susie began to grow very pretty and saucy and willful and to have beaux come to see her, the old woman exulted openly over Lem's helpless anxiety.

He was quite gray now, although not yet forty-five, and so stooped that he passed for an old man. He owned a little farm, his flock of sheep was the largest in the township, and Susie was expected to make a good marriage in spite of her antecedents.

And then Frank Gridley's oldest son, Ed, came back from business college with store clothes and city hats and polished tan shoes, and began idling about, calling on the girls. From the first, he and Susie ran together like two drops of water. Bronson Perkins, a cousin of mine, a big, silent, ruminative lad who had long hung about Susie, stood no show at all. One night in county-fair week, Susie, who had gone to the fair with a crowd of girl friends, was not at home at ten o'clock. Lem, sitting in his doorway and watching the clock, heard the approach of the laughing, singing straw-ride in which she had gone, with a long breath of relief; but the big hay-wagon did not stop at his gate.

He called after it in a harsh voice and was told that "Ed Gridley and she went off to the hotel to get supper. He said he'd bring her home later."

Lem went out to the barn, hitched up the faster of his two heavy plow-horses and drove from his house to Woodville, eight miles and up-hill, in forty-five minutes. When he went into the hotel, the clerk told him that the two he sought had had supper served in a private room. Lem ascertained which room and broke the door in with one heave of his shoulders. Susie sprang up from the disordered supper-table and ran to him like a frightened child, clinging to him desperately and crying out that Ed scared her so!

"It's all right now, Susie," he said gently, not looking at the man.

"Poppa's come to take you home."

The man felt his dignity wounded. He began to protest boisterously and to declare that he was ready to marry the girl—"now, this instant, if you choose!"

Lem put one arm about Susie. "I didn't come to make you marry her. I come to keep you from doin' it," he said, speaking clearly for once in his life. "Susie shan't marry a hound that'd do this." And as the other advanced threateningly on him, he struck him a great blow across the mouth that sent him unconscious to the ground.

Then Lem went out, paid for the broken lock, and drove home with Susie behind the foundered plow-horse.

The next spring her engagement to Bronson Perkins was announced, though everybody said they didn't see what use it was for folks to get engaged that couldn't ever get married. Mr. Perkins, Bronson's father, was daft, not enough to send him to the asylum, but so that he had to be watched all the time to keep him from doing himself a hurt. He had a horrid way, I remember, of lighting matches and holding them up to his bared arm until the smell of burning flesh went sickeningly through the house and sent someone in a rush to him. Of course it was out of the question to bring a young bride to such a home. Apparently there were years of waiting before them, and Susie was made of no stuff to endure a long engagement.

As a matter of fact, they were married that fall, as soon as Susie could get her things ready. Lem took old Mr. Perkins into the room Susie left vacant. "'Twon't be much more trouble taking care of two old people than one," he explained briefly.

Ma'am Warren's comments on this action have been embalmed forever in the delighted memories of our people. We have a taste for picturesque and forceful speech.

From that time we always saw the lunatic and the bent shepherd together. The older man grew quieter under Lem's care than he had been for years, and if he felt one of his insane impulses overtaking him, ran totteringly to grasp his protector's arm until, quaking and shivering, he was himself again. Lem used to take him up to the sheep-pasture for the day sometimes. He liked it up there himself, he said, and maybe 'twould be good for Uncle Hi. He often reported with pride that the old man talked as sensible as anybody, "get him off where it's quiet." Indeed, when Mr. Perkins died, six years later, we had forgotten that he was anything but a little queer, and he had known many happy, lucid hours with his grandchildren.

Susie and Bronson had two boys—sturdy, hearty children, in whom Lem took the deepest, shyest pride. He loved to take them off into the woods with him and exulted in their quick intelligence and strong little bodies. Susie got into the way of letting him take a good deal of the care of them.

It was Lem who first took alarm about the fall that little Frank had, down the cellar stairs. He hurt his spine somehow—our local doctor could not tell exactly how—and as the injury only made him limp a little, nobody thought much about it, until he began to have difficulty in walking. Then Lem sent for a doctor from Rutland who, as soon as he examined the child, stuck out his lower lip and rubbed his chin ominously. He pronounced the trouble something with a long name which none of us had ever heard, and said that Frank would be a hopeless cripple if it, were not cured soon. There was, he said, a celebrated doctor from Europe now traveling in this country who had a wonderful new treatment for this condition. But under the circumstances—he looked about the plain farm sitting-room—he supposed that was out of the question.

"What did the doctor from foreign parts ask?" queried Bronson, and, being informed of some of the customary prices for major operations, fell back hopeless. Susie, her pretty, childish face drawn and blanched into a wan beauty, put her arms about her sick little son and looked at her stepfather. He had never failed her.

He did not fail her now. He sold the land he had accumulated field by field; he sold the great flock of sheep, every one of which he could call by name; he mortgaged the house over the protesting head of his now bedridden mother; he sold the horse and cow, and the very sticks of furniture from the room where Susie had grown up and where the crazy grandfather of Susie's children had known a peaceful old age and death. Little Frank was taken to New York to the hospital to have the great surgeon operate on him—he is there yet, almost completely recovered and nearly ready to come home.

Back in Hillsboro, Lem now began life all over again, hiring out humbly to his neighbors and only stipulating that he should have enough free time to take care of his mother. Three weeks ago she had her last stroke of paralysis and, after lying speechless for a few days, passed away, grim to the last, by the expression in her fierce old eyes.

The day after her funeral Lem did not come to work as he was expected. We went over to his house and found, to our consternation, that he was not out of bed.

"Be ye sick, Lem?" asked my uncle.

He looked at us over the bedclothes with his old foolish, apologetic smile. "Kind o' lazy, I guess," he whispered, closing his eyes.

The doctor was put out by the irregularity of the case.

"I can't make out anything really the trouble!" he said. "Only the wheels don't go round as fast as they ought. Call it failing heart action if you want a label."

The wheels ran more and more slowly until it was apparent to all of us that before long they would stop altogether. Susie and Bronson were in New York with little Frank, so that Lem's care during his last days devolved on the haphazard services of the neighbors. He was out of his head most of the time, though never violent, and all through the long nights lay flat on his back, looking at the ceiling with bright, blank eyes, driving his ox-team, skidding logs, plowing in stony ground and remembering to favor the off-horse whose wind wasn't good, planting, hoeing, tending his sheep, and teaching obstinate lambs to drink. He used quaint, coaxing names for these, such as a mother uses for her baby. He was up in the mountain-pasture a good deal, we gathered, and at night, from his constant mention of how bright the stars shone. And sometimes, when he was in evident pain, his delusion took the form that Susie, or the little boys, had gone up with him, and got lost in the woods.

I was on duty the night he died. We thought a change was near, because he had lain silent all day, and we hoped he would come to himself when he awoke from this stupor. Near midnight he began to talk again, and I could not make out at first whether he was still wandering or not. "Hold on hard, Uncle Hi," I heard him whisper.

A spoon fell out of my hand and clattered against a plate. He gave a great start and tried to sit up. "Yes, mother—coming!" he called hoarsely, and then looked at me with his own eyes. "I must ha' forgot about mother's bein' gone," he apologized sheepishly.

I took advantage of this lucid interval to try to give him some medicine the doctor had left. "Take a swallow of this," I said, holding the glass to his lips.

"What's it for?" he asked.

"It's a heart stimulant," I explained. "The doctor said if we could get you through to-night you have a good chance."

His face drew together in grotesque lines of anxiety. "Little Frank worse?"

"Oh, no, he's doing finely."

"Susie all right?"

"Why, yes," I said wonderingly.

"Nothing the matter with her other boy?"

"Why, no, no," I told him. "Everybody's all right Here, just take this down."

He turned away his head on the pillow and murmured something I did not catch. When I asked him what he said, he smiled feebly as in deprecation of his well-known ridiculous ways. "I'm just as much obliged to you," he said, "but if everybody's all right, I guess I won't have any medicine." He looked at me earnestly. "I'm—I'm real tired," he said.

It came out in one great breath—apparently his last, for he did not move after that, and his ugly, slack-mouthed face was at once quite still. Its expression made me think of the time I had seen it as a child, by lantern-light, as he looked down at the new-born lamb on his breast.

As a gift, I will also give you a copy of my first book, “Shelty’s Mount Chocorua Scare.” Please consider leaving a review on Amazon.

My first ARC I’ll be offering is “A Boy’s Best Friend” this week. If you're interested in becoming part of the ARC team, please respond to my email at jmacwilbur@gmail.com to be considered for the team. These are all children’s books for 3-8-year-olds.

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Saturday, I kept my promise to play ball with my Grandson. However, it wasn’t without some challenges to get there. I had also had another promise to keep that I needed to complete, that the forces of nature had kept me from completing until the very last hour, as this. It was putting in some landscape lighting that I had promised to install at a friend’s house. I should have finished two months ago. However, the cold, wet, and windy conditions we had experienced, at different volumes, timings, and overall punches here in Pennsylvania, hindered my desire. The other thing was the surgery I was recovering from, which kept me from completing my task. And now, time was running out. I would finally return to work after not working for almost three months, four months. And now I was tempted by the typical thoughts of failure that came into my mind. Like the man in O Henry's book, The Last Leaf. The great painter was always going to finish this great piece of work. He seemed to have some excuse for not finishing or not starting his work; I was experiencing, perhaps the same thoughts that I couldn’t install this lighting, were rambling through my head, and all the ways that this wasn’t going to work out. From the concrete steppers that I needed to remove and place the wires and lights under four runs, that were going to break off, and crumble into pieces to some rodent that might of chewed through the old wire and me end up wiring to a dead wire and search for hours through the landscape and never finding the hot wire to which to connect. Yes, I could sense the excuses coming. I picked up my other grandson, Bentley, and we went to get my tools from the shop. I found that all the tools I had had been redistributed amongst all the other crews, and my trailer had been repurposed. This brought feelings of slight betrayal. As I had been told the previous week, this had occurred, but I was surprised at the capability of making me and my things turn into vapor, which was highly successful. It was as if I didn’t exist. No tools in any of the sheds, like I was promised. We searched through all the different sheds and shop areas to find no remnant of what I used to do—the small jobs—I would typically be assigned to last year. I felt not a sense of despair, but disappointment, and a faint aroma of a spirit of failure as time was wisping by, and my faithful grandson wondered when we would start working. So, here is something that I am familiar with anyway, and that is having to start from the ground up when I’m called to do a project. Many things happen, like the typical things your wife might say to the owner of a shed, the disorganized husband. “ I cleaned out the shed because someone would get hurt if they went in there” To your response, “If that someone stays out of my shed, they won’t get hurt” as the disgrunted husband turns and steps forward as his foot lands on the base of the steel rake and the handle swiftly with the velocity of a babe ruth swing slams across his forehead, stunning the husband with pain, and humility. He then turns his head, and the shed door opening appears to be a frame that reveals the artwork, a red mark of impact across his forehead and over his eye. But through that dazed eye, he sees his wife laughing, and he with impulsive shock and instant humility. thinks to himself, “She was right.” However, when he does find safe passage through his little den of traps and tribulation, he can’t find any of his tools. He returns to the kitchen window and says, “Have you seen…” She responds, “You weren’t using the tools, so I returned them, or I found them useful, and I have confiscated them into my household toolbox.” Oh, here I go, buying new tools for my weekend project. And that’s what Bentley and I did.

We went to our local hardware store, Pagen Fagen. The Name means “anything you think you need, you will find it here.” They are like the old faithful friend you have who lives nearby, who is a pack rat but can find whatever you need and knows where it all is, even if it is under a newspaper from 1812. And we did find what we needed there. And Bentley and I were off. We both made it to my friend’s and started working on the project. I showed him how to uncover the old wiring, lay out the new wire, and set up the lights. I showed him how to wire some of the lights to strip wire and how to connect them. Yet he wasn’t quite strong enough to use the wire connector, so I assisted. We continued, and I let Bentley work on the path lights, and I would work on dismantling the paver steps, run, and risers. They were glued, and I needed to break the glue without breaking the paver or steps. I was successful at getting some off, but two were really hard, and my arm from the surgery was getting some painful reactions from all the swinging that I was doing. My wife messaged me three times about meeting my other grandson and keeping my promise. I notified my wife that I need to change the time and defer it till 4 pm. My grandson said that would be fine. Meanwhile, the stubborn steps were still my new excuse not to finish this project. My grandson Bentley said Why not use the bigger hammer. I conceded, and it worked! I separated the step run and riser of the last section and got it all wired. He then helped me place and reglue the steps. We cleaned up, took pictures, sent them to my friend, and left. I dropped off one grandson and met the other, Brody, at home.

He was waiting for me, but kept himself busy. As I pulled into the house driveway and parking spot, I noticed our old pine oak. At that time, I had my out-of-body experience. It was in a flash that all these thoughts came flooding into my brain, and I lost all sense of time and space and started to wonder about this tree.

This is a pin oak. I’m from New Hampshire, and I’m unfamiliar with these unique trees that keep their dead leaves on the tree all through winter into spring until their new buds push off the dead leaves. And there it was, surrounded by new spring plants emerging from the ground and piercing through the fresh brown mulch that reflects a cared-for or manicured landscape. But this tree had its dead leaves still there, and they were blowing in the wind. The way they hang reminded me of a scene from the old, old Mickey Mouse cartoons. In one scene in the haunted house, it was a black and white scene, and the audience’s attention is drawn to a tree such as this with the dead leaves blowing in the dark. And Mickey comes to walk by the tree, and the carcasses of hanging leaves turn into hanging bats, and they flap and fly away. But this didn’t happen to me as I pondered the tree for which I had no love. This year, we have had some violent and voracious winds blowing, which have caused much distress and damage around here. But these leaves were clinging on better than baby opossums to their mothers' backs and fronts. These leaves were a testament that were clinging on longer than necessary. The red buds throughout Pennsylvania, with their beautiful purple, lavender, or deep red buds, can be seen in my yard and on the highways and byways. Daffodils are blooming and so are the tulips, but this old tree is still a fixture of winter.

There was a time in Matthew 21:19 KJV. And when he saw a fig tree in the way, he came to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only, and said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever. And presently the fig tree withered away.

This old oak tree has presented itself to our family at another time. When our house was being built. There was a burn pile next to this little scrap of a tree. We didn’t know what it was then, but it was around long before we wanted to build our house. It was here, living, breathing, having its being. It never thought of us. Yet our contractor shows up moving dirt, shaking rocks loose with equipment. And then starts piling up next to the little sap, scrap lumber, sheet rock, leftover shingles, whatever would burn, etc. And before we leave, he strikes the match and sets the blaze. But our little tree is tested there with the flames burning up its branches and its trunk. My wife watches and keeps this little secret in her heart—why has this little tree suffered so much? Couldn’t they have lit this fire somewhere else? When we return. My wife is filled with joy. When I park the car, she's looking not at our house but at the little charred tree. She speaks, “It's ok!” “I ask what is ok, the house, did you think someone would destroy our new home?”

“No, the little helpless tree.”

“What tree?”

“There, the little oak that they burned next to it. It survived that horrific fire. “

“Well, if you ask me, I can finish the job.”

“No, absolutely not if it can survive this, it can do anything.”

And it did. At that time, I was taller than it was, and now it has reached the height of our house. Birds nest in it, squirrels eat in it, and my dog barks at it. It has those dreadful carcasses hanging from it; it offers no colour or fruit. It dirties the cars under it, and I have to pick up after it. May I cut it down? It’s in the way of parking. “NO!” I get as a response. It may never get cut down. If Pilot listened to his wife, “have nothing to do with this man”, what would our world be like today? So, my world is different as I listen to my wife and join her side to protect this dreary old tree. But, I still don’t like it. But today, I’m beginning to see I have something in common with this tree. It holds onto those dead leaves till the new buds come. Are those old leaves like the anxiety I hang onto, the feelings of failure, or the feelings of abandonment, sometimes? The feelings of despair. I wonder if Lazarus hung onto feelings of despair when the rich man stepped over him and said good morning. How are you today? And then never gave poor old lazerous one thin dime. But made it to his council meeting on time. Did Laserous hold onto those leaves? It seems I do, but I can shed my old, dead leaves of discouragement in the right season. It looks unnatural to not lift myself out of the hole of discouragement, but have Christ do that for me. Did I mention my prayer that morning? “Father, let me serve you this day; may my weak body be useful to your efforts today.” It was useful, today God, in his timing, when the season is right, he gave something to me today that pushed off the old leaves from my branches, just like he will to this old oak tree. So, I produce fruit today! What fruit, you might ask? I kept my promise, three promises, and I received the joy I needed. It wasn’t manufactured, but a gift of God. And I gave this gift to Brody, I took him on a bike ride!

This tree is not cursed, nor is yours.

Best encouragement for the day. Jmacwrites

From Wikipedia

Some housekeeping here. I don’t profess to know the whole Bible. I’m not much of a scholar either. However, there are some small vectors or slices of God's word that I have studied pretty deeply because I wanted some answers for myself. My hope is that my writings will provoke you into God’s word like the Bereans. Please test what I share by looking into God’s word for answers. Don’t take my word for everything you read here. But if it at least makes you ponder your relationship with God and others, this also would be a joy. May God bless you on your Godly journey today.

So, I ask, what do you see here? A man praying before he eats a simple meal. We have bread, a symbol of life sustenance, some porridge, and a Bible, with a pair of glasses on it. The man is a pious man.

This is an image. We are to be a true image of God. And in reality, although this is a reflection of how each of us views ourselves or a desired image of what we would like to be in times of stress, it is still an image. This image was supposed to elicit a feeling of gratitude in people who were faced with a time of crisis. It was during WW1 that this picture was staged and taken. The photographer wanted to give society encouragement to have gratitude during the time of war that his country was experiencing. But is this a true image? (Genesis 1:26-27)

Does his ends justify his means?

The book is a dictionary. The bread is real; the glasses aren’t his, and the bowl of porridge is empty. The man was a peddler who knocked on the photographer's front door looking to sell a boot scrapper. The photographer thought this looked like a kind man. He has a gentle face, which will work for what I want to stage. So he cleaned the man up, set the stage, and asked the man to sit and bow as if praying. Snap! It was Done. The man got paid $5.00 to release all rights to the picture. And he went back to selling his wares. But there is more to this than saying “goodbye, thanks for the picture.” This man had a life before the picture and one after. The picture is staged, not natural; it was staged to ellicit emotion. But this man's face was forged with the trials of poverty and alcohol, perhaps not the pious man that we see. But, I don’t doubt he prayed much in his life, many poor people pray more than the rich, and drunkards often pray, but the issue here is the staging. Do the ends justify the means? This picture is harmless, but what happens if we change the Character of God to elicit an emotional response is that good, sometimes good, or never good?

There are some phrases in life that sound like scripture, and many live by these proverbial sayings because, to the human ear, they seem reasonably sound and map somewhat to the human condition. “All things in moderation.” It's actually not in the bible. It's a spiritual message that has been humanized so that man can take liberties that might not be approved by God. It seems that God would say “All things in moderation,” But it is a slippery slope. Let's try proving it the same way you prove a math problem. Plug in the answer and see if that dog hunts. All sins in moderation. Would God accept that? Hardly. The verse actually says, “Let your moderation be known unto all men.” The word to moderate really is referring to reduction, not balance. Abstinence is a godly virtue. So, to lessen your flesh in a way that all men can see and sense, you don’t overindulge in your spirit for the flesh. (Philippians 4:5)

Another one is that “God can’t look upon or see sin”. There is a problem with this. It's not in the bible. It comes from the calvinist reformed movement. I’m only dating the introduction of when it started being used in Christian dialogue. I’m not choosing one movement over another. But I haven’t found it in any ancient Christian beliefs, not even in Augustine, etc. The bible characters speak from the word loud and clear that God's character is one that looks upon sin. When Adam and Eve sinned and hid in the garden, God sought them out. When Cain killed Abel, God sought out Cain. He looked upon all and still looks at all of us in our sinful state. “While we were yet sinners,” he loved us. The same with Moses. So, like our picture above, can you see the problem with developing false narratives for the purpose of emotional manipulation? So, the narrative continues, “that God is so holy and pure” that he can’t even look at sin. This makes God weak and less powerful. We need to clean up our act before we come to God. This thought of making God high above us isn't in the Bible in terms of relationship. How can we have a relationship with this deity that is too good for us? Jesus said He wants us to be one, as he is one with his father. Jesus thought it not robbery to be equal with God. Jesus thought he was equal. Jesus wants us to be equal with each other. And I would suggest that he wants us to have the same relationship he has with his father. We can do that through Jesus’ mercy and grace. That our sins and transgressions were paid for by Jesus. So we can have this intimate relationship with his father. Although he is holy and all-powerful, he is only interested in keeping sin out of heaven. He still needs to see it to judge it and keep it out of heaven. Yet his purity doesn’t keep us out of heaven, but only our sin. Therefore, this way of thinking allows us to come to him while we were yet sinners and can be received into the heavenly abode. (Genesis 3:8-10; Genesis 4:9-10; Romans 5:8; John 17:21-23; Philippians 2:6)

Another is that God turned his back on Christ. This, too, produces some emotion in the sinner, but not what we think. When we sin, we will want to hide our sin. This is natural and I think expected. Would you agree with me that this is a tactic of the evil one? How? Would it serve man best to think that his sin is so great that God has turned his back on him, just like he did to Christ? Would this serve Christ, or the Father, if a man has that thought? Or would it serve satan? Why would I want to use something or a phrase that might ellicit an emotional response that could include putting a person yearning to be free, but instead, this phrase imprisons a poor soul. The phrase to turn your back is an act of betrayal. That is what Judas did to Christ. To Jesus' face, Judas was one way, but instead, he was making agreements with his enemies. To say God turned his back on Jesus would be saying to a body that you can’t trust this God, and create a feeling of insecurity? But rather, Jesus knows all and knew Judas. And said all this was planned from the beginning. That would also mean his laying himself on the cross. It was all planned as a pathway to save mankind. Not to deceive man into an emotional state where he could be controlled, but rather a state of seeing his own death if he doesn’t ask Christ to pay for his wages of sin. He too will face this death. And the second death is one for eternity. So, a kind warning to those who use phrases that aren’t found in the bible to get a quick human emotion and to think the ends justify the means— it isn’t necessary. But to richly see the plan from the beginning of time will give you comfort and a deep sense of unworthiness and deliver you from your guilty shame and build confidence in your Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. (John 13:21-27; John 10:17-18; Romans 6:23; Revelation 20:14)

Some say that the phrase “Father, Father, why hast thou forsaken me? See, God did turn his back on Christ. Did he. Jesus was the Word, and the Word became life and walked among us. The word was one hundred percent in the Lord. Would it not be acceptable that the “word” would end his life with his word flowing from his mouth? This scene is on the cross. Come with me as we visit this scene. Remember, Jesus said I will never forsake you. He said every man will be judged by every word spoken. That would include him? (Matthew 27:46; John 1:14; Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 12:36)

Here are some of the most prominent themes and prophetic descriptions from Isaiah and Psalms (KJV) that are understood to relate to the scenes of the crucifixion:

From Isaiah:

• Isaiah 53:3: "He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not." Peter and all who left him and abandoned him (Isaiah 53:3)

• Isaiah 53:5: "But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." This vividly describes the physical suffering and the understanding that his pain was for the sake of others' sins, directly relating to the wounds inflicted during the crucifixion. (Isaiah 53:5)

• Isaiah 53:7: "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth." This foretells Jesus' silence in the face of accusations and suffering, a characteristic noted in the Gospel accounts of his trial and crucifixion. (Isaiah 53:7)

• Isaiah 50:6: "I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting." This describes the physical abuse and humiliation Jesus endured, including beatings and spitting, which preceded and were part of the crucifixion events. (Isaiah 50:6)

From Psalms:

• Psalm 22:6-7: "But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people. All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying," This captures the mockery and ridicule Jesus faced from the onlookers during his crucifixion. Matthew 27:39-43 (KJV):

• "And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads, And saying, Thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross. Likewise also the chief priests mocking him, with the scribes and elders, said, He saved others; himself he cannot save. If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him. He trusted in God; let him deliver him now, if he will have him: for he said, I am the Son of God." (Psalm 22:6-7; Matthew 27:39-43)

• Psalm 22:12-13: "Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round. They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion." This imagery can be seen as representing the hostile crowd and the powerful figures (like the religious leaders and Roman authorities) surrounding Jesus. (Psalm 22:12-13)

• Psalm 22:16: "For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet." This is a particularly striking prophecy, clearly pointing to the crucifixion method of piercing the extremities. (Psalm 22:16)

• Psalm 22:17: "I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me." This suggests the emaciated state of Jesus and the intense scrutiny he faced while hanging on the cross. (Psalm 22:17)

• Psalm 22:18: "They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture." This prophecy was literally fulfilled by the Roman soldiers who divided Jesus' clothes (Matthew 27:35, Mark 15:24, Luke 23:34, John 19:23-24). (Psalm 22:18; Matthew 27:35)

• Psalm 69:21: "They gave me also gall for my meat; and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink." This refers to the offering of a bitter drink (gall or wine mixed with myrrh, and later sour wine or vinegar) to Jesus during his suffering (Matthew 27:34, John 19:29). (Psalm 69:21; Matthew 27:34)

Now let's explore Psalm 22:

Did Jesus feel abandoned? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he wanted everyone to know what it was to be dying in the flesh when he and his father were one. I don’t know. It seems that there is more of a scene for the onlookers here, including us, that if grasped, might give us a foothold onto the rock we could be climbing.

Psalm 22:1: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?" This is the very cry Jesus uttered on the cross (Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34), (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46)

This is the psalm that the”word” was expounding as he died. To me, it's very fitting for every Jew to hear this at the time of Jesus' death. As I remember, every jew before the age of 13 had to know most of the Psalms by memory. If Christ was saying this as an outpouring of his desire and heart as he died, and following the tradition set by many rabis to read a short passage of scripture in order to bring the audience’s thoughts to the theme of the message to be preached. This would be the very passage he would go to to give confiedence in God rather than a chink in the armour of God. Some would think this is an expression of God's distaste for sin that he couldn’t look upon sin, and this is the reason he forsook Christ at the moment that Christ needed him most. But, will that balance out of Jesus' own mouth? “I lay down my own life, and I take it up. No man takes my life but I lay it down.” Could this be part of the plan? Let's look at God through this. It had to be tough to see and witness his oneness, dying, and Him holding to the agreement that all three had made—the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit—that this scene would play out so man would be and could be redeemed if he chose. It was also his choice.

Let’s now reveal Psalm 22

• “1 My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring? 2 O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent. 3 But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel. 4 Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, and thou didst deliver them. 5 They cried unto thee, and were delivered: they trusted in thee, and were not confounded. 6 But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people. 7 All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying, 8 He trusted on the Lord that he would deliver him: let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him. 9 But thou art he that took me out of the womb: thou didst make me hope when I was upon my mother's breasts. 10 I was cast upon thee from the womb: thou art my God from my mother's belly. 11 Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help. 12 Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round. 13 They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion. 14 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. 15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death. 16 For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet. 17 I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me. 18 They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture. 19 But be not thou far from me, O Lord: O my strength, haste thee to help me. 20 Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog. 21 Save me from the lion's mouth: for thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns. 22 I will declare thy name unto my brethren: in the midst of the congregation will I praise thee. 23 Ye that fear the Lord, praise him; all ye the seed of Jacob, glorify him; and fear him, all ye the seed of Israel. 24 For he hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither hath he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him, he heard. 25 My praise shall be of thee in the great congregation: I will pay my vows before them that fear him. 26 The meek shall eat and be satisfied: they shall praise the Lord that seek him: your heart shall live for ever. 27 All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the Lord: and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee. 28 For the kingdom is the Lord's: and he is the governor among the nations. 29 All they that be fat upon earth shall eat and worship: all they that go down to the dust shall bow before him: and none can keep alive his own soul. 30 A seed shall serve him; it shall be accounted to the Lord for a generation. 31 They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this.” (Psalm 22:1-31)

This was David's psalm. Was David ever pierced on his hands and feet? But Christ was speaking through him in his own time of need, that there would be another who would suffer for him much more than he was suffering at that time. But then the Word became life and dwelt among us. (John 1:14)

What is evidenced is that this scene was of Christ on the cross, and no one said that God turned his back on Christ. No, what was said by the unbelieving centurion, “Surely this was the son of God.” If he thought that God turned his back on Christ, wouldn’t that show him God is weak, letting his son die? God would have betrayed his son. There were two others who were also betrayed, but weren't they right next to Christ? One said if thou be the son get us down. The other said we deserve this death, this one doesn’t. Please remember me when you enter your kingdom. Both these men heard Jesus say, " My god, my God. The centenarian, also, and the disciples. But they never suggested that God turned his back and betray Jesus. But withheld his power and let Jesus lay down his own life of his own will. The early Christians never had a need to express the thought that God killed his son. But that brings me to the next parable of today—humanism. (Matthew 27:54; Luke 23:39-43; John 10:18)

Often today, we use human understanding to describe Jesus. The heresy of Adoptionism, also known as Dynamic Monarchianism, is an example. It is generally traced to the late 2nd century AD, with its earliest clear expression attributed to Theodotus of Byzantium, a leatherworker who taught in Rome around 189–190 AD. Theodotus argued that Jesus was born human and only became divine, or "adopted" as the Son of God, at his baptism, when the Holy Spirit descended upon him. This appears to me to be where some of this is today. This Adoptionism was man's way of explaining what happened to Christ as a man and then on the cross, again, the Holy Spirit leaves him because he became sin. Some of these things could be true. But it is an area that leads to more analogies, that is, our human reasoning. The word says that you are of Christ if you believe he became flesh and walked among us. This couldn’t be the case in the Adoptionsm scenario.

Modelism is another attempt at man's way of showing a mystery that is in the bible, but isn’t hidden; from the beginning of time, it was there. But modelism explains God as one God with different faces or modes. Sort of like disguises. But the one truth that did come from the word is the trinity, Father, Son, Holy Spirit, was revealed in God’s word. But now we go on to some of today's analogies that are close to teaching and not reaching souls, this is Utilitarianism. (Matthew 28:19)

This is the ends justify the means. Does it? You are a man who is in control of a railway switch; the train is coming, and you control which way it goes, right or left. There are two people tied to the right track. Ten are tied to the left track. You have to decide which one should live. Most people will think it's a math question. Hint, it isn’t. It is a moral question of how you view others. This utilitarian exercise has been used by many faiths as a means to explain God's purpose or heart in his decisions to send his son who would pay for our sins. “God is like a man who is running a subway switching station. He sees his son playing along the tracks, and his son gets stuck on the tracks and a subway is coming and he needs to make a decision to save all the people in the subway and switch the subway to where his son is or save his son and switch the subway train to a place that is under construction and will be certain death to all the passengers. However, looks at his son and turns away and pulls the switch to save all the passengers. Can you see where this lacks the love of God? I shared this example with a person once, who told me they could never serve a God that would kill their son. I was dumb founded why she didn’t convert or become moved. And I got quite the opposite response from her. I shared the scenario previously, and He said the murderer is the one who put the person in that position. I didn’t understand these responses. Until I read more in scripture about how God despises child sacrifice. Then why would he kill his son? I learned that the problem is that one could say God is a murderer, except for Jesus’ words: “I lay my life down and take it up again.” The other scene could conclude that Jesus had no choice. And it is true that the child or the people had no choice in the matter. God gives a choice, he isn’t oppressive or demanding. He offers and asks us to serve him, and what's amazing is that he will pay the price not demanded of God, but of his own free will, pay the price for our transgression. But I will offer one that appears to be a real-life touching story, but is not, about a boy who laid down his life for his sister. (Leviticus 18:21; John 10:17-18)

Many years ago, a little girl named Liza was suffering from a rare, life-threatening disease. Her only chance of survival was a blood transfusion from her five-year-old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and developed the necessary antibodies. The doctor explained the situation to the boy and asked if he would be willing to give his blood to save his sister. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy took a deep breath and said, “Yes, I’ll do it if it will save Liza.” During the transfusion, as he lay next to his sister, he smiled, seeing the color return to her cheeks. But then his face grew pale, and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked in a trembling voice, “Will I start to die right away?” The boy had misunderstood the doctor, thinking he would have to give all his blood—and thus his life—to save his sister. The doctor, moved to tears, reassured him that he would be fine, and both siblings recovered. This is also fabricated to elicit an emotional response. And it does a much better job of that because it is purely self-sacrificial.

Some say that Jesus felt emptied at the cross. And this is most likely true. Yet I just ask how much we should build on speculation. We don’t know. But what we do know is how he felt, which is in His inspired word, and it became life and dwelt among us. (John 1:14)

Good Friday, and Happy Resurrection Day

From Wikipedia

From Wikipedia

Some housekeeping here. I don’t profess to know the whole Bible. I’m not much of a scholar either. However, there are some small vectors or slices of God's word that I have studied pretty deeply because I wanted some answers for myself. My hope is that my writings will provoke you into God’s word like the Bereans. Please test what I share by looking into God’s word for answers. Don’t take my word for everything you read here. But if it at least makes you ponder your relationship with God and others, this also would be a joy. May God bless you on your Godly journey today.

So, I ask, what do you see here? A man praying before he eats a simple meal. We have bread, a symbol of life sustenance, some porridge, and a Bible, with a pair of glasses on it. The man is a pious man.

This is an image. We are to be a true image of God. And in reality, although this is a reflection of how each of us views ourselves or a desired image of what we would like to be in times of stress, it is still an image. This image was supposed to elicit a feeling of gratitude in people who were faced with a time of crisis. It was during WW1 that this picture was staged and taken. The photographer wanted to give society encouragement to have gratitude during the time of war that his country was experiencing. But is this a true image? (Genesis 1:26-27)

Does his ends justify his means?

The book is a dictionary. The bread is real; the glasses aren’t his, and the bowl of porridge is empty. The man was a peddler who knocked on the photographer's front door looking to sell a boot scrapper. The photographer thought this looked like a kind man. He has a gentle face, which will work for what I want to stage. So he cleaned the man up, set the stage, and asked the man to sit and bow as if praying. Snap! It was Done. The man got paid $5.00 to release all rights to the picture. And he went back to selling his wares. But there is more to this than saying “goodbye, thanks for the picture.” This man had a life before the picture and one after. The picture is staged, not natural; it was staged to ellicit emotion. But this man's face was forged with the trials of poverty and alcohol, perhaps not the pious man that we see. But, I don’t doubt he prayed much in his life, many poor people pray more than the rich, and drunkards often pray, but the issue here is the staging. Do the ends justify the means? This picture is harmless, but what happens if we change the Character of God to elicit an emotional response is that good, sometimes good, or never good?

There are some phrases in life that sound like scripture, and many live by these proverbial sayings because, to the human ear, they seem reasonably sound and map somewhat to the human condition. “All things in moderation.” It's actually not in the bible. It's a spiritual message that has been humanized so that man can take liberties that might not be approved by God. It seems that God would say “All things in moderation,” But it is a slippery slope. Let's try proving it the same way you prove a math problem. Plug in the answer and see if that dog hunts. All sins in moderation. Would God accept that? Hardly. The verse actually says, “Let your moderation be known unto all men.” The word to moderate really is referring to reduction, not balance. Abstinence is a godly virtue. So, to lessen your flesh in a way that all men can see and sense, you don’t overindulge in your spirit for the flesh. (Philippians 4:5)

Another one is that “God can’t look upon or see sin”. There is a problem with this. It's not in the bible. It comes from the calvinist reformed movement. I’m only dating the introduction of when it started being used in Christian dialogue. I’m not choosing one movement over another. But I haven’t found it in any ancient Christian beliefs, not even in Augustine, etc. The bible characters speak from the word loud and clear that God's character is one that looks upon sin. When Adam and Eve sinned and hid in the garden, God sought them out. When Cain killed Abel, God sought out Cain. He looked upon all and still looks at all of us in our sinful state. “While we were yet sinners,” he loved us. The same with Moses. So, like our picture above, can you see the problem with developing false narratives for the purpose of emotional manipulation? So, the narrative continues, “that God is so holy and pure” that he can’t even look at sin. This makes God weak and less powerful. We need to clean up our act before we come to God. This thought of making God high above us isn't in the Bible in terms of relationship. How can we have a relationship with this deity that is too good for us? Jesus said He wants us to be one, as he is one with his father. Jesus thought it not robbery to be equal with God. Jesus thought he was equal. Jesus wants us to be equal with each other. And I would suggest that he wants us to have the same relationship he has with his father. We can do that through Jesus’ mercy and grace. That our sins and transgressions were paid for by Jesus. So we can have this intimate relationship with his father. Although he is holy and all-powerful, he is only interested in keeping sin out of heaven. He still needs to see it to judge it and keep it out of heaven. Yet his purity doesn’t keep us out of heaven, but only our sin. Therefore, this way of thinking allows us to come to him while we were yet sinners and can be received into the heavenly abode. (Genesis 3:8-10; Genesis 4:9-10; Romans 5:8; John 17:21-23; Philippians 2:6)

Another is that God turned his back on Christ. This, too, produces some emotion in the sinner, but not what we think. When we sin, we will want to hide our sin. This is natural and I think expected. Would you agree with me that this is a tactic of the evil one? How? Would it serve man best to think that his sin is so great that God has turned his back on him, just like he did to Christ? Would this serve Christ, or the Father, if a man has that thought? Or would it serve satan? Why would I want to use something or a phrase that might ellicit an emotional response that could include putting a person yearning to be free, but instead, this phrase imprisons a poor soul. The phrase to turn your back is an act of betrayal. That is what Judas did to Christ. To Jesus' face, Judas was one way, but instead, he was making agreements with his enemies. To say God turned his back on Jesus would be saying to a body that you can’t trust this God, and create a feeling of insecurity? But rather, Jesus knows all and knew Judas. And said all this was planned from the beginning. That would also mean his laying himself on the cross. It was all planned as a pathway to save mankind. Not to deceive man into an emotional state where he could be controlled, but rather a state of seeing his own death if he doesn’t ask Christ to pay for his wages of sin. He too will face this death. And the second death is one for eternity. So, a kind warning to those who use phrases that aren’t found in the bible to get a quick human emotion and to think the ends justify the means— it isn’t necessary. But to richly see the plan from the beginning of time will give you comfort and a deep sense of unworthiness and deliver you from your guilty shame and build confidence in your Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. (John 13:21-27; John 10:17-18; Romans 6:23; Revelation 20:14)

Some say that the phrase “Father, Father, why hast thou forsaken me? See, God did turn his back on Christ. Did he. Jesus was the Word, and the Word became life and walked among us. The word was one hundred percent in the Lord. Would it not be acceptable that the “word” would end his life with his word flowing from his mouth? This scene is on the cross. Come with me as we visit this scene. Remember, Jesus said I will never forsake you. He said every man will be judged by every word spoken. That would include him? (Matthew 27:46; John 1:14; Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 12:36)

Here are some of the most prominent themes and prophetic descriptions from Isaiah and Psalms (KJV) that are understood to relate to the scenes of the crucifixion:

From Isaiah:

• Isaiah 53:3: "He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not." Peter and all who left him and abandoned him (Isaiah 53:3)

• Isaiah 53:5: "But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." This vividly describes the physical suffering and the understanding that his pain was for the sake of others' sins, directly relating to the wounds inflicted during the crucifixion. (Isaiah 53:5)

• Isaiah 53:7: "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth." This foretells Jesus' silence in the face of accusations and suffering, a characteristic noted in the Gospel accounts of his trial and crucifixion. (Isaiah 53:7)

• Isaiah 50:6: "I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting." This describes the physical abuse and humiliation Jesus endured, including beatings and spitting, which preceded and were part of the crucifixion events. (Isaiah 50:6)

From Psalms:

• Psalm 22:6-7: "But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people. All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying," This captures the mockery and ridicule Jesus faced from the onlookers during his crucifixion. Matthew 27:39-43 (KJV):

• "And they that passed by reviled him, wagging their heads, And saying, Thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross. Likewise also the chief priests mocking him, with the scribes and elders, said, He saved others; himself he cannot save. If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him. He trusted in God; let him deliver him now, if he will have him: for he said, I am the Son of God." (Psalm 22:6-7; Matthew 27:39-43)

• Psalm 22:12-13: "Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round. They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion." This imagery can be seen as representing the hostile crowd and the powerful figures (like the religious leaders and Roman authorities) surrounding Jesus. (Psalm 22:12-13)

• Psalm 22:16: "For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet." This is a particularly striking prophecy, clearly pointing to the crucifixion method of piercing the extremities. (Psalm 22:16)

• Psalm 22:17: "I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me." This suggests the emaciated state of Jesus and the intense scrutiny he faced while hanging on the cross. (Psalm 22:17)

• Psalm 22:18: "They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture." This prophecy was literally fulfilled by the Roman soldiers who divided Jesus' clothes (Matthew 27:35, Mark 15:24, Luke 23:34, John 19:23-24). (Psalm 22:18; Matthew 27:35)

• Psalm 69:21: "They gave me also gall for my meat; and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink." This refers to the offering of a bitter drink (gall or wine mixed with myrrh, and later sour wine or vinegar) to Jesus during his suffering (Matthew 27:34, John 19:29). (Psalm 69:21; Matthew 27:34)

Now let's explore Psalm 22:

Did Jesus feel abandoned? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he wanted everyone to know what it was to be dying in the flesh when he and his father were one. I don’t know. It seems that there is more of a scene for the onlookers here, including us, that if grasped, might give us a foothold onto the rock we could be climbing.

Psalm 22:1: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?" This is the very cry Jesus uttered on the cross (Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34), (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46)

This is the psalm that the”word” was expounding as he died. To me, it's very fitting for every Jew to hear this at the time of Jesus' death. As I remember, every jew before the age of 13 had to know most of the Psalms by memory. If Christ was saying this as an outpouring of his desire and heart as he died, and following the tradition set by many rabis to read a short passage of scripture in order to bring the audience’s thoughts to the theme of the message to be preached. This would be the very passage he would go to to give confiedence in God rather than a chink in the armour of God. Some would think this is an expression of God's distaste for sin that he couldn’t look upon sin, and this is the reason he forsook Christ at the moment that Christ needed him most. But, will that balance out of Jesus' own mouth? “I lay down my own life, and I take it up. No man takes my life but I lay it down.” Could this be part of the plan? Let's look at God through this. It had to be tough to see and witness his oneness, dying, and Him holding to the agreement that all three had made—the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit—that this scene would play out so man would be and could be redeemed if he chose. It was also his choice.

Let’s now reveal Psalm 22

• “1 My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring? 2 O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent. 3 But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel. 4 Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, and thou didst deliver them. 5 They cried unto thee, and were delivered: they trusted in thee, and were not confounded. 6 But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people. 7 All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying, 8 He trusted on the Lord that he would deliver him: let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him. 9 But thou art he that took me out of the womb: thou didst make me hope when I was upon my mother's breasts. 10 I was cast upon thee from the womb: thou art my God from my mother's belly. 11 Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help. 12 Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round. 13 They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion. 14 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. 15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death. 16 For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet. 17 I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me. 18 They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture. 19 But be not thou far from me, O Lord: O my strength, haste thee to help me. 20 Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog. 21 Save me from the lion's mouth: for thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns. 22 I will declare thy name unto my brethren: in the midst of the congregation will I praise thee. 23 Ye that fear the Lord, praise him; all ye the seed of Jacob, glorify him; and fear him, all ye the seed of Israel. 24 For he hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither hath he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him, he heard. 25 My praise shall be of thee in the great congregation: I will pay my vows before them that fear him. 26 The meek shall eat and be satisfied: they shall praise the Lord that seek him: your heart shall live for ever. 27 All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the Lord: and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee. 28 For the kingdom is the Lord's: and he is the governor among the nations. 29 All they that be fat upon earth shall eat and worship: all they that go down to the dust shall bow before him: and none can keep alive his own soul. 30 A seed shall serve him; it shall be accounted to the Lord for a generation. 31 They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this.” (Psalm 22:1-31)

This was David's psalm. Was David ever pierced on his hands and feet? But Christ was speaking through him in his own time of need, that there would be another who would suffer for him much more than he was suffering at that time. But then the Word became life and dwelt among us. (John 1:14)

What is evidenced is that this scene was of Christ on the cross, and no one said that God turned his back on Christ. No, what was said by the unbelieving centurion, “Surely this was the son of God.” If he thought that God turned his back on Christ, wouldn’t that show him God is weak, letting his son die? God would have betrayed his son. There were two others who were also betrayed, but weren't they right next to Christ? One said if thou be the son get us down. The other said we deserve this death, this one doesn’t. Please remember me when you enter your kingdom. Both these men heard Jesus say, " My god, my God. The centenarian, also, and the disciples. But they never suggested that God turned his back and betray Jesus. But withheld his power and let Jesus lay down his own life of his own will. The early Christians never had a need to express the thought that God killed his son. But that brings me to the next parable of today—humanism. (Matthew 27:54; Luke 23:39-43; John 10:18)

Often today, we use human understanding to describe Jesus. The heresy of Adoptionism, also known as Dynamic Monarchianism, is an example. It is generally traced to the late 2nd century AD, with its earliest clear expression attributed to Theodotus of Byzantium, a leatherworker who taught in Rome around 189–190 AD. Theodotus argued that Jesus was born human and only became divine, or "adopted" as the Son of God, at his baptism, when the Holy Spirit descended upon him. This appears to me to be where some of this is today. This Adoptionism was man's way of explaining what happened to Christ as a man and then on the cross, again, the Holy Spirit leaves him because he became sin. Some of these things could be true. But it is an area that leads to more analogies, that is, our human reasoning. The word says that you are of Christ if you believe he became flesh and walked among us. This couldn’t be the case in the Adoptionsm scenario.

Modelism is another attempt at man's way of showing a mystery that is in the bible, but isn’t hidden; from the beginning of time, it was there. But modelism explains God as one God with different faces or modes. Sort of like disguises. But the one truth that did come from the word is the trinity, Father, Son, Holy Spirit, was revealed in God’s word. But now we go on to some of today's analogies that are close to teaching and not reaching souls, this is Utilitarianism. (Matthew 28:19)

This is the ends justify the means. Does it? You are a man who is in control of a railway switch; the train is coming, and you control which way it goes, right or left. There are two people tied to the right track. Ten are tied to the left track. You have to decide which one should live. Most people will think it's a math question. Hint, it isn’t. It is a moral question of how you view others. This utilitarian exercise has been used by many faiths as a means to explain God's purpose or heart in his decisions to send his son who would pay for our sins. “God is like a man who is running a subway switching station. He sees his son playing along the tracks, and his son gets stuck on the tracks and a subway is coming and he needs to make a decision to save all the people in the subway and switch the subway to where his son is or save his son and switch the subway train to a place that is under construction and will be certain death to all the passengers. However, looks at his son and turns away and pulls the switch to save all the passengers. Can you see where this lacks the love of God? I shared this example with a person once, who told me they could never serve a God that would kill their son. I was dumb founded why she didn’t convert or become moved. And I got quite the opposite response from her. I shared the scenario previously, and He said the murderer is the one who put the person in that position. I didn’t understand these responses. Until I read more in scripture about how God despises child sacrifice. Then why would he kill his son? I learned that the problem is that one could say God is a murderer, except for Jesus’ words: “I lay my life down and take it up again.” The other scene could conclude that Jesus had no choice. And it is true that the child or the people had no choice in the matter. God gives a choice, he isn’t oppressive or demanding. He offers and asks us to serve him, and what's amazing is that he will pay the price not demanded of God, but of his own free will, pay the price for our transgression. But I will offer one that appears to be a real-life touching story, but is not, about a boy who laid down his life for his sister. (Leviticus 18:21; John 10:17-18)

Many years ago, a little girl named Liza was suffering from a rare, life-threatening disease. Her only chance of survival was a blood transfusion from her five-year-old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and developed the necessary antibodies. The doctor explained the situation to the boy and asked if he would be willing to give his blood to save his sister. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy took a deep breath and said, “Yes, I’ll do it if it will save Liza.” During the transfusion, as he lay next to his sister, he smiled, seeing the color return to her cheeks. But then his face grew pale, and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked in a trembling voice, “Will I start to die right away?” The boy had misunderstood the doctor, thinking he would have to give all his blood—and thus his life—to save his sister. The doctor, moved to tears, reassured him that he would be fine, and both siblings recovered. This is also fabricated to elicit an emotional response. And it does a much better job of that because it is purely self-sacrificial.

Some say that Jesus felt emptied at the cross. And this is most likely true. Yet I just ask how much we should build on speculation. We don’t know. But what we do know is how he felt, which is in His inspired word, and it became life and dwelt among us. (John 1:14)

Good Friday, and Happy Resurrection Day