The Point of the Gospel--John the Baptist

John Prepares the Way

 In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea and Annas and Caiaphas had been named to the high priesthood, John, son of Zechariah, became convicted with a calling from God. He was the “voice calling in the desert to prepare the way for the Lord…” (Isaiah 40:3) His clothes were made of camel’s hair, held with a leather belt.

He ate locusts and wild honey and traveled the country around the Jordan River preaching that all needed to repent, for merely being children of Abraham was not enough to ensure salvation. God could raise any number of children from the stones. (In the Old Testament, God made a pact with Abraham that his descendants would be His chosen people. John warned them not to rely solely on their heritage.)

People came from Jerusalem and all Judea to confess their sins and be baptized with water as a sign of repentance. John said to them, “Repent, for there is one still to come whose sandals I am unworthy to untie. He will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire (a sign of purification and forgiveness). You must be like trees that produce good fruit so as not to be cut down and thrown into the fire (here, purification in the sense of destroying the unrighteous).

The crowd asked how they should do this. John answered, “Share with those who have less than you—clothes, food, whatever you have. Tax collectors, do not take more than the law requires, and you soldiers, don’t accuse people falsely. Be content with your pay.” The people wondered if John might be the Christ.

Writing Status

I’ve started sending out queries (letters giving a brief idea of what your book or whatever you’re writing is about) to agents to see if any are interested in representing me and my novel The Devoted of Imshalel. Wish me luck or better yet, maybe send up a prayer or two.

Monday—Angry: to be or not to be. In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m perimenopausal, hormonal, and seem to be angry an awful lot of the time, quite often for no apparent reason. Bet plenty of you ladies and you husbands can relate.

The Punchbowl--Part Four

The Punchbowl—Part Four

 Regina eyed this daughter too much like her. “You have your mother’s curvy figure and round face. No diet’s going to change your natural shape. You’ll wind up with sunken cheeks and look like a cratered moon.”

“Craters and peaks,” Tracey said mournfully, tapping her nose.

Regina couldn’t stop the spurt of laughter. “All right, so you think nature threw a few thorns among the petals, as my grandmother used to say. Doesn’t make the flower any less beautiful.”

“I’m not beautiful!” Tracey cried.

Regina’s heart hurt as she pulled her reluctant daughter into her embrace. “Maybe you’re not TV-model beautiful. Most aren’t without the makeup, lighting, and airbrushing. Make the most of your unique qualities.”

This message having been preached to the point of inanity, it barely registered. Tracey burrowed against her mother’s shoulder. Her voice came out slightly muffled. “Mom, can’t you do that with makeup? You know, make what you’ve got look better?”

Regina smiled. “That’s not exactly what I meant, but yes, we use makeup to enhance what nature’s given us.”

“Could I enhance my nose, maybe?”

“Well, the neon cheeks certainly would have drawn attention,” Regina teased.

“Oh, shut up,” Tracey said with a non-playful edge.

Regina’s stern glance warned Tracey to go no further. “I think in this case you’re hoping to minimize certain features, make them less noticeable.” Tracey nodded vigorously. “Okay, a few quick pointers. We need to get back to our guests.”

Tracey bounced on the seat.

“Hold still, you.” Regina opened her makeup kit. “Lighter and darker shades of foundation are used for contouring.” She applied the thin liquid to Tracey’s nose. “Then we gently rub where the colors meet to blend them. For your cheeks, darker color under the bone to give a more oval appearance.” Regina picked up the blush. “Just a little to bring out the cheekbones and a touch of eye liner to make your eyes pop. You’re fortunate to have naturally curled eyelashes. There!

Tracey twirled toward the mirror and hugged herself. “It’s weird.” She turned her face this way and that. “I don’t really look different, but I do.”

“That’s the idea,” Regina said. “But Tracey, take note of your best features. See the sparkle in your eyes and smile? That’s not makeup, that’s you. Let’s go down.”

“Oh, Mom!” Tracey clutched Regina’s hand. “Do I have to wash it off? Daddy says no makeup until I’m thirteen.”

“Well, we did it right. I doubt anyone will notice.” She patted her daughter’s cheek.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Mommy recently changed to Mom. Regina sighed and steered Tracey downstairs. She swept an assessing gaze over the party. “Tracey, your cousin Andrew seems all alone. Go say hello and invite him out to the garden.”

Tracey rolled her eyes but grabbed another tart. Regina watched with satisfaction as the boy accepted it and smiled in shy gratitude. He and Tracey passed through the French doors, munching, and Regina turned to the buffet. The punchbowl needed refilling. She took a firm hold about the grape clusters and headed for the kitchen.

The Point of the Gospel on Friday--John prepares the way.

The Punchbowl--Part Three

The Punchbowl—Part Three

Born several miscarriages later, Tracey Leonora was named for her father when the doctor made it clear there should be no more babies. Months went by before Regina came to terms with her own disappointment and apologized to Trace for the break in family tradition. He’d gazed at her in complete bewilderment.

“Are you nuts? Tracey’s a feminine name, perfect for our little girl.”

The confounded look as much as the words cemented everything right between them. Despite many repetitions of this story to Tracey, others’ words tended to sting. The family compared her petite roundness, inherited from her mother, to Amy’s willowy build. She also inherited her father’s prominent nose but not his academic skills. Her sister, Tracey could dismiss in scoffing anger, but she adored her father and keenly felt every instance, real or imagined, of not measuring up.

Regina finished the carrots, picked up a pecan tart, Tracey’s favorite dessert, and took the back stairs up to the bedrooms. She knocked lightly at her daughter’s door and entered—empty, as was the bathroom next door. Regina continued to the master bedroom and heard small noises. Tracey sat before the vanity mirror, lavishly applying blush to her cheeks.

“Tracey! What are you doing?”

“Nothing! You scared me.” Tracey hastily retuned the blush to the table.

“You look like a clown,” Regina said, exasperated. “You should be downstairs.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t feel like playing hostess with the mostest.”

Regina ignored that, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed the cold cream. She lifted her daughter’s chin and wiped off her cheeks. Tracey remained still, though she glared at the floor.

“That’s better. Come on down and say hello to everyone. Here, I brought you a tart.”

Tracey’s eyes accused. “You know I’m on a diet.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Regina eyed this daughter too much like her. “You don’t need to diet. You have your mother’s curvy figure and round face. No diet’s going to change your natural shape.” She attempted humor. “You’ll wind up with sunken cheeks and look like a cratered moon.”

End of the story on Wednesday.

The Point of the Gospel--Jesus at Twelve

Jesus’ Childhood {Luke}

Jesus grew and became strong and filled with wisdom. The grace of god was upon him.

(Personal Thought: I wonder if that means the Holy Spirit was in him or he seemed to others to be favored by God in his growth and personality.)

Every year, Mary and Joseph traveled to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast. One year when Jesus was twelve, he remained behind in Jerusalem after the feast. His parents thought he was with friends or relatives traveling back to Nazareth with them and didn’t miss him until a full day away from the city. They returned and searched for three days, finally finding their son in the temple listening to the teachers and asking questions. Everyone was astonished at Jesus’ knowledge and his answers to their questions.

Mary asked him why he had worried them so, making them search frantically. They didn’t understand his reply.

“Why did you need to search for me? Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” (Personal Thought: I doubt that was said or meant as cheeky as it translates in modern English.)

Jesus returned to Nazareth and behaved obediently, and his mother treasured everything in her heart. Jesus grew in body and wisdom, and found approval with God and people.

Personal Thought: It appears that even early on Jesus had a charisma and appeal that drew people to him and invited discussion with him.

Monday—part three of “The Punchbowl.” Next week in The Point of the Gospel—John prepares the way.

The Punch Bowl--Part Two

The Punchbowl—Part Two

Regina greeted new arrivals, pointed out the den designated as the cloakroom, and suggested a look at the terraced garden beyond the French doors where mums still bloomed in the same colors as the leaves falling around them. From a plush blue-gray armchair, a frail hand settled on Regina’s forearm. The pungent aroma of professionally perfected white curls wafted up from one of the aunts.

“Regina, dear, lovely as always.” The older woman offered a rose-dusted cheek.

Regina bent and dutifully pecked. “How nice to see you. Have Trace and the girls said hello?”

“My nephew never forgets his hosting duties and Amy saw to my coat. I don’t believe young Tracey has made an appearance yet. I hope she’s not ill.”

“She’s fine,” Regina answered, careful to restrain the sigh. “I’m sure she’s around somewhere.”

“Almost a teenager now isn’t she? Adolescence, my, my.” The childless aunt nodded in commiseration. “I’m sure one day she’ll be every bit as accomplished a young lady as her older sister.”

“Yes, well,” said Regina, “if you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly, dear.”

Regina returned to the kitchen and sat down to peel and cut carrots for the vegetable platter. She supposed if Tracey were to make an appearance she should go roust her from her bedroom. Cutting vegetables required less effort. She wondered how other parents managed. Thankfully, Amy at nineteen was nearly safe from the pitfalls of teenaged angst. Firstborn and blessed with a moderate temperament and symmetrical features, her path had seemed relatively mine free.

Born several miscarriages later, Tracey Leonora was named for her father when the doctor made it clear there should be no more babies. Months went by before Regina came to terms with her own disappointment and apologized to Trace for the break in family tradition. He’d gazed at her in complete bewilderment.

Friday—The Point of the Gospel, Jesus’ childhood. Part Three of “The Punchbowl”, Monday.