I love the Word of GOD. Truth brings Light. Light brings Liberty.

I've been reading Andrew Murray's 'Humility'. Today's verse was "I (Messiah) am in the midst of you as he that serveth." Luke 22: 27.

Selah.

Now consider this quote: "... grace is in truth nothing but that simple consent of the creature to let God be all, in virtue of which it surrenders itself to His working alone."

Let God be all.

Brings tears to my eyes.

This morning's glory is the grace of lives surrendered to Love and the peace that passes all understanding. Amen.

It all began with an inspiration when David and Gayle were having dinner in Boston one night.

They wondered what might be a fun way to spend their fourth of July in Boston.

Well, Boston means Billy Red Sox to Chief Wahoo, (a.k.a. Gayle). She thought if anyone would be able to cure this die-hard Cleveland Indian fan of bristling every time she glanced over the muddy waters of the River Charles to Fenway Park, where the Red Sox took the pennant from the Indians and went onto win the '07 World Series, it would be none other that Billy Red Sox. So she called him, there from their dining table, inspiration as fresh as the seafood on her platter and asked if we'd come to Boston for the fourth of July... and before the question mark hit the end of her sentence Billy exclaimed "Yes!"

And here is where I interject my wonder at ONE MINUTE IT'S AN IDEA... AND THE NEXT MINUTE IT'S REALITY.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So from Gayle's lips to God's ears and the next thing you know, we're enjoying the view of the Boston skyline from our room at the Hyatt. (Where incidentally, Billy tripped over an ottoman and I burned my hand on my curling iron and Billy kept insisting he was going to "sue Paris"... I finally asked "Paris who? Paris Hyatt?" He said, "Yes. Her!") 

We freshened up and headed out immediately to see what we could of "Lynn, Lynn, City of sin" before the sun set. We landed on Lynn Beach and stepped out of the car into the fading day and the humid hug of ancient memories beaconing all of us a warm "Welcome home."

Ending up at Neptune Street. The place of Billy's birth. The tripple decker house he lived in has been replaced by apartments, but it was good to stand on the street where Billy so often returns at night in dreams.

The next morning Billy sang that old Bostonian spiritual.

“Well, I looked ova Boston Hahba,

And what did I see, comin’ for to carry me home?

A band of Nobles, comin’ after me…

Comin’ for to carry me home.

Swing low, Sweet Noble Lady,

Comin’ for to carry me home!

Swing low, Sweet Noble Lady,

Comin’ for to carry me home!”

Nancy and Lily flew in from Martha's Vineyard just to spend the day with us!

Behind Nancy and Billy is the General Edward's Bridge.

Lily, a seasoned sea-woman herself, drank in the bliss of the day.

Billy took this picture because I'm his number one "Jubilee". (xoxo)

Billy was seeing his old romp from a whole new perspective.

Here's where I'll interject the part about nirvana being disturbed first by a flagging alternator. Then when our pulses had all returned to semi-normal we hear Gayle's voice escalating as she begins counting "We're in six feet of water... five feet... four feet... David! Three feet!!" Followed by a large bang. Yes. Come to find out, the Noble Lady is also an expert sandbar finder. But after a few tense moments, David jarred the Noble Lady out of her conundrum and she limped back to port, a little worse for the wear.

As I now understand, "it's all in a day's boating".

The Sandbar Survivors.

Now that the Noble Lady was up for repairs, the question of traversing the locks of the Charles River to listen to the Boston Pops under the Fourth of July Fireworks Extravaganza was completely settled. Instead, we watched from Nancy's fifteenth floor picture window at the hotel in perfect ease while listening to the synchronized music of the Boston Pops on t.v. Smoke free... wind free... sandbar free.

I thought nothing could compare to this day.

Until the next day rolled in.

Billy hadn't been home in forty years. His own personal wilderness journey. It was a day packed with excitement and deep emotion.

Here's the railroad crossing bridge that Billy and Bob played on as kids. Billy said the sight of it caused him to remember the smell of the rust on his hands after climbing and playing on the railroad tracks.

This was the church where this little white boy was spotted by a loving black woman who invited him in to listen. There he sat, wide-eyed, tasting a whole other way of worship. A way that suited him well.

At the Commons the Police Department flooded every winter so everyone had a place to go ice skating.

The corner store he sent Bob to fetch his "Twins." Oh get your mind out of the gutter! Not those "twins"! Twins like Hostess Cupcakes.

And the plate glass window through which Porky Norton flew. (Keep in mind, Billy's name is one letter away from being Bully.)

A type of tripple decker house where Billy convinced Russell Caravan that if he'd only put on the towel with an 'S' spray-painted on it, he would magically be able to fly. Russell lept from the balcony all right and let's just say, not only did he not fly, he wasn't walking for a while either.

Billy's gift has been 'sales' since the get-go.

We bumped into the Jonathan Paplebon at Duncan Donuts.

Revisted Billy's old school.

High Rock Tower.

Emotion hit a crescendo at 55 Wyman Street, where Billy's mom, Margaret Christine Noone, was raised, and where Grampy Mike lived until he passed away. 55 was always Mom's favorite number.

Billy ascended the steps, met the man who now owned the home, and was welcomed in for a tour. When I asked Kevin why he would just open his home to a perfect stranger he answered in his thick Boston accent "I could tell Billy was the real deal." The real deal. Good words.

Kevin is a designer and has done an amazing job at breathing new life into the house.

Billy sat for a meaningful moment in the exact spot his mother sat on the stoop of the front stairs.

And was overwhelmed to see his grandfather's name, with the date, still carved into the concrete stairs he and his dad poured lo' these many years hence.

The back yard.

The Noble relatives who made our day complete.

Our time in Lynn was so appropriately finalized by a trip to Saint Mary's Parish, where Billy's mom sang Ave Maria.

As fate would have it, Dana, the janitor, unlocked the front door just as we ascended the stairway. Once in, I could not resist the temptation to sing the Benediction. Much to my surprise Dana opened his hymnal and sang a hymn to us in a voice like a Gregorian monk. Then he disappeared down the long corridor. Billy was absolutely certain he'd taken Dana's picture, but later there was none to be found. So, I'll admit it here. When we got home I actually called St. Mary's to find out if they had a janitor named Dana. They did. But you can't blame me. The whole trip felt so divinely ordered. Why not be sung to by an angel?

Billy lit a candle in memory of his mother and father.

After that it was all fun and games. We were off to Fenway Park!

This time Billy Red Sox talked his way into Fenway Park. There wasn't a game playing that day. None the less, he talked his way in so he could take pictures. Yep. That's my man.

Here are David and Gayle cheering Billy on as he's granted free admission!

Billy's new friends who let him into the Field. Everyone walked away happy that day.

Baseball and love just go hand in hand!

David's famous line was immortalized.

Then when we headed into downtown Boston.

Get a load of this GQ Boston Cop.

We finally found a place that served Fried Clams, and in all the years Billy's been describing them to me, I will admit he wasn't exaggerating in the least.

Our new Club House.

The evening ended with a horse and carriage ride through the streets of Boston. We even rode past a graveyard where Benjamin Franklin's mother was buried! This town is filled with the ghosts of history.

At every turn we were bumping into some new magic and the magic continued with our carriage ride. Our driver just happened to be from Ohio. Her grandmother just happened to live in Wooster. And she just happened to work on the Governor's election committee, who just happens to be David and Gayle's good friend! They shared all the same political ideals and we had a Democratic Yehaw in the cab of our carriage, right there in downtown Bean Town!

This was an amazing trip from beginning to end. Billy got to go home. All the places I'd pictured in my mind as he would tell me the stories of his youth, took on color and texture; scent and dimension. But it would never have been the wonder it was without the Nobles.

Lily, I love you. It's that simple.

Nancy, you are a libation poured upon the discontent of this world. You just make everything better.

Gayle, you would exhaust Tinker Bell. You flit and flutter from one ephemeral moment to the next with streams of twinkling fairy dust streaming from the wand in your finger tips. You are magic.

And David, you are a deep river. I just kept thinking "You will know them by their fruit... a good tree bears good fruit." You dear cousin are a "good tree" and we love you all endlessly. Billy said to me "When I grow up, I want to be like Dave." It's true, you are held in the grip of grace that calls us all to Higher Ground.

To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.  ~Margaret Fairless Barber, The Roadmender  

The glory of this morning is we've relished looking back and now we might better look forward!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

I just realized I've been on such a fast track I didn't post any photos from our Elvis Pizza Party!

Elvis, Shawny and the Mayor.

Rockin' and Rollin'!

But as usual, the best part for me was my all time favorite Enid. She'd just lip-sinkt the words "Love Me Tender" to 90 year old Bob. He ignored her through the entire song. She sang on not caring. Still loving. Still adoring. He ignored. When the song was through I leaned over and kissed Enid on the cheek and said "You were singing that to Bob weren't you?" She answered "Yes. But he ignored me." I laughed and said "I know. I saw." We then both laughed. Hey, after a lifetime, you just trust love whether it acknowledges you or not."

This is me whispering in Enid's ear.

This is Bob ignoring.

I think he was overwhelmed by all the females at the table.

It was such a fun time.

The subject of the theory of reincarnation and past lives came up when I was talking to Jubilee on the phone the other day. There is so much hard and fast finger pointing by Christians on this topic and that makes us sad. Then of course there's the right-back-at-cha judgment  from the Karma-Sect. I'm not out to convert or change anyone's opinion. Heck, I have a readership of twelve on a fantastic day, and most of you just blog-on to see what I'm up to lately. But I do have an opinion on this matter that might ease the compulsion to raise the gavel of Hebrews 9:27 "... it is appointed to man to die once, and after this the judgment..." followed by the slam of a hammer-fisted edict. 

I admit I'm Ginger from Wailuku and who might I be to broach the subject of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA)? No one other than a disciple in the School of One. So here's my answer to Messiah-loving believers on the matter of past lives.

First, let's be mindful of the the mark of a true believer. Love. Too often we miss the mark entirely. The word "sin" translated from Greek is literally 'to miss the mark'. So let's keep awake. Love. That is our job description. Judgment. God's job description. Got it? Let's reserve our pointer fingers for more productive occupations.

Now, the matter of past lives. Before scientists ever knew about DNA patterning, it was recorded in Leviticus 17:11 - "... the life of a creature is in the blood... " But it wasn't until I bumped into Genesis 4:10 one day that I was able to really extend mercy rather than a verdict to those who hold to the tenet of past lives. This is the account of Cain slaying Abel, where God says to Cain "Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground." Those words ignited in me a compassion for every soul who thinks they were Pocahontas or Ivan the Terrible in a past life.

I mean haven't you ever wondered how it is that eighty five people simultaneously might believe they were all formerly Pocahontas? Simple. The voice is in the blood. Same as the encoding of hair texture and eye color, aptitude, predisposition, and so forth, there is the voice of the generations that have gone before us written upon the blood pattern.

Do I believe in reincarnation? No. But I do believe that the resonance of the voices of the mothers and fathers who preceded me, all the way back to the first mother Eve, cry out in my blood. The first rebellion against Love speaks loud and clear in the story and song of my blood. In all our blood. 

The whole portion of text in Lev. 17:11 reads: "For the life of a creature is in the blood, and I have given it to you to make atonement for yourselves on the altar; it is the blood that makes atonement for one's life." That scripture text points directly to Messiah and the ultimate atoning sacrifice. Yes, the voice of the first rebellion and every rebellion after that sang in Messiah's blood, just like ours, but here's the difference between us and Him... He never brought the will of his own voice into agreement with the words or the melody of any voice other than the Voice of Love. If it wasn't Love, he wasn't singing it. That is what made him sinless. Being Thee Word incarnate, he is the New Song. The New Voice. The New DNA Pattern. (On a side note, the root of the word 'Pattern' in the original Latin is Pater, which means Father. It all points back to One folks.)

In our modern culture of purse size hand sanitizers and sterile idealism, the notion of blood as atonement is offensive to many. Even our fairytales and fables have been whitewashed so as not to reveal the visceral, the instinctive, the gut-nature of humankind. So when Messiah tells us to drink deeply of the cup of His blood, those who prefer their truth sugar-coated and stripped of all essential nutrients are certain to be repelled. But when you really think about it, every ancient people understood the life is in the blood. I suppose that is why they were easier to reach with the gospel of atonement than the techno-creturas of this modern age. None the less, the Truth stands.

I for one have found such solace, such relief, such escape from the voices of my own DNA patterning in the cup of Blessing that I need look no farther than the Cross for my unburdening. Hebrews 12: 23-25 tells us Yeshua is the mediator of a new covenant and the blood of Messiah speaks a better word than the blood of Abel. It goes on "See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks."

Abel's blood cries out for justice. Messiah's blood cries out for mercy. 

The glory of this morning is the cup of Life that relieves us of every voice but One... the Voice of Love. Amen. 

So many years ago this day,

We stood before a Cross.

We vowed to love come what may,

In plenty or in loss.

We stood in solemn reverence,

Our hearts intent and true,

As we nodded with tears in our eyes,

And promised “Yes, I do.”

We’ve kept our word through all these years,

That we pledged before our LORD,

And He has been the Strength the binds

Our Love, “the threefold cord”.

Who ever knows how things will go

When two set out as one?

We step out in hope and faith and love,

And aim together toward the Son.

The mystery in the course of time,

In all the paths we’ve trod,

Is not only do we love each other more,

But also, our Faithful God.

The promises “to have and hold”,

Are the same today as then,

We give our hearts, we give our lives,

“Forever and ever, amen.”

The glory of this morning is that Love never fails.

Now, let's celebrate the day!