Many of you may know that my mom started nearly every day in reading her bible and praying through an ever-growing list of names that God laid on her heart. The past few weeks have impressed on me the need to return to God’s word and prayer when my mind is unable to articulate what is going on in my heart. I would like to share a couple of bible stories that have come to mind recently; and one or two observations from my mama’s life of faith.
In early December when Isaac’s updates on the quest for answers on mom’s pain began to make it clear to us that she was not going to be able to leave the hospital, I thought of the brief story in Matthew chapter 26 where a woman broke her expensive alabaster vessel of perfume in order to anoint Jesus’ head. That same encounter is in Luke where that gospel tells us that the woman also washed Jesus’ feet in her tears, dried them with her hair and poured out the perfume on His feet.
This story came back to me when my soul was confronted with the reality that my earnest prayers of a miracle were not going to be answered in a miracle of restoring mama’s body to health. I initially interpreted my recollection of this story as God assuring me that now that mama’s earthly vessel was broken Jesus would pour out some other unknown blessing. However, over the past few weeks since mama went to be with Jesus, I feel that God’s conviction on my heart was a call to lovingly let go of the blessings I’ve been selfishly bottling up in hope of a “just right” time to pour them out. You see, Judy Hall broke open her alabaster jar of prayer long ago and she spent most of her life anointing Jesus with her tears and her time. What I got to see over the past few weeks was the last drops being poured out on her Lord and Savior for the whole world to witness.
This lesson through grief was driven home to me again the morning after we said goodbye to mom’s earthly self. Most of my life I have pondered the parable of the sower. This story can be found in Matthew 13, Mark 4, and Luke 8. It is clear that Jesus is the sower who casts out his planting of grace and forgiveness indiscriminately. And it is indeed a powerful message on the way God gives the promise of salvation to all, regardless of past sins or current circumstances. However, I’ve always wondered how a loving God could broadcast sow seeds of hope knowing that some ground was unprepared to receive it. This isn’t the best agricultural practice. Most farmers spend days prepping the ground for planting - it ensures more seed takes root and will grow.
The thought hit me like a ton of bricks: human sowers of grain typically don’t work alone. They have laborers that go ahead of them working to clear the ground the best we can. Field labor is not the iconic and parable-centered work that the sower is doing - but the work of the field labor at the feet of Christ is meaningful. I think mom labored with joy. Clearing boulders, pulling weeds and working soil by spending her life talking, crying, living and praying with those around her. All the time making them aware that the sower was near and He would plant hope, love and joy freely.
And what does a field labor do to restore his own soul when weary from the labor of spreading God's grace? I'm sure there are many ways that faithful followers of Christ attend their own self care but I know the way my mama took care of herself. In the early morning hours, and at night, and many other times when she was weary she turned to the word of God and found her rest in the pages of her Bible. She found rest, she also found direction and inspiration by regularly returning to the word of God.
I have heard the sound of the human soul emptying itself of life's worry. As a child, the rhythm and cadence of prayer at the little Church of God Holiness in Lamar, CO echoes in my ears. I heard it again as mama was suffering in her last days. An outpouring of spirit in a rising rolling cadence as the faithful lay their worries and their pains at the feet of Jesus. And in that rhythm of grief breaks through beautiful crescendos of joy and Hallelujahs at the blessed mercy of God.
Warman Hall
