The Wings of the Wind

Dear God, Oh God,

How dare I to write to you, You who walked on water? I read this morning in the book of Daniel how you walked in the fire with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. I read them in Psalms how you walk on the wings of the wind.You said in Job that you have entered the springs of the sea and walked in the recesses of the deep (not only on water, but in it and under it.) But you have also called me your child and I have a question or two.  I have many questions, as children often do. You have called me friend and I cannot even fathom that. You have called yourself my brother. How can that be?  But back to my original question. Why did you walk on water?

 I know that you created all things, including water, fire, and wind. When you spoke to Job you told him that you measured the sky with a span and you weighed the ocean in the hollow of your hand––a scar-free hand then. You know what they consist of, how they function and how to use them. You know their properties and how to control them. 

You wrapped the earth in clouds like a baby in a blanket. You watched the ocean gush into being. You set boundaries and divided light; and set the stars in their courses.  Why am I so amazed that you could walk through the fire and on the water? Yet, I am amazed.

I can understand the reason you came and walked with the three Israelites. They were being punished because they wouldn't worship a statue made by King Nebuchadnezzar. They said before they were threatened with the fire, "Our God whom we serve is able to save us from the blazing furnace and he will deliver us from your hand. But know this, even if he does not, we will not worship your gods or bow to your golden idol."

Now, this made the king so angry he demanded the furnace be super-heated, the three men to be tied up with ropes, and strong soldiers to heave them into the furnace. When they did, the flames killed them almost instantly, the soldiers, that is. The rope burned off the three men and the King watching saw four men walking freely about in the fire, but not burning. That extra was you!

This astounded the king who asked how many did you throw in? "We threw three," they answer. "But I see four walking around loose in the fire unharmed, and one looks like the son of God." The king called the men to come out and they did not even have the smell of fire on their clothes and no hair on their heads was singed.

Such an amazing story and I love every part of it. Their courage, their strength of faith. Your allowing the whole thing to be carried through so they were thrown into the fire and then you walked them out, saved them. The martyr doesn't die, can't die, just meets you and walks on.

You walked across water during a storm, not to show off, but to save your friends from the perilous sea. Peter asked when he saw you if you would allow him to walk to you. He walked too and I wonder because this is not a case of threat and punishment for faith. It seemed almost just for fun. Why did you do it? Were you building faith in Peter or trying to show him something?

I think it must be that you were showing him your power so that when the Roman soldiers came and took you and nailed you to the cross, Peter would know it was not something you couldn't have saved yourself from? That it was a death you resigned yourself to accept. If a man can walk on water and stroll around in a fire, he must be able to save himself from a cross and a mob. You gave your life freely.

O Lord my God, you are very great! You are clothed with honor and majesty, who wraps yourself in light as with a garment: who stretches out the heavens, who lays the beams of his chambers in the waters: who makes the clouds his chariot: who walks on the wings of the wind. Psalm 104:1-3

©2014 Elece Hollis, author of   Limitless Grace 

Letter to a Rose Painter

Dear God,

I just want to say how much I admire your artwork. Everwhere I look, from children's faces to the bark of trees, to wild animals like the giraffe to the sea shells washed on ocean shores, everywhere are wonderful beautiful things that you have designed. There are waterfalls crafted by your hand. There are sunsets too pretty to forget. There are flowers that delight with colors and such petals!
The birds, just the ones in my part of the world, are colorful and arresting. Their songs each original, their nests of certain grasses and rootlets. Then there are all the ones in other places that I have never seen. It amazes my heart. How wondrously you have made all things.

You knew how I would relish every bloom and every leaf. How I would love trees and rocks, shells and stones. You thought up the best colors yellows, reds, pinks, greens, purples and blues. The color of straw. The color of cornsilk, of bluebonnets, of pearl, of sky. Like love letters to us.

Thank you, Jesus for this swirl of silken rose, for this pink with tinge of yellow and wisp of white.

Love you,  

              Elece

Let There Still Be Roses

 Dear Jesus,

 I read in Isaiah 55 these words:

 "So you will go out with joy, 

and be led forth in peace. 

The mountains and the hills will burst into singing before you 

and all the trees of the fields will clap their hands.

Large cypress trees will grow where thornbushes were.

 Myrtle trees will grow where weeds were.

 These things will be a reminder of the Lord's promise,

and this reminder will never be destroyed."

 I love roses on their thorny bushes. 

I love roses and can't think that heaven on earth could lack them.

 Oh, Jesus.......

Oh, please, Lord say there will still be roses!

Dear Jesus,

What a beautiful day Easter has always been to me because of you! Dad used to take us to the early sunrise service and then to a lodge in the woods where they served pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast. We sang and prayed and ate at long rustic tables festooned with bouquets of buttery daffodils as the sun slanted through the windows on us.

I remember sunrise service at our home in Texas at the Jesus House. Mama served up platters of pancakes and filled pitchers with fresh icy cold milk. We had bouquets of daffodils there too. Someone played a guitar and we sang about how we cherish the cross because it was there you died because you loved us so and wanted to bring us the hope of overcoming death.

On the lawn at Grandma June's house in Louisiana, we watched the sun leap into the morning sky and we sang with the brothers and sisters there, "He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today! He walks with me and talks with me along life's narrow way!"

Oh, do you remember how Jiggs and the men's quartet sang for us on Easter Sunday? They started out slow and low and dreadfully woeful.

"Low in the grave He lay, Jesus, my saviour;

Waiting the coming day, Jesus, my Lord!"

(Then with such pomp and power they sang:)

"UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE,

With a mighty triumph o'r His foes!

He arose the victor from the dark domain,

And He lives forever with His saints to reign!

He arose! He arose!

Hallelujah! Christ arose!"

"Death could not keep its prey, Jesus, my saviour;

He rolled the stone away, Jesus, my Lord!

"UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE,

With a mighty triumph o'r His foes!

He arose the victor from the dark domain;

And He lives forever with His saints to reign!

He arose! He arose!

Hallelujah! Christ arose!"

I can still hear them. Their deep and marvelous voices thundering in the old stone dome of the First Baptist Church in Manistee, Michigan. It was greater than any theater surround sound system on earth! I am sure that of all the praises you have heard, you must remember those.The sound went right through a person's soul and overpowered him. It made me laugh and cry at the same time!

This morning the sun rose bright and warm on my bedroom window and I watched these tulips open to the light. I thought about you and how good you are to us. I thought what a wonderful day it was when my spirit and heart opened to your light and I knew you were alive!

Thank you, Lord, for coming. Thank you for dying and for living again, for making all things beautiful in your time. And thank you for tulips waving like flags to the spring sky and oh, yes, thank you for songs to sing.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest - large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don't stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna's little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don't seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

Thanks for the sounds of today. A hawk is calling as he soars across the orchard. I love to hear the birds, the meadowlarks perched on the barbed wire fence, the hawks wheeling, the chattering of the songbirds, the ka-plink, ka-plink, ka-plunk of the cowbirds (like berries landing in Sal's mother's bucket), the cooing of doves, the lonesome night call of a whippoorwill, and the owls stirring up the night air.

So many lovely sounds and mixed with the tree frog choruses and the laughter of children and the whistle of a tea kettle, the hesitant notes of a child learning to play a piano, a far off train whistle, make our world a place of beauty--a wonderland of sound.

We all have favorite sounds, sounds that spell peace, comfort, joy, freedom, and excitement to our ears. I am so glad that you created voices, music, birdsong, and even the sounds of a flowing stream, waves on the shore, wind in the treetops, a baby's coo and cry.

Help me to be alive to sound, to hear it, to study it, to feel it, to know it. Thanks, God.

Love you,
Elece