I step outside on a frigid winter morning, wrapped safely in my wool coat. I exhale and my breath floats on the air in front of me. The rising sun makes each falling snowflake shimmer and sparkle, and for a moment it appears that the air is full of tiny diamonds. Wonder.

I sit on the floor and carefully remove each figurine in the nativity scene from the box it has been packed in since last December. Shepherds, Wise Men, angels with their delicate wings. Mary. Joseph. And last of all, the Baby. The Baby from whom everything began. Wonder.

I hold a new baby safely against my chest. I see his tiny fingers and toes. His downy hair and wrinkly skin. His bright eyes. I feel the rhythm of his lungs and the beat of his heart against my own. I wonder what Mary must have felt as she held the Baby Jesus in her arms that morning. Wonder.

I race from store to store, finishing last minute shopping. I lock myself in my room with wrapping paper, scissors, and tape, preparing each gift to be given away. I anticipate the faces of those I love lighting up with joy at the gifts they receive. Wonder.

And finally, I can simply be. All is ready. All is waiting for Christmas morning. But tonight I sit curled in a blanket, watching the sparkling lights that spiral around the tree. Tonight I listen to Christmas melodies play softly. Tonight I hold a warm cup of tea and smile at the family that I love. Tonight is simple. Tonight is love. Tonight is Wonder.

Love. There is love that is offered… but is not deserved. There is a loyalty that cannot be broken. There is love that gives freedom. Love that allows us to let go of our faults, with the assurance that our Lover chooses to forget them as well.

That Love came simply. It arrived in a manger, in the midst of cows, and sheep, and hay. A baby boy. A baby boy who laughed, and cried, and smiled, and suffered, just as we do.

The Mighty King, who became a humble child. The humble child grew to become a man. A Man who loved. Who gave love. Who healed with love. Who sacrificed out of love. Who was love.

This was the Child whose birth we now celebrate year after year. Jesus came to earth. We didn’t deserve Him then, and we don’t deserve Him now. But still He stands, offering this love to us. Love that forgives. Love that heals. Love that changes. Love that wraps around our hearts, and our lives. Love that we can accept and return.

This Love is bigger than we can comprehend. It is given by a God who cannot be contained by human thought. His love extends past the edges of our minds, our imaginations, and our hearts. It never ends, just as He never ends.

Love. Simple. Undeserved. Wonder.

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart…”

Mary rested, curled up against Joseph’s side. She was truly exhausted. Next to her, Joseph’s breathing was deep and even, and he slept with one arm wrapped around her protectively. After delivering her firstborn son, the muscles in Mary’s body seemed to object to every movement she made. They groaned as she snuggled closer against Joseph’s chest, but she ignored them, shifting slightly so she could watch her sleeping baby.

She took in her birthing room. A cave. Where animals lived. The air smelled of manure and urine; there was hay strewn about the dirt floor and piled against the walls. Cows and sheep and goats had witnessed the birth of the baby. Her baby.

After the delivery, when the baby finally drifted off to sleep, Joseph lined the animals’ feeding trough with hay, and Mary settled him snugly in his makeshift bed. Jesus. She mulled over the name in her head. The supernatural events surrounding His birth. How much had happened in the last months!

Joseph snored softly next to her, and Mary’s mind drifted back to the very, very beginning. The day Joseph had picked her. Well, he’d asked her, actually. But, of course she’d said yes. Joseph was an honorable man. He was a hard worker, and he was strong. But he was also gentle. Those two qualities could be difficult to find together. What girl wouldn’t have said yes? In the shadows of the stable, a sudden grin lit Mary’s face. Poor Joseph had no idea what he was getting into when he’d asked her to be his wife.

And so, they were engaged. She was looking forward to their wedding. And then one day… in one day, everything changed. Forever.

She’d been working, just like any other day. She was a hard worker. But on that day, her work was interrupted by a visitor. Well, visitor wasn’t exactly the right word. The man was a messenger from heaven, and he had nearly frightened her to death. After all, seeing messengers from Yahweh face to face was just a tad out of the ordinary for a teenage Jewish girl.

But the words the angel spoke to her were even more out of the ordinary. “You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.” Mary’s eyes slid shut as she remembered that sentence. The words that had turned her life upside down. And yet, she could not remember the effect the words had had on her life without remembering the supernatural sense of peace that had settled over her heart after she’d heard them.

Yes. This was her purpose. This was the life Yahweh had called her to. That much was absolutely clear. Never mind that it was humanely impossible. Never mind that she was a virgin and had never been with a man. If this were Yahweh’s design, then it would come to pass. Of this she’d had no doubt. And so, she’d said yes.

“I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” With those simple words, Mary’s life was forever changed. Even as she rested in the stable, her eyes fixed on her baby boy, she had yet to understood the magnitude of her choice. The impact had been obvious up to this point. Very soon after the angel’s visit, she had traveled away from home to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who, the angel had informed her, was also expecting a child.

The visit was a marvelous one. The Holy Spirit had informed Elizabeth about Mary’s pregnancy… and Mary was sure this visit would be the last time she would be able to visit family comfortably. She was not far off in her assumption. After staying with Elizabeth for 3 months, her pregnancy was beginning to show. A pregnancy her family was unaware of. A pregnancy that would be regarded by all who knew her as infidelity to Joseph. But, unable to put it off much longer, she’d headed home.

At the memory of the days surrounding her return, Mary quickly shut her eyes… but not before a few rebel tears escaped and ran down her cheeks. She sniffed quietly. The words that had been thrown at her upon her return seemed to be permanently imprinted in her mind. The accusations. The questions. The explanations she’d tried to give. More accusations. The looks she’d received.

“Why the tears?” Joseph asked softly.

She quickly brushed them away, and looked up at the man who had been through so much with her. His eyes searched hers.

“I was just remembering,” she answered. “I was remembering the days after I returned from visiting Elizabeth.”

Joseph gave a dry chuckle. “You mean the days your father considered beheading me?”

“Beheading you?” Mary giggled. “It was I who was going to lose my head!”

They were exaggerating, of course. But the implications of Mary returning home carrying a child in her womb were serious, indeed. Her parents had pressed her, questioning her over and over. Who was the child’s father? Where was he? Had she been raped? And her answers, though truthful, had not exactly reassured them. How many women who bear children out of wedlock claim to have been supernaturally impregnated? That’s right. Not many.

She’d been quick to clarify that Joseph was not responsible, hoping to avoid involving him in her shame. And it would have worked, had her heavenly messenger not paid him a visit as well. Still unsure of Mary’s story, Joseph had planned on divorcing her discretely, hoping to avoid bringing her more public disgrace. But before he had done so, the angel visited him and explained what was going on. The angel left him instructions, which he followed – he took Mary home to be his wife.

Soon after, Caesar Augustus issued a decree. A census was being taken of the entire Roman world, and in order to register, each family had to return to its own town. Joseph was from Bethlehem, about 80 miles from Nazareth. And so, they had traveled…

Mary reached up and placed her hand on Joseph’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing me with you,” she said softly. “I know the law didn’t require me to be here, and I know I slowed you down. But thank you for not leaving me in Nazareth.”

Joseph smiled. “I wouldn’t have left you behind for anything. I would have missed the birth of our baby, and I would have missed you. Too much.”

“Do you think people will see us any differently when we get home?” Mary asked.

“Maybe,” Joseph answered. “And maybe not. Either way, this is the course Yahweh has set our lives on, and we’ll continue on it regardless of what other people think. Yahweh’s people often misunderstand Yahweh’s servants, but true servants don’t give up. We won’t either.”

The couple sat in silence after that, each pondering the events that led them to this point. This path of life. This baby.

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart…”

The baby’s due date was in the middle of June. Ben and Rebekah left five days before the scheduled date, with plans to take their time driving to Colorado. After stopping to visit friends in Indiana and driving nine hours the next day, Rebekah’s phone rang just as they were ready to pull over for the night. The call told her that the baby’s heart rate was low, and that the birth would take place the following morning at six a.m.

Together, Ben and Rebekah drove another nine hours straight. They arrived just as Rebekah Elizabeth was checking into the hospital to be induced. Exhausted from their 18-hour trek, Ben and Rebekah stopped at a cottage they were renting for a few hours of sleep, and then headed straight to the hospital.

“As soon as I walked in the room, she started crying,” Rebekah said. “She was so excited to see me.”

The baby boy, Tyrus Lee Pinchback, was born on July 16, 2009. He weighed 7 pounds, 4 ounces, and was 19 ¾ inches long.

“When they put the baby on her, she just kept looking at me, and she’s like, “Isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” Rebekah said. “It was like we were all just celebrating this precious miracle baby. I wanted her to hold him first, and she wanted me to hold him first. It was just a God thing. There was so much love, and we were just in awe of this incredible baby.”

Ben and Rebekah stayed in Colorado for three weeks after Baby Ty’s birth. They spent their days visiting with Rebekah Elizabeth’s family and the birth father, and giving little Tyrus and his birth mother as much time alone together as they could before the journey home.

“Rebekah (Elizabeth) once told me that the best gift she was giving Tyrus was Ben,” Rebekah said. “She would have been (and is) a great mother, but she wanted baby Ty to have what her other four children don’t… a dad. Rebekah sacrificially chose an adoption plan for Tyrus because she loved him more than herself and desired him to have everything in life that she wasn’t able to give. I don’t think there could ever be a greater display of love.”

Through the journey of adoption Rebekah and Ben have traveled together, the biggest lesson they learned was God’s faithfulness. They’d prayed for a child for years. Though the answer didn’t come they way they expected it would, God heard, and He did answer.

“There was no faith left at all,” Rebekah said. “And in all of that time, when I was faithless, God was completely faithful.”

“It took holding Ty for the first time to see God’s faithfulness (even though it was always there). Without Ty, I would not have learned the lesson I did. God doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone, but he used our whole situation to show himself to our family. I’ve experienced his love in a way I never have before and Ty is my little rainbow – my promise that God never forgot. A promise I will remember all the days of my life.”

During the next round of the adoption process, Ben and Rebekah went through an intimidating home study evaluation, series of interviews, federal and criminal background checks, fingerprinting, and full physicals.

“We weren’t prepared for how hard it was going to be,” Rebekah said. “If they did this for every parent, people wouldn’t be allowed to have children. It’s just that crazy.”

The whole process took four months. On August 27, the agency put them into the pool of families waiting for a child. That date marked another season of waiting.

The 27th of each month was anticipated, as Rebekah waited for a phone call telling her how many families had looked at their profile at the agency. For the next five months, not one family did.

“Now when I look back, it doesn’t seem that long,” Rebekah said. “But in those months, it was so hard. We had just lost our hope… We felt like this was never going to happen.”

One Sunday, in early January 2009, Rebekah sat in church with Ben. “Lord,” she cried, “I have nothing left to say. I have nothing left to give.”

“I couldn’t even argue anymore,” she said. “I was so exhausted. I was just sitting there, and I felt like this empty shell. And I heard the Holy Spirit whisper to me, I am faithful.”

January 27, 2009 rolled around. This day marked nine long months from the day they had decided to adopt.

“I woke up with a heavy heart on Tuesday, January 27th,” Rebekah blogged, “and on my drive into work, I questioned God for the umpteenth time, on what the heck he was doing. I bitterly threw out, “the least you could do is have the agency call, today… give me some sign of hope.” I reminded him that every other woman would be having her baby, today.”

At lunchtime, Rebekah saw she had a voicemail from Ben. It said, “Honey, call me back right away, the agency called.” I am faithful.

The situation was unlike any the agency had ever dealt with before.

First, the birth mother who had chosen Ben and Rebekah was not even registered with their agency. She stumbled across Rebekah’s blog, and knew in her heart that they were the family God had made for her baby. I am faithful.

“I clicked on the link and as soon as their blog came up I started jumping up and down,” the birth mother wrote. “I KNEW it was them. I started reading and it only confirmed that it was.”

Second, the birth mother’s name was Rebekah Elizabeth.

“Yes, you read it right,” Rebekah blogged. “I’ve met two people my entire life that spelled their name the same way as mine.” I am faithful.

Third, Rebekah Elizabeth lived in Colorado, and the Pinchbacks were working with a Michigan agency. I am faithful.

The entire situation involved much risk. The two families were matched in January, but Rebekah Elizabeth didn’t give birth until June. During those months, Ben and Rebekah were removed from the waiting pool at the agency, and were aware of the fact that a birth mother had the right to change her mind at any time through the process, even up to eight weeks after the birth.

“That was really scary to me,” Rebekah admitted.

The birth mother wanted an open adoption. Currently, the most common form of adoption is semi-open. In semi-open adoptions, the family and the birth mother meet once before the birth if possible, and then exchange pictures and letters four times a year until the child is 18. However, all communication takes place through the agency, and neither party ever exchanges their last name or address.

Anything above semi-open is considered an open adoption. Though they took it slowly at first, the two Rebekahs soon learned they had much in common. Within a month they were talking regularly on the phone, and over Easter, Ben and Rebekah traveled to Colorado to meet Rebekah Elizabeth, her four children, and her family.

“None of it was ever awkward,” Rebekah remembered. “We flew there, and as soon as she opened the door we embraced, and we both cried.”

She blogged about their visit after it had ended: “Love is a funny thing. In its presence, the world doesn’t exist and when your heart morphs back to reality it’s changed for the better. One of Rebekah’s daughters kept hugging me throughout the day. As we snuggled close in a double-seated go cart, she leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re part of our family, now.” As I choked back tears, all I could muster was, “Me too.”

Read more about Ben and Rebekah’s journey tomorrow in Miracle Baby - Part 3

Today. January 27, 2009. This day marks nine months from the day the decision was made, the hope rekindled. And yet, after all the hoping, all the waiting, all the heartache… today feels like the end.

Let us go back to the beginning of the story.

It’s a story of love and pain, of faith and heartache. It’s the story of a Rochester College employee, Rebekah Pinchback. She has worked at RC for just under two years, and is currently the Office Manager for Academic Services. But, back to the story.

In June 2002, two high school sweethearts, Ben and Rebekah Pinchback, were married after dating for four years.

After about two years of marriage, the desire to grow a family surfaced for the couple. For the first few years, they tried the old fashioned way, without medical intervention. When it became clear that something was wrong, they worked with an infertility clinic for another year and a half.

“The last thing we did before we walked away was insemination,” Rebekah said.

For weeks leading up to the procedure, both Ben and Rebekah were monitored through countless appointments. For the insemination to work, everything had to be just right.

“Finally, the day comes,” Rebekah remembered. “And on the day that we were getting inseminated, everything was perfect. I never even entertained the idea that it wasn’t going to work. And so then when it didn’t work, a couple weeks later, it was devastating.”

Within days, the endocrinologist called from the infertility clinic, ready for them to come back in and figure out a new plan of action. But they had reached a point where enough was enough. Knowing they couldn’t go through any more infertility treatments, they walked away.

“From October to January was probably the darkest time in my life,” Rebekah said. “We weren’t talking about adoption, and so for us, there was just no hope.”

In January 2008, she began to bring up adoption. At the time, Ben was completely against the idea.

“I think a lot of it is because we had gone through so much,” Rebekah said. “I mean, it is such an emotional process when you’re trying to do something that everybody else can. I think he just couldn’t even entertain the idea.”

During this time, Rebekah prayed that God would help her deal with the situation, whether that meant changing Ben’s heart toward adoption, or helping her to be satisfied with no children. She and her best friend began to pray together weekly, not only for a baby, but also for their families.

“We prayed for a full month,” Rebekah recalled, “And at the end of the month, one night we were laying in bed and Ben said, ‘Okay, I think I’m ready to adopt.’”

That was April 27, 2008. By April 29, they had submitted their application to an adoption agency, and Rebekah started a blog documenting their journey. (You can visit it at www. rebekahpinchback.blogspot.com)

Read more about Ben and Rebekah’s journey tomorrow in Miracle Baby - Part 2

The day was damp and gray. A woman pulled up in front the building in a small gray car that matched the sky. She moved toward the door with an impatient step, her arms full of a portion of the paperwork she’d been going through for months. It never seemed to end.

She was ready for it to end. Ready for the day the last form would be signed. Ready for the day the preliminary process would be over and the real waiting could start. Ready for the day the call would come telling her there was a baby waiting for her who needed a home.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the adoption agency’s waiting room. It was empty, except for one other person. He sat where he could watch the door leading to the interior of the building. He looked very ordinary at first glance, but he raised his eyes when the woman walked through the door. His eyes reflected her own. They were clearly kind, but they ached with the pain that comes from months and years of waiting, hoping for a child.

She knew, because her eyes reflected similar pain. In her heart, she knew she was born to be a mother. Every fiber of her being knew it. Her husband knew it. Her family knew it. Her friends knew it. And yet, she was not born to bear children. Her body was not made to carry babies. But the destiny of motherhood still called.

And so, she filled out the pages and pages and pages of paperwork that somehow proved she would be a good parent, and she waited. And she waited. And she waited. With the waiting, the love she carried in her heart for the child that would one day be hers only grew.

The man’s story was similar… but different. He shared the pain she felt. He understood the wear and grind of endless waiting. He knew the ache suffered not by arms that had strained too much, but by arms that had been empty for too long. He felt the overwhelming grief that sank in when the reservoirs of love contained in his heart seemed to overflow and run through cracks in the floor because he had no one to give it to.

But, unlike the woman, he was not waiting for one child. He waited for many children.

Adoption has been on my heart a lot lately. It was not something I gave much thought to until I stumbled across the blog of a woman who works at Rochester College. She and her husband just completed an open adoption this past summer and are now the proud parents of a beautiful baby boy. I had the privilege of sitting down with her a few weeks ago and hearing her story face to face. It is truly amazing. It is full of love and pain, of heartache and faith. It is full of God’s faithfulness. As soon as I am able, I will share her story with you.

I began to think of all the people I know who went through the adoption process, or are going through it, or even considered going through it. There are more than I realized. After hearing one remarkable adoption story, I was floored. The couples who go through this process are truly heroes. They are. They wait, sometimes for years, to become parents. They pour out their time, their money, their patience, their love, waiting for the day they can finally hold a son or daughter in their arms.

But finally, tonight, I realized that God does the same thing. He waits, sometimes for years, for a child to come to Him. You. Me. Sometimes the adoption is finally over, the child home and safe in His arms… and then the unthinkable happens. The child chooses to walk away.

After glimpsing the pain and heartache that human parents endure as they wait for the joy that an adopted child brings, I can’t imagine what such a blow would do to their hearts. With that real-life example freshly imprinted in my mind, I truly can’t imagine what the same blow must do to God’s heart.

Many times, in God’s case, the child will eventually come home. But still. It is so far beyond my understanding to grasp how much love He must carry in His heart for each one of us to be willing to go through that pain over and over and over again.

I don’t know whether or not adopting children will be in God’s plan for my life. But the picture of adoption has given me a greater understanding of the depth of God’s love for me.

In spite of pain, in spite of waiting, in spite of heartache, the love He carries in His heart for His children knows no limits. It never ends.

Have you ever heard God’s call in a certain area of your life and then found when you went to follow Him that it was much more difficult than you expected? Sometimes the pain involved doesn’t end after you’ve moved closer to where you know God wants you. Sometimes it continues on and leaves you wondering whether to continue down this path or go back while you still can… if that’s even an option.

This is something I’ve been learning over the past few months. I’ve felt for a while that God is preparing me for something. I still can’t tell you exactly what it will be, but in my heart I’m fairly sure it will involve moving away. So, I’ve been working to follow God in this area and begin to move myself into a position where I could go or do whatever He directed.

Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of owning a horse. Just before I was thirteen, I bought one – a beautiful, sweet (and sassy) Arabian mare. I’ve already written a blog about her before, so I won’t retell the whole story, but let it be enough to say that for me, she was a dream come true. I loved her so much and choosing to give her up was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

But, in that step, God was faithful. He provided an amazing home for her – a place where she’ll never want for attention or love or companionship. I can visit her whenever I want to and even ride. Seeing her so happy and content often reassures me that I did the right thing.

And yet, to be honest, I really miss her. More than I realized. I miss hearing her whinny when I’d walk out to the barn to put her away at night. I miss perching on the edge of her stall and venting to her about my day while she ate her dinner. I miss the way she used to rub her head on my back when it was itchy. I miss her, and it aches.

This past Saturday marked the fact that she’d been gone for two months and one day. I walked out to the barn for the first time since the day she left, and I spent the afternoon rolling up the wire that made up her pen. Until that time, I realized I had never come to terms with the fact that she really wasn’t ever coming home. But remembering her so happy and content at her new home and then winding up the wire foot by foot confirmed to me that this chapter had really and truly closed for good. It hurts, but it also brings a sense of closure. That chapter has ended, and even as it aches still, I’m excited to see what the next chapter will bring.

There really wasn’t a point to this blog when I started writing. I just wanted to share a bit of my current story and maybe let it encourage you as well. If you’re in a place where you’ve taken steps to follow God in a direction He called you and things are still difficult or painful, don’t give up. We hear it often, but God truly does have amazing plans for us, far better than we could imagine. Difficult as it is sometimes, He asks us to continue to follow Him down the paths He has for each of us and to trust Him.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you fill find me.” - Jeremiah 29:11-13

Finally, it came time to prepare for the Passover.  Jesus sent two of the disciples to prepare the dinner and the rest of us came later.  While eating the meal, the Master told us that he would be betrayed by one of us at the table.  I was in shock.  How could we, who had followed a perfect man for three years, find it in our hearts to betray him?  Hardly able to contain the questions that flooded my brain, I leaned toward John, who sat directly next to Jesus, and whispered to him to inquire of the Master which one of us he meant.  He did so, and it was revealed that Judas Iscariot would betray him.

When the meal was over, we sang a hymn and departed from the house.  Our destination was the Mount of Olives, and on the way Jesus spoke to us concerning matters that none of us wanted to hear.  He told us that we would all fall away and desert him.

“No!” I cried.  “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will.” I could not in my wildest dreams, imagine forsaking the man who had saved my life and changed my heart.  And yet he answered me with words that would, in time, prove completely true.

“I tell you the truth,” he answered me, “this very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

After that, no more was said, and we walked to a place called Gethsemane, where Jesus asked us to wait and pray with him.  He seemed in great distress, and he walked a stone’s throw away from us and fell face down on the ground.   There he prayed earnestly, while we, sadly, fell asleep.  He returned and asked me if we could not keep watch with him for one more hour.  He urged us to pray, and then returned to his own intense prayer.  Three times this happened.  Thrice he asked us to watch and pray with him and three times we fell asleep.  The last time, when we woke, soldiers were there with Judas who had betrayed him, and they took him away to try him before Caiaphas, the high priest.  And just as he said, all deserted him.
I followed at a distance and entered the high priest’s courtyard where I warmed myself by a fire with the rest of the servants of the house.  I chose this spot because from where I sat, I could see through a window, which showed the back of the Master’s head.  If only he would turn around, I could see his face.  However, as I sat there, my accent gave me away, and I was asked three times if I was a follower of Jesus of Nazareth.  Each time I denied the charge vehemently and by the end, I swore before them all that I knew nothing about the Master.   As soon as I had denied it the third time, Jesus turned around and looked right at me.  Instantly, the rooster crowed, and the Master’s words came back to me.  Before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.

Hardly able to live with what I had done, I jumped up and ran out of the courtyard, weeping bitterly.  Sobs wracked my body as I remembered how I had promised the Master that if all deserted him, I would remain firm.   Now he had no one with him, no one to support him or encourage him.  My actions made me so ashamed that I isolated myself for several days, eating nothing and hardly sleeping.

Later I found out that Jesus had been taken to Pilate, the governor, where he had undergone trail, was sentenced and then crucified.  Oh, how I wished time could go back if only for a few hours and I could undo the things I had said and done! And yet I could not, and I would be forced to live my actions.

Three days after the crucifixion, rumors were heard that we, the disciples, had stolen Jesus’ body from the tomb.  Two of our women returned from the tomb with stories of angels and empty grave clothes.  As soon as this was heard, I ran to the tomb and it was as they said. The grave clothes were empty, and I knew not what had happened.  I wondered about it a good deal, but could come up with no reasonable explanation.

After this, all the disciples gathered in an upstairs room where we sat in silence.  I was among them.  We feared persecution from the Romans and we were only just getting over our shock at Jesus’ death and then his disappearance from the grave.  So here we sat, remembering the time we had spent with the Master.  Slowly we began a quiet discussion about Jesus’ teachings and his miracles.  No one noticed the newcomer who appeared in the room until he spoke.

“Peace be with you.”

We all jumped and whirled toward the figure that had spoken.  How had he come into the room with the door locked and the shutters barred?  As I stared at him, I began to recognize him.  It was the Master.  But how could it be?  The Master had been crucified and buried.  There were witnesses in the room who had been at the crucifixion.  Then he looked at me and I knew in my heart without a doubt that it was Jesus.  Only Jesus had eyes that could pierce through the mask you hid behind and read your thoughts.  As soon as his gaze fell on me, all the guilt and shame that I felt because of what I had done made me drop my eyes to the floor.  I was no longer worthy to even be in his presence, much less look at him.  And yet, I could not bear to not look at him, and I raised my eyes to his face.  The love that flowed from him engulfed me and I felt my humiliation and disgrace disappear and be replaced with forgiveness.

He spoke to us and many still did not believe it was he.  So he asked for some food and ate it in our presence and performed many miraculous signs.  Then all believed and worshiped him.  And before he left us, he commissioned us to go and teach all nations about him, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

The last words he spoke were words I will never forget.  They comfort me and give me strength to do his will on this earth.  And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.   Then he was gone, and we who had seen him praised God, thanking him for allowing us this last opportunity to hear the Master’s teaching.  With these words, we were no longer afraid to follow in the Master’s footsteps.  We knew he would be with us always, to the very end of the age.

The eleven of us, as well as the women, sat in the upstairs room in silence. The door was locked, the shutters barred. I, Simon Peter, sat in quiet remembrance with the rest of the disciples. Our future now uncertain, our minds drifted back to the past – to the three years we had spent following the Master, the miracles we had seen him perform, the words he had spoken, and, most recently, his crucifixion.

The first time I saw the Master, my brother and I were fishing. I wore a rough, brown tunic, girded at the waist, and my brown hair was damp with sweat from hauling the full nets into the boat. The Master simply looked at us with his piercing brown eyes, and said, “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” So we left our nets, our boats and our fish, and followed him.

I remember the time the disciples went with Jesus to my mother-in-law’s house. She lay sick in bed with a high fever. Doctors had come to see her, but after all their treatments, she grew no better. She became pale and thin. I recall the anguish I felt at being helpless to do anything for her as each day she grew weaker and weaker. But when the Master came, he simply walked over to her bed and touched her hand. Immediately, the color came back to her cheeks and she stood up and began to prepare food for us, bustling around in a kind, motherly way.

After seeing the Master’s first miracles, I knew not what to think. I was a simple fisherman. I trusted what I saw; yet there was something here that could not be seen – something one had to simply have faith and believe in. Was this man really the Messiah the Scriptures spoke of? Was he truly the Son of God? This was what I struggled with. This and my pride. My pride was a stumbling block in many areas of my life, not least of all this area. But even before I was sure about this man, I was amazed by each of his healings, and I soaked up all of his teachings. It was a long time, however, before I took even a small step in trusting him with my life.

It happened on a breezy, summer night, immediately after Jesus had performed the most amazing miracle I had ever seen. He had fed a crowd of some five thousand men plus the women and children with only five loaves of bread and two small fish. As soon as we, the disciples, had gathered the leftover food, he had us get into our boat and row to the other side of the lake. He stayed to dismiss the crowd. And although we did not know it, after sending the crowd home, Jesus went up onto a mountain to pray.

Not long after we left the shore, a storm blew up. The sky became dark, and rolling thunder was heard. This was very a very common happening in the summer in Galilee, but we were not prepared for it. With the wind against us, we rowed for hours and moved almost nowhere. The waves became higher and higher, splashing over the edges of the boat. Finally, very late at night, one of the disciples at the oars gave a yell and pointed out toward the water. We all looked and saw the last thing we expected to see. Coming toward the boat, was what appeared to be a ghost! It was white and it walked on the water. Many of the men gave a cry of fear, of which I was among them. Suddenly, the figure spoke.

“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” It was the Master, although I think it took us all a moment to believe it. I was the first to speak after Jesus had said this.

“Lord,” I said, “if it’s you, tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Come,” he answered.

Shaking with fear, I stepped out of the boat onto the angry, foaming water. The rest of the disciples watched in open-mouthed silence. My head kept telling me that I was crazy and to get back into the boat before I drowned. Yet I didn’t. If this man was the Messiah, the Son of God, I had to know. And I knew that the Son of God would not allow me to drown after he had told me to come to him. Although I was not as knowledgeable as some, this much I was certain of. And so I continued. I stepped completely out of the boat onto the water, and although the waves washed over my feet, I did not sink. Letting go of our little craft, and fixing my eyes on Jesus, I took my first step in the stormy sea.

As I took my next few steps toward him, my faith was strong. After the miracles I had seen him perform, I believed in my heart that he could keep me from sinking. But after about five paces, I allowed my eyes to drift off my anchor, Jesus, and onto the black sky, the howling wind, and the violent waves. Immediately my faith wavered, and, without my eyes fixed on Jesus, I began to sink. In terror, I cried out, “Lord, save me!”

He took several large strides and caught my outstretched arm, pulling me back to the surface of the water.

“You of little faith, why did you doubt?” I could see what he meant in his eyes, though he didn’t voice all his thoughts. I could almost hear his voice in my ears saying, “Oh, Peter, Peter, why did you doubt me? Why did you lose your faith? Don’t you realize how much I love you? I would never let you fall.”

Together we walked back to the boat and as soon as the Master set foot in it, the winds died down and the sea became calm. All of us in the boat fell to our knees and worshiped him. Many realized that day that he truly was the Son of God.

After that day, I felt like I knew the Master more, and I felt that I could speak to him more openly. I began to ask him questions. I asked him to explain the parables he told; I questioned him on forgiveness, and I asked about the end of the age. Once, I overstepped my place and rebuked him for something he said. I, Peter, a simple fisherman rebuked the Son of God. Instantly, he whirled around and said, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.” After that I resolved to watch what came out of my mouth, but I never stopped questioning him about things, and he seemed to enjoy answering the questions I asked.

Through the next several months, we watched the Master perform many more amazing miracles, and we listened to more of his teachings. All of us, myself included, can say that those months were the most wonderful we will ever spend on this earth. Each day we soaked up the words he spoke to us. While listening to his parables and watching him day after day, we became more like him in the way we spoke and acted.

So, last Friday did not go exactly as planned. Actually, many days don’t go exactly as planned, but this one deviated more than most do. My Grandma was admitted to the hospital two Sundays ago (August 9), and after a few days of scans and tests, the doctors decided she needed to have her gall bladder removed. This happened Wednesday, and she went home on Thursday. She was doing great, and so it was more than a bit of a shock to me when my mom called me at work on Friday to say that my Grandma was headed back to the hospital in an ambulance. Thankfully, I was able to get out of work early, and I headed up to spend the afternoon with them while we waited for my Grandma to see a doctor, get x-rays, and get pain medication. This entire process took substantially longer than we expected. When I left the hospital, Grandma had been in the ER for 10 hours and was still waiting for another test before she could have emergency surgery and get a room. However, during the hours I spent at Troy Beaumont, I learned several things.

• There are times to cry, and times that we need to be strong for those around us, even though we may be scared to death. There are times when even our own fears need to be set aside and left there, if that’s what it takes to be the strength that those around us might need.
• Smiles go such a long way, even if they are given to complete strangers.
• Snotty attitudes go such a long way in the other direction. No one needs to deal with them, and when you’ve been waiting in the ER for hours, they can just about put you over the edge.
• If you have no compassion, don’t be a nurse. The people nurses serve are more than bodies that are broken and need to be fixed. They are human beings, with emotions and hurts. And if they’re in the ER, they’re likely in pain. Compassion is essential.
• I was reminded of how much I appreciate having a group of people who I know will pray for me and my family when we need it. I love that family.
• I have a new respect for many ER doctors and nurses. Anyone who can work a 12 hour shift (spending most of it on their feet, running down hallways, mending injuries) and still serve his or her last patient with a smile and kindness deserves the highest praise. I saw some of those men and women.
• I learned that life happens, even when the way it happens wasn’t in the plan. But sometimes there’s just nothing you can do about it, so determine to make the best of it when you go in, and don’t give up. It won’t last forever.