Month: April 2017

So I saw into the chamber of death, and through the clouds of thick incense, Smedia, lying upon her funeral bier, very white of complete death. Beside her utterly bowed as Salome, and many burning candles and many faces. And then I saw Him, Fulvia. Then I saw Jesus. Scarcely did He seem a man to my first sight, nor yet a person. Tho His face and hands, His very garments, were those of them about Him, rather He as some presence, some undefined feeling as of the very loveliness of love itself.

Suddenly I saw Jairus throw himself upon his knees before Jesus. He cried, “Lord, my daughter is dead. Say but the word and she will be healed.” A shudder ran through my frame; my very soul hung upon his words. Then Jesus took Smedia by the hand and said, “Arise.” Fulvia, she obeyed Him.

She rose. Her eyes opened upon us all. Slowly her face flushed with life. She looked into the eyes of Jesus. Then she threw out her arms and cried: “Why mother!”

I did not know I had fallen upon my knees, but presently I was aware of the trampling crowd. There were shouts about me, but so strangely few of joy, and these alone from the household. More were of hate, and many hissed. I turned desperately every which way to try to get Jesus, but the crowd crushed me down the steep stair, and tided me farther and farther until I sobbed with despair. For now I knew I could not ask Jesus to heal Pilo.

So they pushed me through the shouters of hate, and the Pharisees, who called Him loudly, “Blasphemer, hater of Caesar.”, until I was forced into a little passageway roofed with gourds. And there I heard a cry. It will ring forever in my ears. “mother, mother!”

Through all the multitudes sprang Pilo in my arms. Pilo, erect and firm, without sickness in him. And more, nay more, he dragged no ithered foot. My Pilo leaped, walked, danced, all sound. His feet were lovely as his face. Pilo, my son made whole.

Before I had asked of Jesus He had heard. More than I had asked, He had granted. O Fulvia!

Now I must struggle to write you of what follows. My words are difficult. Beyond Pontius’s pride in Pilo made whole, beyond his love for the boy which sprang new born from out the very cheers of the soldiers, for Pilo was now a very marvel of sport and joy. Pontius must satisfy his own mind, for the heart he reckoned not.

“There is some trickery here.” he said. “This man is but a carpenter and without education, and I am a man of learning. I must search the matter closely before you or yet Pilo may see again this Jesus.”

And into his doubt crept also fear, and, very closely following, his ambition. Herod said unto him: “Beware of this Nazarene. He is dangerous to us. He would make Himself King here. I have information from inside.”

And Pilate wished to be further appointed at Egypt, and would be thought well of by Herod and so by Caesar. We went with Herod that Spring into the deep sea, nor did we return until Paschal time of the Jews was at hand. This famed feast yearly gathered together at Jerusalem numbers from all the tribes of Israel to offer sacrifice.

The day before their feast Pontius said to me: “The fates are against your Jesus of Nazareth. A price has been put upon His head, and before eventide He will be delivered up to the chief priests.”

“But father, you will save Jesus, of course.” When Pilo said this easily, Pontius put the boy away with Mata to the hills, for he would not look into his eyes. Nor would he allow me even converse that day with any outside, but bade me severely to keep to my woman’s court. He looked haggard, desperate with uncertainty.

To be continued on 4/14/17

Lisa Y life coach

www.facebook.com/lisaylifecoach

Part one post was titled  Letter From the Wife of Pontius Pilate

Now at this time, we had acquaintance with one Jairus, a ruler of the synagog.  When Pontius would argue with him his philosophy I would sit in the women’s court where the fountain is and embroider upon my veils with his wife Salome. They had an only child, Smedia. She had then just reached her twelfth year and was lovely as dawn roses which in all the world grow only in Jerusalem.

When Pontius spread out his hands against the argument of Jairus,  I in my loneliness listened to Salome. First in my court, then many times on her own roof, she whispered to me of one Jesus, a carpenter of Nazareth who walked among these people, healing the sick, curing lepers, making the dumb cry out, the blind to see. And now He had made a lame child leap up whole. A lame child, O Fulvia!

Now others, unbelievers, politicians, the Pharisees themselves, began to talk of this Jesus. Herod told us He had taken a tribute piece from a fish’s mouth, and laughed heartily and so did all. Then they said He raised a man of Bethany from the dead. Now all in Jerusalem rang with this Jesus. But in his discourse was no miracle, only healing of empty cleverness with simple truth.

Salome said He said, “You must become as a little child to know God.” But Pontius forbade us, or any of the household, to approach Jesus, for Pontius was very learned, nor would he wish to become as a child. When once I pleaded he put me by with, “Yes, yes I know, this Jesus has turned water into wine; He multiplied a few loaves and fishes to feed many; He disappeared out of a crowded room, but so the conjurers of the East have done. Let Him show me how it is done so I myself may do these things, and when I do them I may believe. I want truth, not trickery. Hold thyself, Claudia Procula, very high; thou art a Roman’s wife.”

But now I pitied Pontius. He had many cares and a very lean look. His rulings took him often from us, and then he lost his taste for life itself as one who, grown arid among his parchments could not see what was real before himself. Many wise men are so , Fulvia.

Then a strange sickness fell upon us that summer. Its malice gathered with the heat. Particularly it wasted children with a torpor life of death itself. So it numbed my boy. He thinned, whitened, and fell. Even Pontius was roused. He sent runners to Athens, to Alexandria, to Rome itself, for drafts. And the weakness increased. Now the gentle sweetness of my boy was scarcely of Earth. I trembled. Then the child of Jairus and Salome was stricken, and quickly. The night Smedia died the physicians also turned away from my boy’s couch.

Pontius, to meet the end, closeted himself with his Stoics. I was alone with my dying Pilo, and his tutor, Mata, a Greek slave to Pontius. Now Mata pressed a tablet into my hand. It was from Jairus. It said, “Jesus will come to Smedia, even dead. Do tou bring Pilo.” A faint trembling light shot  into my soul. All else had failed. My child’s last breath was almost burned out. Could He, this Jesus,  save my son?

Scarcely knowing it was my own voice, my arms, my substantial self, I followed Mata. He held Pilo very gently and glided softly, swiftly, into the dawn, like a shadow with a shadow. I had not known it but Mata as a follower of Jesus. But when we came to the street of Jairus our chariot could not proceed farther, the crowd was so great.

Mata would not have us known imperially, so I stood heavily veiled as a mourner. Thus I was slowly given passage through the outer wailers and the flute players and the many poor, and those fisherfolk who follow Jesus, and those Pharisees and Scribes who seek the more to trap Him in treason against Caesar.

These would give me no entrance beyond the vestibule, for they wished no witnesses. But O Fulvia, to have gained thus far, and now to fail my chance to ask for Pilo his life of Jesus! Then at the head  of the stairway I saw Jairus. Before the authority of his hand a way opened upward. But when I was at the bedchamber door Jairus quickly withdrew, and I could only wait there, pressed, agonizing.

To be continued on Sunday the 9th.

Lisa Y. Life Coach

www.facebook.com/lisaylifecoach

So a few days ago I did a post for moms. Today it is for dads.

I don’t know about you, but I think that the role of dad as nurturer has long been minimized. I think it has a lot to do with how you dads show your nurturing. It isn’t quite as obvious as how moms do it.

My dad did it by encouraging me to make my own decisions. He did it by giving me a part time job. He did it by showing me how to do small home repair things like rewiring outlets. He did it by showing me how to change a tire. He did it by teaching me how to make the perfect martini. He did it by showing me how to barbecue a steak. He did it by encouraging me too learn computers back in 1981 or 1982. (I thought he was nuts. I would never use that computer knowledge). Pop, he told me how to act on a date. He gave me the man’s point of view. He taught me to look people in the eye.

You get the idea.

Dads they are the fun ones. They are the ones that each you to ride a bike. My pop tried to teach me basketball. He tried to teach me tennis. We did play racquetball  He taught me to play pool. He taught me how to fish. He took me for rides on a motorcycle. He used to put me on his shoulders and we would go what seemed to be very far into the ocean. He taught me about rip tides too.

Dads, they see their role as the providers and protectors. But they are so much more.

So, dear dads, thank you for all you do. You can’t fool us. No matter how strong you are, you still nurture your children. You give your children tools for life. You give them direction. But you let them stumble and fall. But you give them a hand up too.

You know, they aren’t perfect. Just remember, they do the best they can.

My pop is in Heaven now. I cry right now missing him. Pop, thank you for being my pop.

Lisa Y. life coach

www.facebook.com/lisaylifecoach