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The Father's house

  • Writer: stacy sagely
    stacy sagely
  • Jan 1, 2019
  • 2 min read

At the end of Luke's Christmas story, we see Jesus staying behind in Jerusalem after His parents departed from the annual Feast of Passover. The celebration was over, and His absence was not fully collected until a whole day had passed. Jesus was gone, and Mary was frantic. Three days later (God was missing for three whole days!) they find Him in the temple asking questions of the teachers. While those around Him were amazed at His understanding, the virgin-turned-mother reprimands her son, Why have You treated us this way?

Sometimes my questions for Jesus look much the same way:

Why are You silent?

Why did You do it this way?

Why can't I find You here, in this place?

The celebration is over.

The season of birth has passed, and all of the decorations are coming down.

Schedules are becoming full again as the daily life returns to just that--the daily.

But Jesus is not confined to a season, and I have to remember that.

And I can hear Him answer my heart-questions the same way He answered His mother's: Because I had to be in My Father's house.

My search begins and ends there.

I don't always understand what that will look like, and I am often frantic in the search, but I know that I will find my resting place in that house.

Because the reason for the season is the hope of our everyday.

Because Jesus came to put His Father's house right here on earth; inside the hearts of all who seek Him.

If the season has somehow passed from your heart, if you are frantically looking for Him because He seems so absent, there's really only one place to look...it's the place where thoughts are treasured and amazement is pondered.

It's in His Father's house.

Open His word again and let Him remind you of the place that He went ahead to prepare for you.

It's quite the mansion, and Jesus is there.

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About Me

I am a learner.  I have an insatiable desire to learn, so I read a ridiculous amount of books.  And, because I love to read, I process my thoughts through journal-writing. 

I guess this would also make me a writer.  

I think that a writer puts their time into something they want to read again, and hopefully invite someone else to read as well.  The words mean something to them, and they want those words to mean something to others, too.

I believe that readers and writers are also pretty good story-tellers, and there is nothing I love more than a good story.

Stories tell us the things we need to know, and not just the facts we seem to think define us.  I am more interested in someone who drives a 95 Astro van than someone who drives a new car with a personalized license plate, because I know there's a story behind it (and I love that I am married to the one who drives the van).

So I wrote a book called Tell Me a Story.  In it, you will find stories of people that most don't sit and listen to; maybe because they've never traveled out of the country in order to hear them.  Or maybe they've never really thought about the importance of just listening. 

I didn't listen because I thought I was special; I listened because I believed they were. 

I've taught high school Bible for more than 20 years, written curriculum for all of my classes, led mission trips around the world, taken lots of pictures, made lots of journal entries, and prayed every single day for the people whose faces appear in my heart.  Each blog post will take you to a story; some will be from my memory, some from my journal posts, some from people I'm around every day, and others will be from the best Story-teller I know, Who wrote a book long before I did.   His story keeps writing new stories in mine.  I hope someday to get mine published so that others will be encouraged to read more of His.

 

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