Just for me.

One thing I have noticed in Eutaw is the overwhelming amount of fru-fru.
I'm not a fru-fru-girl.
I like things simple and elegant. Basic.
My motto is:
SIMPLIFY.

This past weekend, I attended a retreat... geared to refocus and redirect my life.

I was excited to attend, because it meant 2 1/2 days sans hubs & kids.

I wasn't so excited about sleeping in a tent.

But 2 1/2 days with only grown ups... yay!

Throughout the course of the weekend, I attended classes ladened with symbolism, analogies, and every kind of fru-fru imaginable.

And I wasn't moved.

Oh, the stories and games were nice, with a nice spirit and obviously had been well thought out.

I couldn't feel anything super about it.

I pondered on what that meant... Maybe I wasn't doing what I was supposed to, in the way of spirituality. Maybe I was so far gone, that I couldn't recognize the spirit. Maybe I had an attitude problem. Maybe my testimony was slipping.

Person after person shared touching experiences, fraught with tears....but I didn't feel it.

The last night we were there, we participated in this presentation The Life of Christ.

We were blindfolded so that we could let our other senses explore the sounds, feelings, smells of His story.
It was nice... we were given things to touch and smell that represented Christ's life: gauze with hay for the 'swaddling clothing, lying in a manger' part... etc.,
but not particularly moving...
until the moment we were led (still blindfolded) from our seats.
We walked around the grassy area outside the pavillion, holding on to the person in front of us.....My mind wandered yet again...I wondered what we were doing. I concentrated on not breaking my ankle on the uneven grassy, moose-pie infested grass... concentrated on keeping up with the lady in front of me...vaguely listening to the narration...

when all at once,

a man grasped my arm, quietly murmured in my ear "Would you help carry this?" and thrust a beam of wood into my arms, and guided me away from the group.

I gasped with suprise.

And tears sprang to my eyes, when I realized that I was carrying the wood that symbolized the cross.

My heart ached for the Savior's treatment. For those ugly words that were shouted at him. For the mockery.... for the lack of respect for human decency.

The beam was heavy... although manageable. But I imagined how hard it would have been had I been beat so severely before, so utterly exhausted, hungry, thirsty and abused. So alone.

When I was escorted back to my seat... my mind reeled at this symbol, now emblazened on my mind. I listened to the rest of the program... still keening for my Savior's suffering at the hands of mankind...

When we were told to remove our blindfolds, a giant picture of the Ressurrected Christ was at the front of the room, and while that picture always brings a smile to my lips and tenderness to my heart... I couldn't forget the raw emotion I felt the moment that piece of wood was thrust into my hands.

My testimony is still intact. My spirit still recognizes His spirit, and I still know He lives.

And I am forever grateful to Him..

He, who could have quit at any point during those horrible beatings. He, who could have easily denied it all... He, who could have just hid out when the Roman Soldiers were looking for Him.
He, who bled from every pore...who took upon everything...
Just for me.

“Love always involves responsibility, and love always involves sacrifice.
And we do not really love Christ unless we are prepared to face His task and to take up His Cross. . . .”
~~William Barclay