The Easter story….again Lent, the cross, the resurrection, and ….

Then, back to real life. Eating, drinking, and back to work.

The heady questions of life are back again, how to live them out every day?


And how does my ‘writing’ make it different this time?

Characters in a book I’ve undertaken of late. My characters are Biblical, that’s His Writing, they lived around the Lord of the resurrection.


My ‘Rachel’, a name for the prostitute, who washing the Lord’s feet, gave her most valuable possession out of love for Him, a priceless alabaster box of perfume.

She received too. His healing of her sinful life, that is in His Writing.

She was in tears at his feet. I have been there with her in my writing.

The Roman centurion who could believe that one miracle-working Yeshuah could heal his servant. Not even Jewish, yet his faith was praised by the Lord of Easter.

That officer really knew authority. Now I know what he meant.

Those healed, those who hated. It comes to life once more. This time I am there with them, watching Him in His Writing and even more in mine.

They experienced Him in the crowds. But it wasn’t close enough.

More than that, they met Him, felt His love, reacted to it and were changed, some completely. With them, uncovering, developing characters and typing out their hopes and dreams, I could also seek Him out and allow for transformation, humbly at His feet.

It is true. He healed many. I saw it with Rachel for myself. Then it revolutionized them, every generation since, and finally, me. This year renewed….

It is the same Easter story of death and resurrection.

This year? Different, a whiff of a gift poured out, the uncovering of a head of hair over those soiled feet.

Tomorrow? Living out the broken alabaster box of nard. More than awareness. The scent worth a fortune she gave. The life I have given.

The next days? Walking with Him, following Him through the cross to the resurrected life…. with the smell of that perfume on my hands.

My writing meeting His Writing.

Her Perfume.

His forgiveness, most costly still. For me too.


Visit Rhonda on Medium.

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