Our Last Words Together (John 21:15-22)

The sun was hotter than the coals of our smoldering fire; its rays burned into my eyes and caused little fires to leap and dance about in my vision. On the edge of the lake, the sunlight reflected and shone like a candle in front of a million mirrors, first shining this way then that way, searching and dancing about. The light stung my eyes like his words stung my heart, sand and grit rubbed across my raw and beating flesh. Why doesn’t he believe me?

“Of course I’m your friend,” I spit out the same words I had spoken before, plain and obvious like vomit on the sand. As the words fell, to my mind came the memory of my betrayal only a few nights previous. The memory cut hard. “You know everything that’s happened. You know I care about you.”

Wait Until… Part 2 (John 21:1-7)

The stars had disappeared, the sky just beginning to turn gray along the eastern horizon, and still the seven men drifted in their boat, some two-hundred cubits from shore. Some were sleeping, others, with half-open eyes, were making themselves busy about the boat. Shimon was wide awake, and he was upset.

The one thing I know, and I fail at that, too.

Wait Until… Part 1 (John 21:1-7)

It was hot in the small room, but the evening breeze was beginning to blow, and the seven men were grateful for its cooling effect. As the red sun neared the horizon, things outside and inside the house were quiet. It had been quiet for quite some time now. No one spoke a word.

For his part, Shimon was thinking.

But he wasn’t sure how to put into words just what was going through his mind. It was not so much complete sentences, or even complete thoughts for that matter, that filled his thinking. Rather, his mind drifted nearly aimlessly through memories, thoughts, hopes… Over the past three years, a lot had happened in his life, so he had many paths over which to wander, many wrong turns to explore. His mind was a mouse lost in a maze.

The Foolish Sister (John 12:1-8)

The cooling evening wind blew gently through the small town of Bethany, located just a short distance from Jerusalem.  As the sun sank below the horizon, fathers slowly made their tired ways home after a hard day working at the docks in the the hot desert sun, children sadly said goodbye to friends for the night, and a few mothers hurriedly rushed through the dirt street carrying jars of water, loaves of bread, or some other last-minute dinner necessity.

Nearing a small clay brick house, a group of young men talked about the days’ events and their desire for nothing more than a soft place to lay down and a tasty meal to fill their stomachs.  Bethany, though a small town by any standards, had some of the best places to satisfy either one or both of those cravings.  Yet on this night, our group of young men had not even thought about any of those myriad inns, for this night they planned to pay a special visit to a close friend.