What’s the difference between being emotionally drained and spiritually drained?

Pepperdine was great I ordered your tape. I trust that the money is well spent but I do have to tell you that 17 rows behind home plate for a 4-3 win by the Angels was well worth the free ticket and company. Randy did a great job but loved David Fleer…

Your mother’s face is on my list of people I would want to see also.

I’d like to name some of the reasons, but you know more than I, that the list would go on and on and on. She has been such a blessing to me. Kathy

P.S. Your messages were all great at Pepperdine–and I especially loved the one Friday night (and Wednesday, and…)

Loved hearing you speak. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the “Bythinias” and “Troases” in my life. It’s a very helpful picture for me.

And, for the record, Brandon could do far worse than letting you sing with a microphone! You were singing a passable bass while I was bellowing my blaring tenor right next to you on Friday!

You are always in my prayers, that God will continue to be able to use you for His work, in all the ways you serve Him.

I was in Abilene this weekend visiting my in-laws, the Curtis’s and was looking forward to seeing you speak at Highland. I was disappointed that you weren’t there, but I really enjoyed Randy Harris’s lesson. I love how Highland always makes me feel at home, no matter who’s speaking.

Great job at Pepperdine. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say hello.

God’s blessings,

Steve Puckett
Here’s a great Mother’s Day read.

Pieta
Annemarie Keiderling

Anyone who has stepped into the vast courtyard of St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome knows the feeling of awe at the sheer size of the place. I was pushing a baby buggy as I walked in. This was my first trip with my three-month-old boy, and suddenly my baby and I felt very small, and a rush of protective anxiety came over me. I picked up my precious, sleeping bundle, left the buggy next to one of the pillars, and walked up the stairs hugging my son close to me.

As I approached the basilica, my eyes were automatically drawn upward to its massive dome, arching up like the sky itself. I stepped inside and gazed at the mighty pillars, the hosts of saints and apostles standing motionless above my head, the gleaming gold lamps around St. Peter’s tomb. Around me, crowds of people streamed in and out, chattering in different languages.

Suddenly I caught sight of Michelangelo’s Pieta. I had seen photographs of the statue before, but I had forgotten that it would be here. Its power was overwhelming and drew me like a magnet. I walked up close. Here was a mother, like me. In her face I could see a passion beyond describing, a love beyond all else - the same love I felt for my own child. But I also saw something I had never known: a look of suffering. I remembered the Gospel’s words about the “sword that cut through her heart,” and held my son closer, wondering how she survived it.

I remember that sword again now, as I read about the countless mothers who have lost sons and daughters in Iraq. I know their grief is one with Mary’s on Good Friday. I think of those mothers whose sons may return, but who will look into their eyes and see wounds to their spirits - wounds their caresses cannot heal.

I remember Jesus’ words to the women who followed him as he bore his cross:

Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children. For the time will come when you will say, “Blessed are the barren women, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!” (Luke 23:28-29)

Are we living in that time now? Will a sword someday pierce my heart? How many mothers have felt its stabs this year? I have not lost a son or a daughter. Not yet. But I think every mother can feel Mary’s pain. I would like to protect my innocent children, as Mary wanted to protect her little baby, Jesus. But there is evil and darkness in the world, and none of us is safe from its power.

There is something else in Mary’s face. I see love and pain, but I also see deep reverence. The body cradled in her lap is her child, but it is also her God. She knows she is holding a soul whose greatness extends as far beyond the wretchedness that killed him as the sky towers over a clod of earth.

I also see, in her face, the promise of new life - of resurrection. Today it is dark, overwhelmingly dark, especially for those who suffer because of war, whether at home or in far-off places. But just as new life and hope came for Mary, I believe it will come for them. Then their suffering will be lifted, and their tears turned to laughter and joy…

Just over a month ago, people around the globe observed Palm Sunday. For most, it was a day to remember Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and the crowds who waved branches to welcome him. But it doesn’t only mark an historical event. For me it is a reminder of what awaits us in the future, when Christ will return a second time:

Before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands…These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb…[He] will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. (Rev 7:9,15,17)

Not about Mothers Day but I just wanted to let you know how far ahead of the game I believe that you are. Two days ago I finished Ortberg’s new book “God is Closer Than You Think”. It’s a pretty good read.

Last night I unearthed a book called “One Holy Hunger” by some guy out of Texas. Three chapters into it I think I should have read this one first. I plan on using it as a guide to preach from on Sunday nights if that’s OK with the author.

SO can I?

I am sure your Mom is very proud of you and all of her family. Your life, even more than your eloquent words, is a beautiful tribute to her life. Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. Cope!

I am sure your Mom is very proud of you and all of her family. Your life, even more than your eloquent words, is a beautiful tribute to her life. Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. Cope!