Last night, for the first time since I hired on as a water boy in the construction of Machu Picchu, the longest partial lunar eclipse in 580 years occurred. Yep, I snoozed through it.
However, the adage, “You snooze, you lose” is totally valid . . . miss the moon, shoot for the s😊n . . . the next total solar eclipse, the only one of the year and the last total solar eclipse until 2023, is set to take place in a couple weeks on my birthday . . . I’m honored 😊
Unfortunately, it will only be fully visible from Antarctica, with folks in South Africa, Namibia, the southern tip of South America and some islands in the South Atlantic getting a partial show. Anyone wanna’ crowd-fund me a plane ticket? Antarctica would be my first choice, but if you can snag a better deal for Namibia, I’m OK with that 😊 . . . did someone just say, “Maybe, ONE WAY!”?
Anyway, last night I ventured out on the deck again in my bathrobe and slippers at -9 degrees to snap this ‘rare’ after-the-eclipse full-moon picture over the mountains . . . Yes . . . I did remember to leave the door unlocked 😊
“When I consider Your heavens,the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained,what is man that You are mindful of him, and the Son of man that You visit Him? ”
The unfiltered eyes and minds of children see things adults have forgotten to notice, and perceive the simple beauty of their significance.
I’ve shared this story at Easter before, but some stories are worth re-reading. Jeremy’s Egg portrays Easter’s meaning through the eyes and mind of a child with a precious understanding that no sermon has ever revealed to me. May it bless you as it has me, and continues to bless and humble me to strive to have the unfiltered vision and simple trusting faith of a child.
“Let the little children to come to me, and do not hinder the, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these”. – Jesus
Thank you Jeremy . . . Thank you Jesus . . . Happy Easter!
Ida Mae Kemple
Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life. Still, his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and sent him to St. Theresa’s Elementary School.
At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises.
At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher. One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Theresa’s for a consultation.
As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, “Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn’t fair to him to be with younger children who don’t have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!”
Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke. “Miss Miller,” he said, “there’s no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here.”
Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn’t fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy would be a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write. Why waste any more time trying?
As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. “Oh God,” she said aloud, “here I am complaining, when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me be more patient with Jeremy.”
From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy’s noises and his blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him.
“I love you Miss Miller,” he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris’s face turned red. She stammered, “Wh – why, that’s very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat.”
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. “Now,” she said to them, “I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Miller!” the children responded enthusiastically – all except Jeremy. He just listened intently; his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises.
Had he understood what she had said about Jesus’s death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.
That evening, Doris’s kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy’s parents.
The next morning 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller’s desk. After they had completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs.
In the first egg, Doris found a flower. “Oh, yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life,” she said. “When plants peek through the ground, we know that Spring is here.” A small girl in the first row waved her arm. “That’s my egg, Miss Miller,” she called out.
The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. “We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that is new life, too.” Little Judy smiled proudly and said, “Miss Miller, that one is mine!”
Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. “My daddy helped me!” he beamed.
Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely it must be Jeremy’s, she thought, and, of course, he did not understand the instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another.
Suddenly Jeremy spoke up. “Miss Miller, aren’t you going to talk about my egg?”
Flustered, Doris replied, “But Jeremy – your egg is empty!” He looked into her eyes and said softly, “Yes, but Jesus’s tomb was empty too!”
Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, “Do you know why the tomb was empty?”
“Oh, yes!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Jesus was killed and put in there. Then his Father raised him up!”
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
Three months later Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.
+ ^ Keep Looking Up . . . His best is yet to come!
Youth’s active exuberance struggles to comprehend the laid-back contentment of many senior citizens who have Been there – Seen it – Done it, particularly when it concerns mortality. Why is it those in the latter chapters of their life’s story are often those most at peace with reaching The End?
Mother Nature highlighted mortality on yesterday’s woods wander . . . bracket fungi decaying a once mighty oak and an empty mud dabber wasp dwelling clinging to a rock face found me . . . in mystical, peaceful, grateful contemplation . . . pondering the former joys youth and homes enjoyed.
Why? . . . while this life steadily decays and dwellings eventually become abandoned, each page turned in my life’s story authenticates that – in spite of myself – not one of the calamitous, grim, insidious segments I wrote negated God’s unending . . . Forgiveness . . . Mercy . . . and Love towards me.
Looking closer at the abandoned mud dauber dwelling, I perceived an image symbolizing this . . . in His-story The End is just The Beginning of my forever’s finest story.
“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have to you. I go to prepare a place for you.’ – John 14:2 . . . there’s an immortality promise you can take to heaven.
I realize I’m a little weird . . . but honestly, aren’t we all in some way? That’s the one-of-a-kind, individual uniqueness He placed in our DNA to spice up each others’ lives . . . thanks for sharing yours 😊