Exciting news -- my new book, WRESTLING WITH WONDER, a Transformational Journey through the Life of Mary, is almost here!! The official release date is October 7th. My box of advanced author copies has arrived and the influencer copies from the publisher have been sent out. AND, it's available for pre-order NOW on Amazon. Whoo Hoo!
So, in celebration, I thought I'd share an excerpt from the beginning of chapter one. This is the chapter intro and the fictional retelling section. If you like what you read, I hope you'll buy the book (and tell your friends!!).
Here ya go:
CHAPTER
ONE (Excerpt)
Unexpected
Interruptions
The Angel’s Arrival
Luke 1:26-38
I approach Mary’s life on tiptoe,
trembling, because I know I am treading where angels have trod ... and where
the church has stomped around for millennia. She has been revered, scorned, and
sometimes even deified. And yet, was she really so different from you, from me?
Didn’t she have similar hopes, similar dreams? A home of her own, a family,
maybe even a dog. She was just a young girl from the backwoods of Galilee. A
girl with a plan and a heart.
It was a good plan.
It was a good heart.
And the two could not exist
together.
Because her God, our God, has dreams
of his own, dreams that we can barely imagine. Like you, like me, Mary was
called to more. Her God is our God. Her encounters with him more like our own
than we might realize.
On one simple, ordinary day, her
life was interrupted. Perhaps it happened like this …
MARY TELLS HER STORY
I am Mary ... on an ordinary day, in
an ordinary life, in an ordinary village tucked into the back corners of a
region far from the hub of importance. I glance out the kitchen window. Swirls
of dust rise and dance from the path outside. Just like every day. Blades of
grass peek between cracks in stone. A bit of wild mustard blooms. And beyond
that, an akanthos bush,
its sharp thorns a symbol of our nation’s shame.
The hem of my mother’s dress
disappears around the corner. She has gone to gather gossip near Nazareth’s
well. She’ll be back soon enough, when the sun tips over the neighbor’s
rooftop. Meanwhile, I stand here, my fingers sunk deep in warm dough. I press
and squeeze, massaging the flour and yeast, thinking about nothing, and
everything. I think about the Romans and their oppression of my people. I think
about promises made to Israel even before our nation was called from the loins
of a single man. I think about the dough in my hands, the bitter herbs on the
table behind me. My name means bitter. But I am not my name. I am happy.
I see the neighbor’s dog, barking at
a lone butterfly. He twirls and shakes his head. I laugh. Maybe I will have a
dog when I have a home of my own. When the herbs are mine, the bread my own. My
betrothed is out there somewhere even now, working on some table or doorway or
cart. Working with strong hands and an honest heart. He is a descendant of the
great King David himself. A tsaddik. It means righteous. I was blessed to find such a one. And
before the year is up, I’ll move from my parents’ house to his. Then I will go
to the well to gather gossip like beads on a string. I will sweep my own home,
please my own husband, and bear children who will not be named for bitterness.
I roll the bread and pat it, warm
beneath my hands. A rustling sound flutters the air behind me. I turn.
And see him.
A man, but not a man. Like nothing I
have ever seen before.
Breath squeezes from me. I cannot
speak. Cannot even gasp.
He stands there, in blazing white. Tall
and strong. Shining. Extraordinary.
Terrifying.
And I know he is not a dream, not a
vision. Somehow, he is real. And he is here.
The air stills, slows, shimmers around
this one who is come from God.
In the silvery silence, he
approaches me. He raises a hand.
Who are you? The question whispers through my mind,
unspoken, chasing a hundred others that are swallowed in his glory. But I need
no answer. I have heard of such things. Of such ones.
He is a messenger from God. In
Nazareth?
He looks at me. Gently, fiercely,
his eyes like fire in my soul. And he speaks.
“Be glad.” A common word. Rejoice. An
uncommon greeting. And from him, nothing is common at all. Then he says a word
I don’t understand. A word that speaks of extraordinary grace. He calls me Favored
One. Me? Doesn’t he know? I
am an ordinary girl, in an ordinary town, on an ordinary day.
But not anymore.
“The Lord is with you.”
And now I am trembling, troubled. What
kind of greeting is this? What does he mean?
He says it again.
“Do not be afraid. You have found
favor with God.”
Favor? Grace? Here in the kitchen,
in Nazareth, a barely betrothed girl with her hands full of dough?
He sees my confusion, my lingering
fear. And he whispers a single word: “Behold ...” It is the word for see. But what he wants me to see is
impossible. He tells me a story so wild, so crazy, that I don’t know what to
say, what to think.
He says, “Behold, you will conceive
in the womb and will bear a son and you will call the name of him Jesus. This
One will be great and the Son of the Most High he will be called and the Lord
God will give him the throne of David, his father. And he will rule over the
house of Jacob into the ages and of his kingdom there will not be an end!”
It is more than I can comprehend. More
than I can see. So, I focus on the one thing, the first thing. The impossible. “How
will this be? I’m a virgin.”
And then comes the wildest part of
all. He doesn’t speak of men. He speaks of miracles. He tells me the Holy
Spirit himself will come upon me and God’s power will overshadow me. Me! A
simple girl from a backwater town filled with dirt and thistles and the
occasional butterfly. Doesn’t he see the dust outside the window, the limp
blades of grass struggling just to survive, the simple sunlight, the ordinary
mustard plants?
“Therefore, the child to be born
will be called holy, the Son of God.”
An incredible plan. An astounding
promise. I cannot fathom that he speaks to me. Because it is more than a plan. More
than a promise. It is a call. A question. Will I leave all my plans, all my
hopes, behind me? Will I set my simple dreams aside? I will not have a dog. I
may not ever sweep my own home, bake my own bread. Will I say yes to this
shining messenger of God? Will I lay aside my ordinary life to embrace this
vision of something new, something impossible, beyond anything I ever imagined?
He is talking again. About Elizabeth
now. About the barren one having a son in her old age. We’d prayed for years,
made whispered pleas at the temple. Elizabeth ... becoming a counterpoint to my
call. The virgin giving birth alongside the barren one with child.
“Nothing is impossible with God.”
Nothing.
Do I dare believe it? Do I dare say
yes? I know what it means. Nothing will be the same again. No one will
understand. How will anyone else believe? Can I bear the shame? Can I bear the
disbelief? And more, can I bear the beauty? And the wonder?
And in this ordinary moment, on an
ordinary day, in an ordinary life, I feel the heavens waiting, breathless.
Will I say yes?
“I am the Lord’s servant.” I exhale
the words. I am his slave, his maidservant, his own creation. “May it be done
to me according to what you’ve said.” And so, I accept. I surrender. Not
knowing what it means, these words I say, but knowing that I mean them. And
knowing that YHWH himself hears.
My shining messenger smiles.
I tremble.
Then he is gone. And with him,
everything I ever thought my life would be ...
