Thanks to my encouragement the other day, The Boy decided to head to the yard and get outside—to get in touch with nature. Literally. Twenty minutes later he came back in, his tan pants splattered with mud.

“What on earth were you doing that got you so muddy so fast?”

“I was looking for things that start with ‘N’.”

“We’ll, you’ve succeeded in getting pretty ‘N’asty.” The Belgian Wonder had almost almost completely packed the minivan; we were just about to leave on a camping trip. His older sister ran him through a quick shower while I attempted to salvage his pants. I scrubbed them by hand in the sink, trying to minimize stains.

His Green Hour, which I encouraged, as you may recall, turned into a “brown” hour. Mud-enthusiasts Prairie Prologue and Holy Experience would be so proud of him…or me.

The freshly showered Boy clothed in a clean shirt and a pair of jeans had to climb into the minivan. We all did. The Belgian Wonder hitched up our pop-up trailer, and we were about to embark on our long journey—we would drive hours and hours and hours to get someplace south, where the outside temperature is higher than 47 degrees. We were also interested in white sandy beaches edging a large body of saltwater. We were hoping for sun.

Here is where we were headed:

Thanks to God’s traveling mercies, we’re here. Camping. Living out of a pop-up has us experiencing much more than a Green Hour–more like a Green Week.

Except…here’s what it looks like:

So much for sun.

It’s wet. Rain, rain, go away.

Camping in the rain isn’t ideal. But it is warmer than Indiana!

En route, I quickly read through three books I plucked from our shelves at home that I thought I would find helpful, but “disposable.” So I wrote out a few highlights—not much in two of them—and left them here and there. The first one was a self-improvement book by a popular life coach. Basically, the book offered a reminder to set some clear goals and priorities. No big revelations. I left it on a coffee table in the lobby of the hotel where we stopped overnight.

Next book was a book about optimum health. More omega-3, more plant-based protein like soy, more exercise, breathe deeply, visit an art museum, and bring into the house some more plants and flowers. I’m over-simplifying the plan, but you get the idea. When I read about the plants, I was glad I managed to keep the Boston fern alive all winter. After all that effort, I hope it survives this week while we’re gone. I left that book in the handicapped stall of the Alabama Welcome Center women’s restroom. I hope someone enjoys it. I also left another book, about motherhood, in one of the slots where you might pick up hotel and restaurant coupons.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to register the books with Book Crossing before leaving, and I brought so many books I really needed to unload some. So I was just the informal Book Fairy, randomly leaving titles here and there for people to discover.

One other book was by Michael Card. It’s an out-of-print title called Immanuel: Reflections on the Life of Christ. I didn’t leave it anywhere yet because several stories stood out to me, and I wanted to write some out in my journal to think about. I also wanted to pass some along to you. With this being Sunday, I thought I would tell you a story found on pages 172-175.

Michael Card heard about Joseph from a friend named Robert, who screened Billy Graham’s visitors when he was at a conference. Joseph had journeyed from Africa to Amsterdam for the Itinerant Evangelists Conference, hoping to meet Billy. He told his story to Robert, who quickly arranged the meeting.

Permit me to paraphrase Card’s version of Joseph’s story.

A Masai warrior, Joseph was a tall, slender man. His face bore the ritual scars received after killing a lion with only a spear and shield.

While walking along a dusty African road, Joseph met someone who shared the good news of Jesus Christ with him. He accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior on the spot. He was excited and filled with joy, returning to his village to share the good news with members of his local tribe, going door-to-door, telling everybody about the cross of Jesus, about salvation. He expected them to joyfully embrace the Good News, just as he had.

Instead, to his surprise, they held him to the ground while women beat him with strands of barbed wire. They dragged him from the village and left him to die alone in the bush.

He crawled to a water hole. After two days of drifting in and out of consciousness, he was able to get up. He reviewed the experience in his mind. Did he leave something out of the story? Did he tell the Good News of Jesus wrong somehow? He rehearsed what he first heard, and returned to the village to share his newfound faith once more.

“He died for you, so that you might find forgiveness and come to know the living God,” he pleaded. They grabbed him again, and the women beat him again. They dragged him unconscious from the village and left him to die. Again.

Days later, miraculously, Joseph awoke. He was bruised. He was scarred. But he was determined to go back.

A third time he returned; this time they were waiting for him. Before he even said a word, they attacked him. While they began to flog him, he spoke of Jesus Christ, who had the power to forgive sin and give them new life. As he was passing out, he vaguely remembered that the women who were beating him began to weep.

Then he awoke—not in the wilderness, but in his own bed. Those who had so severely beaten him were trying to save his life and nurse him to health.

The entire village had come to Christ.

Joseph lifted his shirt to show the scars that covered his chest and back. He thanked them for listening and walked away.

“Robert told me all Dr. Graham could say was, ‘I’m not fit to untie his shoes, and he wanted to meet me?’”

That man was known for his scars—not the Masai ritual scars, but the ones he bore for His Savior.

Card goes on to make the connection to the scarred Savior:

“When Jesus wanted to be recognized the first thing the Bible says He did was show them His scars. He didn’t point to His face and say, ‘Look, it’s Me.’ He showed them His hands and feet and side and gently said, ‘Look, it’s Me.’ Jesus is known by His scars…At the far end of history, John, weeping because no one could open the special scroll, was told by an elder standing beside him in the heavenly crowed, ‘Do not weep. Behold, the Lion of the trip of Judah.’

“John looked up, expecting to see a lion. But what did he see? A Lamb. And he knew who that Lamb was precisely because it was wounded.”

He is known by His scars.

He is worthy because of His scars.

We have life because of His scars.

Then I saw the Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne…Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they sang:

“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!”

Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, singing:

“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb

be praise and honor and glory and power

for ever and ever!” (Revelation 5:6, 12-13)

 

Wow. Our Lamb, slain, scarred, and worthy. To Him be praise and honor and glory and power.

It sure puts the rain in perspective.