Sandra Heska King

daring to open doors

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Covid Chronicles – March 2020

April 1, 2020 By Sandra Heska King

In the time of Covid

Life in the time of Covid isn’t normal. Just in case you didn’t know.

My 92-year-old (93 next month) dad had a couple procedures yesterday. The hospital board had to approve them as essential. Because his memory is shorter than an inchworm these days, my sister scattered notes around–“yes” on the coffeepot, “yes” on the kitchen faucet, “yes on the broth and the jello and the approved soda. “No” on the jar of peanut butter, “no” on the bread, “no” on the potato chips. She taped food doors closed. And she hid his cigarettes since he was not allowed to smoke until the following day. He called her last night to tell her he couldn’t find them, and she told him she’d tell him where they were in the morning. She told him to go chew a carrot stick or smoke a banana. She considered April Fooling him–to say she really wasn’t going to tell him where they were. But she changed her mind–or forgot. I don’t think people are into April Fool’s today. I also think that even with more time on our hands, some of us may be even more forgetful.

A month ago today we were in Ponte Vedra taking care of our littlest grands while their parents flew out to Las Vegas for a company convention. They left us four gift cards to different restaurants, and we used them all. We hung out at playgrounds and didn’t think a thing about social distancing. How stuff can change in a month. And today, very few planes are flying anywhere.

Things had started to get real while we were gone. International travelers were being “frisked” for viral symptoms. My husband got a call about someone in his South Florida office who had been in Vietnam for a couple of weeks and changed planes in Japan. Now he was coughing and looked a little peaked. Though he insisted he felt fine, he was sent home to finish out a quarantine period.

When I strapped on my Fitbit one morning, I suddenly remembered how my mom always wore her watch with the face on the inside of her wrist. Then I dreamed my in-laws who passed years and years ago were visiting in our Michigan house–the one they had lived in. In my dream, I was brushing away giant cobwebs in the basement where they sat on a couch that has also been long gone. Why was my mind going back in time?

A Facebook friend asked others to list some overused words. Somebody posted the word, “canceled.” I agree. A Detroit Tigers spring training game–canceled. A church apologetics conference–canceled. A “Serve the City” event–canceled. We’d looked forward to serving on the beach cleanup team. Two different events where we were to volunteer with Compassion International–canceled. Our spring break family gathering at Disney World–canceled when the park closed. A hair appointment canceled. (I’m glad God created hair ties.) Doctors’ appointments canceled. A trip to New York City for the end of this month–postponed. So a visit to Yankee Stadium to see the home team play “my” Tigers–canceled. We canceled two tours. Church–canceled. School–canceled. Yes, “canceled” was definitely the most over-used word of the month.

My husband is working from home now–at least until the end of April. He works at his grandfather’s humongous roll-top desk in our front entry and is often doing a Zoom interview or in a Zoom conference. We live in a Lego house that’s one big great room except for the bedrooms. So I have to plan my own work and keep the dog occupied. Yesterday I nearly slipped behind D half dressed to retrieve a towel from the front linen closet. I caught myself when I realized he was Zooming. It was a close call. On a call yesterday, one of the NY higher-ups hoped aloud that everyone would be back in the office by July. JULY?! This will be a test of our ability to survive retirement. But at least then I could run around the house in any stage of dress–if I dared–without the fear of being caught on camera. Hopefully.

I’ve been having Covid dreams. The other night I dreamed I was begging D to send 100 of our 200 ventilators to New York. I think he agreed to do so. I also think he was lying in a hospital bed.

My Fitbit informs me that I don’t get quality sleep. Yesterday I woke up with a visual migraine. This morning I had a headache that’s lasted all day in spite of medication. I’m tense and tired most of the time, so I often need to just sit and close my eyes and breathe. In between, I clean and cook and eat too much. I have carb fever. I watch too much news. I wait for the daily briefings and follow the stats. I wonder what part I can play to help–an “elderly” nurse with an out-of-state license. I bought myself a new stethoscope. It had been on my Amazon gift list for a couple years, but the family kept sending books. Go figure. I’ve ordered an oximeter. (I also keep ordering books.) I gave blood for the second time in my life.

I try not to worry about my Michigan family. My dad lives alone and is starved for companionship. My brother lives in Dad’s basement since his own home is flooded, but he works in healthcare so keeps his distance. My sister and brother-in-law are hosting their son and his Ukrainian exchange student “daughter” who have isolated away from “mom,” the hospital nurse. Tania is missing all the fun spring school activities. It’s not the experience she expected, and her exchange program has told to be prepared to catch a flight home at any moment. Seems safer to me to stay put, but nobody asked my opinion. My daughter is immunocompromised. Here in Florida, our extended family includes two immunocompromised members in the same household–one under treatment for tongue cancer and the other on hospice.

Our church has moved online with a sermon series on unshakeable faith (faith is greater than fear) followed by a fun message for kids as well as morning devotionals on Psalm 13 with the reminder that lament is part of worship. Which reminds me, if you haven’t seen this article by N.T. Wright, it’s a good one.

I thought–I hoped–2020 would be a year to breathe, especially after last year’s drama–the good and the bad. So far not so much. But this is a time to be still, to lament, to be kinder and gentler. Maybe to read a book (or several) or learn something new. To pay attention to the beauty in our safe own space. To remember that it will pass. And even when things get back to normal, they will never be the same. They will have changed. (Also, “normal” may be another one of those overused words.) We will have changed. I hope it’s for the better.

So how are you doing?

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Comments

  1. Robin says

    April 2, 2020 at 8:53 am

    My mother died after a massive stroke at the beginning of the month of March. My husband drove us the full 13 hours there so I got to sit with her comatose body as it failed. I missed the first hours where she seemed to recognize my siblings and Dad. But I got to sit and pray with her and hold her hand and tell her what a good mother she had always been and that we would all be fine. I distinctly felt her spirit leave her body in a very holy moment. Four days later her 91 year old body ended its very hard work. It was my job to tell my dad she was gone. It was a relief.

    We decided it would be safer to have a memorial service on her birthday in May. It looks like that will have to be postponed. It looks like I will have to tell my dad…

    So, everything is filtered through this. I feel veiled and not inclined to lift it any time soon. Normally I might have obsessed over oh so many aspects of the situation. I can get symptoms at their mere mention usually. Stay at home? No problem. I’d be here anyway not watching or listening most of the time to the news. Rather, I’m listening to my mother’s favorite music, going through old photos, and regularly group texting my siblings now that it’s up to us to watch over our dad, and plan our mom’s memorial service.

    That’s how I’m doing. Mostly. It is Spring here in Virginia so time to get garden stuff done which I am doing in my mom’s memory more than usual. It’s a balm for my heart and a dose of happiness when I’m out there.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 2, 2020 at 12:06 pm

      Oh, Robin. This is grief upon grief, loss upon loss. I’m so glad you were able to be with your mom when she passed. And I think putting off the memorial service is wise. My son-in-law’s grandmother died recently, and they went ahead with a service. But I think it was very small, and they made sure to follow the 6 feet of distance.

      Staying home is really not much of a problem for me, either. Having another person here ALL the time is a change. Especially because he is working and I have to adjust my activities. Like this morning when I forgot and ran the noisy blender.

      Also, there’s nothing more healing than to be outside. That’s where the dog and I often go. She wants to be with him a lot, so I have to remove her.

      So much love to you.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 2, 2020 at 12:21 pm

      I wanted to add that I’ve read of family members who have had to say their forever-until-later goodbyes over the phone or FaceTime. Makes me so sad and especially glad you got to be with your mom in person.

  2. Andrew Budek-Schmeisser says

    April 2, 2020 at 11:05 am

    I awoke in early morn
    for the last notes of night’s coda,
    and saw, as new day was born
    the rising sun’s soft corona
    peeking over distant slopes,
    to see if the way was safe
    for the sun to rise in hope,
    and that its smile would not chafe
    nerves arleady full-scraped raw
    by this endless run of malice
    when the world we thought we saw
    was changed to prison, from a palace.
    To the east, friend, lift your eyes,
    for like the Lord, the sun will rise.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 2, 2020 at 12:13 pm

      Andrew! How wonderful to “see” you here. Thank you so much for this poem of hope and promise. I especially love “the rising sun’s soft corona” and the “nerves already full-scraped raw by this endless run of malice.” That’s a perfect description. And you’ve been living it for a long time. Hugs to you.

    • Lynn D. Morrissey says

      April 4, 2020 at 2:27 pm

      Such a beautiful, powerful poem, this. Thank you for hope.
      LDM

  3. Martha J Orlando says

    April 2, 2020 at 11:53 am

    Sandra, I so appreciate your update on your family and situation during this horrid time. Yes, it seems like “cancel” is the word of the year. We are self-quarantining due to our age and some preexisting conditions. So thankful for Instacart and curbside pickup!!!
    We have had to cancel a boatload of vacation plans, too, but that’s okay. I know God has this, has us, and we will make it through to the other side, tougher, stronger and, I believe, more united as a nation.
    God bless!

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 2, 2020 at 12:20 pm

      I haven’t used Instacart or curbside pickup. I kinda like to go get my own stuff, so I go with a list and get out. Also, if what I want isn’t there, I can grab something else and build a meal or two around it.

      You are right. None of this is a surprise to God, and he’s got it. I know it’s easier for me to be positive because so far we are healthy and haven’t lost anyone and D is still getting a paycheck. But I also have to believe we who remain will come out stronger and more united. I’ve been overjoyed at how everyone–companies and individuals–have been pulling together to help overcome.

      Stay safe.

  4. Laurie Klein says

    April 2, 2020 at 12:26 pm

    “to be still, to lament, to be kinder and gentler . . .” heartening wisdom for me on this snowy morning. Thank you, Sandy, for offering touches of humor alongside candid responses and heartening truths. I am grateful and glad glad glad to read your words.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 2, 2020 at 1:58 pm

      Dear Laurie… I’m glad glad glad to “see” you.

      Also… no snow here at 81 degrees. Sorry, not sorry. 😉

      Stay safe.

  5. Bethany R. says

    April 2, 2020 at 1:58 pm

    Thanks for sharing this post, Sandra, and for the reminder that “lament is a part of worship.” Wishing you as peaceful a time as possible.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 3, 2020 at 12:02 pm

      Wishing that peace right back at you, Bethany. Hoping we come out of this better people.

  6. Lynn D. Morrissey says

    April 4, 2020 at 2:33 pm

    Thank you so much, Sandy. I always appreciate writing from your heart and your pen. I had started my own “Corona Chronicles” earlier, and likely not for publication. I’ve no real platform for doing that. You and I love alliteration, huh, even midst pandemics. How about peace in this pandemic? How that is alliteration that would be music to my soul. Time to breathe, huh? You say, not so much. I totally understand that. And yet your last paragraph offers the hope that as long as we cocoon we will continue to breathe with uninfected lungs and by paying “attention to the beauty in our safe own space. To remember that [the pandemic] will pass.” And in this lovely essay, you, yourself have passed the peace and hope. Thank you.
    xo
    Lynn

    • Sandra Heska King says

      April 5, 2020 at 8:40 am

      Peace in this pandemic. Perfect. I’m guessing there will also be a lot of pandemic poetry coming out of all this.

      Thank you, Lynn. I always smile when I see that you’ve commented.

      And “this, too, shall pass” is a phrase my mom handed down. I remind myself of that several times a day.

      • Lynn D. Morrissey says

        April 5, 2020 at 8:50 am

        Oh I love your mother’s phrase. Yes, this, too, shall pass. And I know we all wish it were sooner than later; but we must wait patiently for the Lord’s timing.

        You mentioned poetry, and I wanted to share this, in case you’ve not read it. From what I can tell, Ms. Ungar is not a Christian, but I was very moved by her poem and wisdom. I thought I’d share it with you. I also love that her poem inspired a beautiful choral work by a virtual choir. There are all kinds of creative ways to wait. Enjoy! (The song is after the poem on her site).

        Pandemic

        What if you thought of it
        as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
        the most sacred of times?
        Cease from travel.
        Cease from buying and selling.
        Give up, just for now,
        on trying to make the world
        different than it is.
        Sing. Pray. Touch only those
        to whom you commit your life.
        Center down.

        And when your body has become still,
        reach out with your heart.
        Know that we are connected
        in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
        (You could hardly deny it now.)
        Know that our lives
        are in one another’s hands.
        (Surely, that has come clear.)
        Do not reach out your hands.
        Reach out your heart.
        Reach out your words.
        Reach out all the tendrils
        of compassion that move, invisibly,
        where we cannot touch.

        Promise this world your love–
        for better or for worse,
        in sickness and in health,
        so long as we all shall live.

        –Lynn Ungar 3/11/20
        http://www.lynnungar.com/poems/pandemic/

        • Sandra Heska King says

          April 6, 2020 at 11:20 am

          Oh, Lynn. I’m listening to the choir now. Thank you so much for sharing this.

          Seeing this time as a sacred time, a time for centering, a time to reach out with the heart–so perfect.

          I would only add one line…

          Know that our lives
          are in one another’s hands–
          and ultimately in Another’s hands.

          • Lynn D. Morrissey says

            April 6, 2020 at 12:56 pm

            Yes, your ending is perfect, and an important reminder for Christians, and obviously for everyone! I don’t shy away from reading secular things, but always discerningly. And I realize too that a good thing coming from this sacred time (change the letters of SCARED TO SACRED!), is that many who don’t know Christ are searching for comfort and answers. The field is ripe for harvest, and it is good for us to be on a sacred mission to share the love of Christ and the salvation He offers. And add another R, and we have a reminder of the SCARRED hands that hold us, and because they are scarred by nails, we are held by hands of love and forgiveness.

            Thanks for such rich sharing, dearest Sandy. You always provoke deep thinking.
            Love
            Lynn

          • Sandra Heska King says

            April 13, 2020 at 11:25 am

            Thanks for the reminder that scared and sacred differ only by a letter placement. And then there are the scars. I hope you had a lovely Easter.

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Time out for a little #berniememes fun. Time out for a little #berniememes fun.
“We don’t know when he will act. In his time, “We don’t know when he will act. In his time, no doubt, not ours.” ~ Peter in Prince Caspian
🌱
It’s Inauguration Morning. Prayers for the incoming and the outgoing. Prayers for all of us because we are all exhausted. Prayers for peace and patience and safety and wisdom and more compassion and more kindness and more love and unity. And, please Lord, no more virus.
“Courage, dear heart.” 🌱 “. . . I am the “Courage, dear heart.”
🌱
“. . . I am the great Bridge Builder”
~ Aslan in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
🌱
A plea... can we stop with the caustic criticism and the tearing down and the canceling and the division and focus on listening and compassionate conversation and love and generosity and unity? Can we take courage, dear hearts, and become bridge builders?
“To know what *would* have happened, child?” s “To know what *would* have happened, child?” said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that.”
🌱
“Oh dear,” said Lucy.
🌱
“But anyone can find out what *will* happen,” said Aslan.
. . . 
“Go and wake the others and tell them to follow. If they will not, then you at least must follow me alone.”
🌱
~ from Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis
Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity. ~ Psalm 133:1
🌱
I expect that goes for sisters, too.
One of my favorite poems in friend @jody_lee_colli One of my favorite poems in friend @jody_lee_collins new book is the last one, "What My Grandkids Will Say About Me on Oprah." I sent it to my daughter @aeking8511 and asked what she (or her kids) would say about me. She sent this back to me and clarified that it was a quick flow without proofing. It made me laugh and also made me teary. I did *not* ask permission to share it. But I just had to.

“I don't know that I've ever watched Oprah, but I would say:

“When my kids talk to Oprah about their Nama, they will express her love for books, taking trips, and taking pictures of frozen iguanas.

“Our Nama would send us books all the time. She knew we needed to get off the electronics and get lost in our imaginations like she did. But the truth is, the books we received weren't even 1% of the books that Amazon sent to her house.

“She loved to take pictures, causing our car ride from point A to point B to randomly stop in the middle of the road. Papa learned very quickly to hit the brakes and pull over because maybe--just maybe--there might be a bird sitting on a fence near a weathered barn.

“Her love for trips was inspiring, because unlike our Mom's trips of margaritas and sunshine, our Nama's trips were to Haiti and places where she could love like Jesus loved. And write with other writers, to dig deep and write--wait, besides poems, what did she write again? Anyway, she met a lot of friends through writing and going to places like Haiti. Even if they had to be escorted by big men and guns to the orphanage in Haiti, or possibly die in a hurricane, she didn't care. She took those children back in her heart and never let them go. And if she didn't already have us, she may have physically brought them home.

“Our Nama was special. She made the best lasagna and goulash, and her scent emanates through her favorite perfume--Amazing Grace. She even bought us some so we can smell her any time we want.

“P.S. If you ever see a frozen iguana, stand still and take a picture.”
🌱

https://www.amazon.com/Hearts-Pilgrimage-Jody-L-Collins/dp/1736277413
Pondering words before speaking them. Pondering words before speaking them.
There was good in 2020. But most of it was awful. There was good in 2020. But most of it was awful. Awful. Awful. Awful. Yesterday was horrific. My prayer is that our leaders—that all of us—after sitting a short season in the ashes—can rise above the rubble, refined by the fire. That we can find more love, more compassion, more kindness. That all of us can work together to solve problems. That we can agree to disagree. That we can speak words that heal and not destroy. May 2021 be a year of new beginnings.
Reflecting on the past. Dreaming of the future. W Reflecting on the past. Dreaming of the future. 
What are you doing today?
D: Wow! Your foot is really black and blue. Me: I D: Wow! Your foot is really black and blue.

Me: It's yellow.

D: It's colorful. It's pretty. It looks almost like the northern lights.

Official diagnosis from my PT order: "Lateral malleolus avulsion fracture." That's a bright side. It could be worse. But apparently I still won't be running any marathons any time soon. He ordered PT 3x a week for 6 weeks. We will see about that. 

I will spare you a picture of my northern lights. But here’s some purple ones from a neighborhood walk when I *didn’t* fall. And how about this one of Kolbie and Brooks instead? This lights up my life. (Sorry @ryeruffking - I just had to steal-share it.) 

Also, I could be sitting up north cuddling Brooks, playing Legos with big brother Dax, and getting my makeup/hair/nails done by Kolbie. All in due time. Hopefully, before Brooks starts walking and Kolbie starts kindergarten.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII: 106 BY ALFR In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII: 106
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
🔔
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
 The flying cloud, the frosty light:
 The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
 The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
  For those that here we see no more;
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
 And ancient forms of party strife;
 Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
 The faithless coldness of the times;
 Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
 The civic slander and the spite;
 Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
 Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
 Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
🔔
I hope your new year is filled with more sunshine than clouds, more joy than sadness, more laughter than tears.
#2020bestnine #bestnine2020 #topnine2020 #2020bestnine #bestnine2020 #topnine2020
Taken on December 19–technically still fall. Yes Taken on December 19–technically still fall. Yes, Virginia. There is fall in South Florida.
🍂
Speaking of fall. I took one Saturday night while out for a walk. We hadn’t been home for even an hour after celebrating Christmas with our son and family, including our new grand boy.
🍂
I fractured my ankle, so I’m guessing it will be a while before we are back in the Loxahatchee, and I will have to post old photos. 
🍂
The deal gives a whole new meaning to this ornament I ordered. It arrived while we were gone, and the neighbor brought it over with our mail on Sunday. I’m guessing there will still be places in 2021 where I won’t be going. But I’m hoping for lots of good things for all of us in the new year. 
🍂
Last night they flew east to west. This morning we Last night they flew east to west. This morning west to east. Where do they go? What are they? Starlings???
Every evening. Thousands of them. Heading to roost Every evening. Thousands of them. Heading to roost in the “swamp,” I guess.
I think I’ve posted this every year since I wrot I think I’ve posted this every year since I wrote it...

Seed of Yahweh

I’ve been thinking about this seed of Yahweh
conceived in love, then planted in the cave of a woman-child,
confined and nurtured in her soft dark womb,
nourished with her every heartbeat.
.
How cells of cell multiplied until he fluttered light,
then stretched and rose like yeast bread in her warm belly
until her body could no longer contain him.
.
How the walls closed in, contracted, kneaded,
and she expelled him down that painful passage toward the light.
How with a gush of blood and water he slid wet into the night
and was laid in a cold stone trough.
.
Whose hands touched him first, this son of man?
His earthly father’s?
Some midwife's?
Did his parents count his perfect fingers–
the fingers of God himself?
.
I think about those tiny hands that fisted around their fingers,
that held their hands as he grew,
about those hands that planted seeds in soil,
shaped wood, chiseled stone,
hands that touched and healed and held a scroll,
fingers that wrote in dirt.
.
How one day he, light of lights,
staggered down another narrow, painful passage,
toward the darkness, pummeled and beaten by hands of others as his own slivered palms quivered
with the weight of a heavy cross.
.
How he was stretched wide, this bread of life.
How this one whose hands pounded nails to build
accepted pounded nails meant to break Creator by created,
and how his mother’s heart exploded
with the pain of it and for the love of him.
.
I think of how his own limp body could not hold him,
how with a gush of blood and water he slipped his earthly life,
and how his mother may have caressed
and kissed those blood-stained hands.
.
I think about this seed of Yahweh,
this son of man, planted in a cave of earth,
confined to cold, dark stone
until the tomb could not contain him,
how he stretched and rose, this bread of life,
and how he comes to us still and plants himself in our hearts,
becomes our heartbeat for the love of us.
So our hearts explode with the pain of it and for the love of him.
.
And we cannot contain him.
.
~SHK, 2011
“Pay attention to yourselves! If your brother si “Pay attention to yourselves! If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him, and if he sins against you seven times in the day, and turns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive him. The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’”~ Luke 17:3-4
🌱
“They thought this command for forgiveness was a demand for more faith, when all along it is actually an invitation to obedience . . . Forgiveness will be their [disciples] new yoke.”
~ Michael Card in Luke: The Gospel of Amazement
🌱
I guess that becomes our yoke, our work, too.
“No servant can serve two masters, for either he “No servant can serve two masters, for either he will hate one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.” ~ Luke 16:13
🌱
“But the second half of verse 13 reveals that Jesus has been speaking metaphorically. *We* are the slaves who must decide if our devotion will be solely placed in God or in worldly things. In the end, it is a matter of which value system you accept. Things are of minimal importance. People matter more. Our devotion to God matters most.” ~ Michael Card in Luke: The Gospel of Amazement
“‘For this my son was dead, and is alive again “‘For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.” ~ Luke 15:24
🌱
“It is the kind of radical reversal Luke loves most. The hopeless son, who deserves slavery, is mercifully restored to full sonship, while the stunning revelation comes that it is the older son who has really been a slave all along—a slave to his hatred for the loving kindness of his generous and noble father.” ~ Michael Card in Luke: The Gospel of Amazement
🌱
It’s all so upside down.
“Salt is good, but if salt has lost his taste, h “Salt is good, but if salt has lost his taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is of no use either for the soil or for the manure pile. It is thrown away. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” ~ Luke 14:34-35
🌱
“Jesus’ closing statement about salt seems abrupt. But it is perfectly in keeping with all that has gone before. The salt in Jesus’ area came from the Dead Sea and could contain impurities that would cause it to become rancid. This explains the notion of how salt could ‘lose its saltiness.’ It must remain pure to fulfill its purpose.” ~ Michael Card in Luke: The Gospel of Amazement
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