Sunday, April 4, 2010
I found a small quilting shop in Sangju last fall and started taking the beginning quilting class. They hand sew EVERYTHING! No sewing machines. Lisa said I should start posting some of my projects.
In the Easter spirit here is my contribution to the bunny population. The original pattern had no face but as these little critters kept multiplying like rabbits and I just couldn't leave well enough alone. My fellow Korean quilting sisters think I am so darn creative. It's not brain surgery, but its hard for them to think out of the box. I find alot of them are programmed to just follow instructions and if I ever suggest an easier method they look at me like I am crossing a forbidden line and need permission from the instructor before proceeding. I do it any way. I just can't help myself. I guess that's just the Korean in them and the American in me.
Easter in Korea is not commercialized like it is in the U.S. so you hardly know the holiday is here. Mostly due to the fact that only about 23% of the population is even christian. We celebrated by attending church (we don't watch general conference until next week due to the fact that we are a day ahead of the U.S.) then we came home, had pot roast a la crock pot (I can't buy a good ham in this town) watched a byu.tv show on Christ followed by Desperate House Wifes. (Note to self...we need to be more righteous.)
I will close this post with an email Lyle's brother Lynn sent. I thought it was an excellent Easter message, and I hope he doesn't mind my sharing it.
Happy Easter everyone!
Facing our own kind of "Saturdays"
I have often wondered what might have gone through the minds of those gentle men of Galilee who were witnesses to the awful events on Golgotha that Friday afternoon so long ago. As any writer does, I have attempted to place myself there and to recreate in my own mind what must have been the emotional cacophony they were experiencing throughout their entire beings as they watched their precious Master being lowered by loving hands from the grave that was His cross. What must they have felt as they watched His lifeless body being covered with myrrh and linen as it lay on the cold limestone slab inside Joseph's borrowed garden tomb. A terrible sense of finality must have coursed through their bones as the giant stone thundered into place as both a seal and a barrier.
He was gone. He was dead. It was over.
What now? Where? How? Many questions were being silently formed for which there were no ready answers as no voice could even give utterance to neither query nor response. Stunned silence hung like a dark cloud, broken only by occasional distant whimpering and long hopeless sighs.
Sundown had brought the Sabbath. For the rest of Jewry, it was time for the Seder. Homes had been prepared, loaves of hallah had been baked, tables had been set with bitter herbs and salt, an empty chair for Elijah was added to the rest. It was a time for remembering the promises of God and rejoicing for His deliverance. Most importantly, the Pascal Lamb had been slain.
Far too busy about preparations for the feast, no one even stopped to take notice of the similarities of the events that had transpired just outside their own homes that day. A sacrifice had been made by another lamb that same dark afternoon. One they could not, or would not, see. For many, they also could not see beyond the busyness of the Passover into the symbols it stood for. Nor did they even care to ponder those symbols in their hurry to be simply exact in their lawful annual compliance. Moses had taught them how, but they had forgotten why.
The now lonely men of Galilee had already celebrated their Passover. It transpired in an upper room the night before, but had been like no other Seder service they had experienced. They were taught yet another new thing that night by the master teacher who had taught them many new things over the past three years. Even they, could not make the connections that we, with many hundreds of years of both hindsight and insight find now so obvious.
But now, He was gone. He was dead. It was over.
A sleepless Friday night turned into what became a depressing and lonely Saturday. The complete and utter silence of the authors of the synoptic gospels about that Saturday speaks volumes to us about the state of mind of the disciples. Words are lost of that historic day most likely because there was a complete loss of words to describe it. Crying within, not knowing where to turn, ships without rudders, lost at sea and tossed by waves of uncertainty and deep, debilitating despair.
Many among us are having their own kind of "Saturdays" right now. Souls of men and women are crying within, not knowing where to turn, lost and tossed by their own waves of hurting and trouble. The followers of Christ in His day could not help each other all that day. As they cast their gaze upon those around them, they saw the mirror of their own pain and sorrow. They were helpless themselves to give help and comfort.
Saturday was a terrible day.
What they didn't know was what the dawning of Sunday morning would bring. The gloom of Saturday was about to be overshadowed by the triumph and majesty of Sunday morning as the sting of death was gone forever and the grave could no longer claim victory. Life…hope…joy could now reign in the human heart replacing doubt and despair.
Whenever we become burdened with sorrows during an awful "Saturday" of our own, and turn to thinking that all is lost, that nothing could possibly bring help or comfort, we have only to look to that most glorious Sunday morning for relief. The dawn of resurrection promises us life, gives us hope, and brings us joy. Saturday gloom is gone…forever.
He is risen. He lives. Forever more.
Michael L. Wuergler
March 29, 2007