Real Life by Peggi Tustan

Welcome to Real Life . Jesus is alive. I spoke with him this morning. On the first Easter Sunday . . . “What are you two talking about?” the man asked. We’d been so deep in conversation. We didn’t notice the stranger walk up behind us. “You must not live around here. Everyone’s talking about it,” Cleopas answered. “About what?” the stranger asked. “What happened to Jesus of Nazareth, the prophet—no, he was more than a prophet. He spoke with the authority of a king. He opened blind eyes, raised the dead, even quieted a storm. Tell me. Who commands the wind and it obeys? And he spoke of God as his father. The religious leaders hated that. They accused him of blasphemy, arrested, and beat him. On Friday, they crucified him. “We’re trying to make sense of it. I mean, Jesus Christ was so powerful. Why did he let it happen? We believed in him. We thought he was the One, the Messiah. Now he’s de-ad!” Cleopas's voice cracked. He wiped away a tear. “That’s not all,” I con...

Welcome to Real Life . There have been days when I’ve felt like a bird. “Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.” –Jenny Curran, Forrest Gump Alone on my porch, I sat watching a solitary sparrow perched on a wire. I was a young mom then, battling postpartum depression. I was home alone. My husband had taken our baby and toddler to a family graduation party. I normally love parties. But the thought of maintaining a semblance of normalcy was beyond me that day. Sitting outdoors—feeling the breeze, seeing the grass, trees, and animals of God’s creation—heals my soul. It did then. It does now. That’s me, Lord, a bird alone on a wire. I told him. Somehow the image brought me comfort. Birds are skittish creatures. Easy prey if not for their ability to vanish in an instant. My husband and I have recently become avid bird watchers. We’ve learned to keep absolutely still. Scratch your nose. They flee. In the Lord I take refuge. How then can you say to me: ...