Wild About You!

Ryan and I have been going nonstop as of late. As much as I have loved the holidays and all that comes with the break, I was close to being exhausted of the continual traveling and lack of normalcy. I missed having my husband to myself. I missed my bed. I missed my dog being able to be free all the time. I missed my routine. I missed my Kinders.

Towards the end of last week, Ryan came down with one of the many somethings going around. All weekend, I took care of him (trying to not get it at the same time). I needed to prepare things for Monday. Even though, I had tried my best to leave my classroom ready for me to walk in the door and be back into our routine we have worked hard to master since August. Every time I sat down to get my last minute things together, as I would on typical Sunday evenings, Ryan would need me (Which I am not complaining about. I love my husband. I hate when he is sick. I try my best to shorten the sickness by helping and serving him). In the midst of the ups and downs, I forgot to make a mental note of books to read to my littles on Monday morning.

I read to my kids often. Personally, I believe it is the single best thing I can do for them, aside from telling and showing them I love them. I read to my students several times a day, and I try to be intentional with the books I read aloud. I try to pick books on topics that my students have shown interest in, books that are apart of our theme, or character building books to have mini lessons with. Sure, sometimes I let my kids pick or I reach back in the drawer and grab whatever catches my eye, but usually, I am intentional. Not today. Nope. That part of my day had completely slipped my mind during the chaos.

There we all are, about to begin Daily 5, on the first day back from a two-week Christmas break, trying to remain in routine as best as possible, and Mrs. Russ forgets to pick a book to read. Way to go, Russ, way to go. I try to not panic and begin to slowly search the rug for the books my students have found to read for the day.

Aha! Wild About You! is sitting in a little’s lap with zebras, giraffes, and monkeys present in the illustrations. "That book goes with our classroom theme," I thought, "making it not completely random." I did what anybody would do in the same situation, I asked the child if I could read it to the class. He gave me the okay, and I took a big sigh of a relief. Those few seconds were too close to ruining my otherwise normally flowing morning. (Side note to my teacher friends that are still reading this: 99.9% of the time I follow the teacher law that demands reading books BEFORE reading them aloud to the class. I know I broke the law this time. I know, and I am sorry. I hope it does not happen again, but it honestly might. I am a first year teacher. It still is all a little hectic).

I open the book and begin reading… Instantly, I am reading about a zoo, a zoo full of babies; every animal has a baby, except for the pandas and the tree kangaroos (whatever those are). The pandas and tree kangaroos are upset because they have not been blessed with a baby. That is, until the zoo gets in an egg that nobody wants. Every bird in the zoo rejects the egg. The tree kangaroos step up. They adopt the egg, watch it hatch into a penguin, and love her completely. They need help, though; they do not have the slightest clue about raising a penguin. The rest of their animal friends jump in to lend a hand.

Later on in our children’s book, the pandas adopt a few kittens. They, too, end up confused and troubled on how to adequately raise a baby that is not at all like them. Again, the zoo friends step up and help them out. After all, it takes a whole zoo to help raise a baby (Or is that how that saying goes?).

Adoption. I, unknowingly, picked a book about adoption, something extremely near and dear to my heart. (Another side note: Usually, I turn into a crybaby reading about adoption. I was in full Mrs. Russ mode. Mrs. Russ cannot cry because then all my Kinders would cry, and we would get nothing accomplished. I chose to hold it together). 

On the way home, I let what seemed to be such a minuscule moment turn into the monumental occurrence that it absolutely happened to be. I have been convicted lately of keeping times like these minuscule, chalking it up to coincidence (like it could just randomly happen or something), not giving praise to the One who is majestically monumental. God sovereignly orchestrates these occurrences for me to slow down, remember why I am even where I happen to be, and praise Him. In these sweet, kind, "small" moments, God reminds me of these enormous, awe-inspiring truths: He is in control. He is sovereign. He sees me. He knows me. He cares for me. He loves me. He is "wild about me." 

I did not really take on a New Year’s resolution, because His mercies are new every single morning, not just on January 1st of each year. Although, after this morning, I resolve to allow the minuscule to become monumental each day, to see His hand in the mundane and the craziness, and to give Him the praise He rightfully deserves even when the instance may seem insignificant. I challenge you to do the same. 

P.S. If you would like to add the book I referenced to your children’s library (parents, teachers, or people of any sort), you can find it here.

Adopted.

I use the phrase “life-changing” on a daily basis. I would be extremely embarrassed to hear the number of times I say something along the lines of “It changed my life,” in a single day. Honestly, there are few things that have actually affected my life. In even more honesty, I have seriously claimed moments as “life-changing,” not realizing what would continue taking place deep down in my soul.

In my freshman year of college, I found myself in the dreaded Intro to Public Speaking course. We had to give three speeches during a semester: an informative speech, a persuasive speech, and a special occasion speech. I did a horrible job presenting the informative speech. It may come as a huge surprise to all who know me well, but I am not very confident speaking in front of a room. If I am sitting safely in my chair among others, I can talk to anybody, but put me in front of a class and I get emotional (I will blame that on Kerry’s genes). When we discussed the persuasive speech, I knew EXACTLY what I was going to speak over. It was something that interested me for several years before, and I had recently become extremely comfortable talking about it often: adoption.

I gave the speech—I was probably the most confident I had ever been speaking in front of people—and scored a 99 percent (Using my hands got a slightly bit out of control on that speech. Hey, I was extremely passionate, or so I thought).

Prior to this speech I had read a few books about orphan care. I could quote and share my opinion and views with the best of them. Looking back, I would only classify this as “head knowledge,” but there was a true life-changing moment right around the corner.

A year after I presented my persuasive speech over adoption, I found myself on a trip to Zambia to work in an orphanage for two weeks. After all, is that not what someone who is interested in orphan care does? They go, they come back, and they talk about it for the rest of their lives. That easily could have been me.

I tried to write this “life-altering feeling” off as exhaustion, culture shock, or an emotional high at the beginning. But there I sat after two weeks beside the most beautiful children I had ever known, having stories that made me hurt down to my bones and smile through tears of relief thanks to what God had done through New Day. We were leaving the next day. We had been in a village all afternoon and this was our last time to see the children before we were supposed to say goodbye. It was during the Wednesday night prayer meeting. A little girl came to sit on my lap. She soon fell asleep against my chest. One of the older boys sat right next to me, holding my hand. Another small boy sat in the floor with his arm wrapped around my leg. Even though I did not realize the full extent of it then, I knew I was experiencing a life-changing moment. I cried and cried as I thanked God for rescuing these children. When it was time to leave that place, I stood up and stared at where I sat for a long time. I knew I would never be the same.

Months and months later, I found myself broken every time I read the growing number of orphans in the world. Do not get me wrong, it always stopped me dead in my tracks before, but I would soon forget and go on like normal. However, I could not do that anymore. See, I had held one of those 153 million children in my arms as she fell asleep. I held the hand of one of the 153 million orphans as he prayed to his Heavenly Father. That staggering number with six zeroes behind it was no longer only a statistic to me. No, it had been made real. 

The world tells the orphan they are worthless, burdensome, and unlovable. That used to be me. I was a spiritual orphan. I was a sinner separated from the Most High God. I had nothing to offer. I was dirty, poor, and without a Father. But God in His great grace…

 “In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ.” Ephesians 1:4-5.

“…You have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” Romans 8:15.

…adopted me through Jesus. He tells me my worth. He takes my sin and burdens away; He chooses me and loves me. He is my Father. He rescues. He redeems. He restores. He makes me apart of His family, forever.

Like I found out, we cannot make this identification and then simply stop. Throughout scripture God identifies Himself as a Father to the fatherless. He hears and sees the earthly orphan, the same as He hears and sees the spiritual orphan. (Watch! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQXGRwR4N2Q)

“Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. God settles the solitary in a home...” Psalm 68:5-6.

And God calls His adopted children to action.

"Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause." Isaiah 1:17.

I may read countless books over adoption, fly across the country for conferences, watch thousands of adoption videos, and talk about the doctrine until my face becomes blue, but until my head knowledge turns to heart knowledge and I am moved into action, it is all in vain.

I can hear the arguments now: “Madison, I am not called to care for the orphan.”

Please let me point you to James 1:27.

“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” James 1:27.

James 1:27 simply does not come with asterisks. We are all showed this grace by God adopting us so that we can show it to others.

“Well, I know I am not called to adoption.”

Too often we think that is the only way to care for the orphan. Adoption is one way; there are COUNTLESS other ways to fulfill this commandment, based on what the Holy Spirit leads you to. (Examples: Pray, advocate, sponsor a child,  give to orphan care ministries, families on the adoption journey, etc., volunteer your time at orphanages and children’s homes, for adoptive/foster families, etc, adopt, foster care, mentor…Oh, and I will just go ahead and throw out a few websites that I know a bit about and give you a start: here, here, and here)

My prayer for this post is that someone sees orphan care in another light. Whether that be to see it is a command in scripture, the picture of the gospel it portrays, or ways to get involved.

We are all called to care for the orphan in some form or fashion. I pray that you will have that life-changing moment, realizing your adoption through Christ into God’s family, and that it will sink deep down into your soul, leaving your head and settling in your heart, and move you to obey.

Lord willing, one day I will be able to sing these words over my child. I can assure you, it will be another one of those few, true, life-altering moments for me.

“I've never felt this way before. 

Funny how you found your way to my door, 

and suddenly my prayers are coming true. 

These arms are not letting go of you.

This love, this love is the deep kind. 

You’re my baby; you’re my sunshine. 

I’ll hold your hand, be your biggest fan, 

and I’ll love you all of the time.

Our eyes are not quite the same shade, 

and your hair blows in the wind a different way.

But I am your mother, and I love you just the same.

so I'll take your hand, honey, and you can take my name.

My heart has been redeemed, adopted, 

and now I know my Father. 

This grace that I’ve received, 

I want to show you, I want to show you.

This love, this love is the deep kind. 

It hangs on through the storm and the sunshine. 

I’ll hold your hand, be your biggest fan, 

and I’ll love you all of the time.”

Sleep and Sunrise.

My mother has always said that I require more sleep than the average human being. She has told me countless times that I am the person who keeps the average number of hours needed up to eight. Growing up, if I did not get my much needed rest, I would be sick in a matter of days, inevitably. It has been a way of life. I get this from my dad, who is the only farmer I know that would not get out of bed until after 8:00am.

This being said, I hate waking up, especially early. I am NOT a morning person. I just do not care for mornings. They have been my least favorite part of the day all of my life. My mom had to work extra hard to wake me up when I lived at home, and Ryan can attest to my cries of agony every morning when my alarm goes off. Mornings…they are just for the birds.

You could understand the horror when I realized how early I would have to get up to get to work this fall. School starts early. I live an hour away. I am a lady; it takes me an hour to get ready and out the door. Yikes. That is early. And that realization hit me about August 1. I began to panic. HOW ON EARTH WILL I SURVIVE WAKING UP AT 5:30AM?!?! I only know of one 5:30 during a 24-hour period. I was positive there just could not be another. And I was wrong.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. I begin to sob. Ryan tries to tell me something about mornings being great and I drag myself to the bathroom to get ready. An hour later I am getting into my car, bags and purse in hand that I had purposefully packed the night before because I knew I would not know what was what at 5:30am. I begin to drive…in the dark. That is another of my not-so-favorite things: leaving the house before the sun comes up. It should be against the law. It is technically not “day” time until the sun shows up, but unfortunately, no one asked me.

Once I get going, I realize I am much more awake than I expected (thanks to my morning Mountain Dew), but I am still super cranky about this whole driving in the dark thing. I grumble, complain, and whine to myself for about thirty minutes. As I drive passed this small community, I look off in the distance. It is by far one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. It is a sunrise. 

Before you laugh, I can honestly tell you before this day, I had seen less than a handful of sunrises and I can assure you they did not have this same effect on me.

My breath was taken away. The grumbling, the complaining, and the whining instantly stopped, and I became filled with awe of the Creator of the sunrise. Many scriptures began to flood my mind:

"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above declares his handiwork." Psalm 19:1.

"From the rising of the sun to its setting, the name of the LORD is to be praised." Psalm 113:3.

"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:22-23.

All in an instant, my outlook of these early mornings changed. Since then, I hop out of bed (most days), and I race out the door to find a different viewpoint for this daily display of God's splendor. I start to smile as I can see the sun peeking above the horizon. For me, it has been the most tangible way to feel his new mercies every morning. Every single sunrise, I am reminded how God cares about the small things. He showed me just how amazing early mornings can be. He did not have to bring my attention to the beauty of His creation, but He did. He never stops wooing us, even after years of knowing Him. He is beautiful, my friends. 

Even in the simple, silly, mundane, everyday, sleep-and-sunrise-type-of-things, He is beautiful. He is faithful. He is merciful.

"Great is Thy faithfulness," O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee; Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not, as Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest, sun moon, and stars in their courses above, join with all nature in manifold witness to Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth, Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide; strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside.

"Great is Thy faithfulness!" "Great is Thy faithfulness!" Morning by morning new mercies I see; all I have needed Thy hand hath provided-- "Great is Thy faithfulness," Lord, unto me!

Teach.

Last week I attended the Oklahoma State Department of Education’s Vision 2020 Conference: Stepping Up. It was a refreshing week of professional development, where I learned a few more things before I begin my entry year of teaching. While I was there, I ran into two of my high school teachers/coaches. We reminisced of the days when I was their student, which welcomed a time of reflection the next couple of days of my entire educational experience and all my previous educators.

As an education major, I was always given a hard time that my major was a blow-off, easy, and pointless choice. People always joked with me that all I did was color and play in my early childhood courses. I was never given a coloring sheet as an assignment and playing is not just playing—it is how young children learn. Nevertheless, what bothered/bothers me most to hear is the ignorant quote: “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.” What ignorance! I know there are a few teachers out there who we can thank for such a stereotype. I was a student of some. The number of good educators I encountered outweighed the number of poor ones greatly, though.

So, this post is for those educators of excellence I had the honor and privilege to learn from—the ones that I will strive to be like through my career, the ones who could have done anything, but CHOSE to teach, and the ones who LOVE to teach. They do so much more than we realize.

(DISCLAIMER: This blog is approximately 18 years in the making; I know I will forget lessons and stories about some of the most amazing teachers. If I wrote about every one, this would be considered a book.)

Teachers teach.

In kindergarten, I learned the importance of hand washing thanks to my teacher who had us place our dirty, playground hands into slices of bread that we hid away for a few days. When we pulled them out, I will never forget what I saw. GROSS! To this day, I am extremely conscious about germs and regularly washing my hands. My kindergarten teacher also receives the credit for teaching me the difference between the words “but” and “butt.” I am sure she would be happy to know I still laugh about that week of sight words. It was a life-changing lesson that is for sure.

A teacher I had in seventh grade had us keep a lexicon journal. We learned a new word every day. I still use several of the words today, including “parched.” She developed my love of language and my vocabulary by the lexicons, but I would have to say that those were not the most important lessons she shared. No, the most important ones were the life lessons she gave throughout knowing her—whether in her classroom or driver’s education. One lesson I regularly think about was a lesson on being comfortable with silence. As a person who enjoys talking, I realized on that day that it is okay to be quiet. It is okay to be comfortable in silence with the person I am with. (My husband probably greatly appreciates that I was taught this lesson then).

Teachers encourage.

As a second grader, I decided I liked to write. During my free time at school, I would jot short stories down in my notebook. Most of them were addressed to my teacher. I would take each one up to her to read. She had twenty other children to tend to, a ton of tasks to be completed, and a tray of papers that actually had to be graded, but she read them. She wrote little notes back to me about each one. Her little notes of encouragement perhaps are the reason I still enjoy writing today and have this blog.

I had a coach early on in high school that had an interesting way of encouraging me. I ran track for him and his love for track and field was contagious. I had never enjoyed running “for no reason” prior to knowing him. During practice, he would time my races and record my long jumps. He would always shed two seconds from my run time and nearly add a foot to my distance. Two seconds is a huge difference in the 200 meter dash and twelve inches is a monumental difference in a long jump. The crazy thing is, I believed him. I thought I was as fast as he said and jumped as far as he said. I noticed the discrepancy at actual meets later on, but by that time, I had realized his tactic had given me much needed self-confidence in a land of girls with very long legs. I was a regional champion in long jump as a freshman thanks to him.

Teachers broaden horizons.

English classes had always come easily to me and became my favorite subject early on. I thought since I loved English, I was supposed to hate Math. I came into my Geometry class with a poor attitude towards Math. After having the teacher I did for Geometry, Algebra II, and Trigonometry, I began to like it. He was a quirky Math teacher who was not afraid to answer my one million and one questions and explain just why I needed to know this for my daily life. Even though I cannot remember any of the reasons now, I know he believed in what he was teaching me, which made me much more apt to listen.

Another teacher throughout high school took it upon himself to teach me anything and everything about the agriculture world. As a farmer’s daughter, I only thought I knew a lot. He definitely expanded my horizons by teaching me several lessons I would have never learned from anyone else. I can recognize different breeds of pigs, sheep, and cattle. I still recite the FFA Creed on occasion and know how to weld without burning my bangs off my head.

Teachers love.

My first grade teacher went through a not so fun experience with me while I was in her class. From the week before spring break to the last day of school that year, I made myself sick every single morning so that I may not have to stay at school. Instead of letting me leave every day, she gave me a can of Sprite and a packet of crackers and would hold my hand in moments of fear to keep me there. She would not let one poor teacher ruin my entire experience. I am forever grateful for the love she showed. If not for her, I would probably not have liked school for the remainder of my time and definitely would not have been inclined to choose the profession I have.

Although I learned many, many things from my fourth grade teacher (like the 50 states and capitals that I still know today thanks to her jingles), I remember her love the most. She greeted each student outside her door every morning with a hug or handshake. She created personal “happy birthday” songs for each of her students. (Mine included a line about dodo birds!) Oh! And she had the most creative way of getting rid of the hiccups... She was absolutely outstanding!

Teachers care.

Coaches often come and go rather quickly in small schools. My first two years of high school basketball, my team won one game. It was not fun. I dreaded game days. I dreaded practices after losing by fifty points. I dreaded another season of the same ol’, same ol’. Well into the summer before my junior year, we did not have a coach. Who would want to take on this challenge? One guy did. He asked for my team—my team of misfits. It was not Burger King; we could NOT have it our way, but his care to take the challenge of coaching us was inspiring to me. After all, he asked for us. He wanted to coach us. He was not made to do it. My senior year we made it to the regional tournament for the first time in over a decade all because he chose to care.

In college, I took a general education course where the professor had multiple sections with over sixty students in each. She made it her goal to get to know every one of her students’ names. I was a non-major who, even after years of exposure, did not care for the content area she taught; that did not matter. I enjoyed going to her class because I knew she cared about me as a person. After the semester I had her in class, she would still stop me across campus, calling me by name, having meaningful conversations about life. At graduation, as I was walking off the stage from receiving my diploma, she called me by name. She gave me a congratulatory hug and told me how proud she was of me. She cared.

Teachers prepare their students for the real world.

I had the same science teacher all four years of high school. He was a great teacher that helped me actually understand science by his intriguing stories. Having him four years in a row, we heard the same stories on the same topics each year. By our senior year, all of us students would just giggle uncontrollably each time we heard a familiar line. He is the high school teacher that prepared me for college the most. He formatted his lectures in the exact same way most of my college courses did. Thanks to him, I knew what to expect.

I was a one-girl track team the majority of high school. Not many people want to work with just one person. One coach did. And although I thought he was unfair and mean when he told me I had to work out twice a day (athletic hour and after school), it made me better. I contemplated quitting every time he made me do the same workout as the boys and I would get smoked, but it made me better. He taught me how to push limits that I had placed on myself. He taught me how to persevere, even when I did not want to.

Teachers become friends.

Administrators can make or break a school. I would say the best administrators involve themselves in their students’ lives. I had a superintendent that left his door open. Anyone could waltz in when he was not busy, have some candy, and talk about anything. We talked about the day, the weather, the news, the game the night before, my family, life’s big decisions, etc. He became a part of my family. I literally call him “Uncle.” He calls and leaves me a voicemail every year on my birthday and I call him to help me make decisions.

Some teachers I was not able to have in class, but I still developed a relationship with. They would spend their lunchtimes or planning periods just listening to me ramble on and on about my life. In junior high, any thing that happens feels like the end of the world. They did not push me or any of my peers away. They just listened. They were friends.

Teachers go above and beyond.

One day in junior high, I was wandering the halls, trying to remain the invisible 7^th grader that I was when tons of freshmen started to approach me. “Why did you scratch our English teacher?” they asked. “Um, uh, uh…I didn’t. I have no idea what you are talking about,” I managed to stammer out. Soon after, I hear a voice calling me to her door. “I am so sorry for the confusion, I forgot to tell my class that I have a cat named Madison.” Instant connection. We bonded immediately. I had her for three classes during high school. She attended every sporting event she could of her students to take pictures for the yearbook; she even caught a shot of me crossing the finish line at a track meet that proved I deserved the gold medal instead of the silver. I graduated. She retired. We still keep in touch. She has not missed celebrating any of my special moments. I receive the sweetest cards and gifts upon every special occasion. There is nothing that says she has to do that, yet she still does.

I can easily say that every teacher I had changed my life. They each taught me a lesson that I still can recall to this day or a skill that I still use. One professor in college became my mentor. She is a genius of early childhood education. She has taught me more than she will ever know. I often find myself thinking “WWCD?” when I cannot figure out exactly what to do for my classroom. I can call her, text her, run into her at the store and she will just share her experiences and wisdom with me. I want to be just like her. I really do.

These are only a few lessons I learned and stories of some of the most superior teachers on the planet! They do not receive the credit they deserve. I am PROUD to be entering into the greatest profession possible. I hope to teach, inspire, encourage, and love my students the way my teachers demonstrated to me.

I could have been a brain surgeon.

How do I know?

A teacher told me I could.

I will change the world by being a teacher.

How do I know?

A teacher showed me I could.

Just a Teacher...

I heard you say the other day,

“Oh, you’re just a teacher anyway.

You laugh and play your day away.

You’re free at three, have your summers off.”

You snickered softly and even scoffed.

I’m sad to say, that you just don’t see,

What being a teacher means to me.

Sure, I laugh and play my day away…

Because learning is fun and that’s just my way.

If I were free at three and had my summers off,

I’d too snicker softly and even scoff…

Unfortunately my paycheck does, but I do not.

But you see Good Sir, Ma’am, Madam, or Miss

Being just a teacher is much more than this.

I just teach your child to read and write,

To just explore and question,

To just think and be bright.

I just dry their tears when they’re having a bad day.

I’m just there for them in each and every way.

Your most precious asset just deserves a lot.

And being just a teacher, I am not.

I dare you to just take a closer look.

For being just a teacher doesn’t come in a book.

It comes from the heart and it’s a passion, you see.

So, being JUST a teacher is fine by me!

Isaiah 61.

Just a few weeks ago, I began a journey through Isaiah. I have read the book of Isaiah several times, but I wanted to approach this time differently. I wanted to read it like I had never read it before. We all know how it feels to read a story or watch a movie for the first time. It is exciting! We are on the edge of our seats, anticipating what is going to happen next. Even if it becomes our favorite movie that we watch every free weekend or we appreciate the novel so much that we decide to read it every summer, it is different because we are already familiar with the story line. We hear all the time and read in Hebrews 4:12 that the Word is living and active. In just my few weeks in this book, I can definitely attest to Hebrews 4:12. I have seen new things within passages and seen things differently in the very familiar passages.

Every day I am amazed by God’s omniscient power. In reading the pages of Isaiah, the amazement grows. He calls Isaiah (whose name means "The LORD saves") in the first few chapters and reveals occurrences to come. Babylon is going to take Judah captive for 70 years. It has not even occurred yet, and will not for about a century and a half, but God already starts revealing how He will rescue Judah. Oh, but also within the passages of rescue, God is revealing what is coming in the much later future—the Messiah—the One who will eternally rescue His people.

We see several instances of foreshadowing and prophecies that are fulfilled by Jesus’ birth, life, and death, written hundreds and hundreds of years prior to Jesus coming to earth (mind-blown?). Several verses within Isaiah prophesy the birth of Christ; an example would be Isaiah 7:14: "Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel." Thanks to Matthew 1:18-23, we know that came true.  Other passages cover his death. One whole chapter is Isaiah 53 and with our accounts of the arrest, crucifixion, and resurrection in the gospels, we know of whom this is speaking.

In addition, there are many passages that talk about the freedom after being taken captive in Babylon for years that foreshadow something we have yet to see in full. Which leads me to chapter 61 of Isaiah.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,

because the LORD has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor;

he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim liberty to the captives,

and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;

to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor

and the day of vengeance of our God;

to comfort all who mourn;

to grant to those who mourn in Zion—

to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;

that they may be called oaks of righteousness,

the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.

They shall build up the ancient ruins;

they shall raise up the former devastations;

they shall repair the ruined cities,

the devastations of many generations.

Strangers shall stand and tend your flocks;

foreigners shall be your plowmen and vinedressers;

but you shall be called the priests of the LORD;

they shall speak of you as the ministers of our God;

you shall eat the wealth of the nations,

and in their glory you shall boast.

Instead of your shame there shall be a double portion;

instead of dishonor they shall rejoice in their lot;

therefore in their land they shall possess a double portion;

they shall have everlasting joy.

For I the LORD love justice;

I hate robbery and wrong;

I will faithfully give them their recompense,

and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.

Their offspring shall be known among the nations,

and their descendants in the midst of the peoples;

all who see them shall acknowledge them,

that they are an offspring the LORD has blessed.

I will greatly rejoice in the LORD;

my soul shall exult in my God,

for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;

he has covered me with a robe of righteousness,

as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,

and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,

and as a garden causes what it sown in it to sprout up,

so the LORD God will cause righteousness and praise

to sprout up before all nations.”

Before we go any further, let’s look at Luke 4:16-21. Scripture says, “And He (Jesus) came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up. And as was his custom, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and he stood up to read. And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written, ‘The Spirit of Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim the good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.’ And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, ‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’”

Before Judah had even been captured by Babylon, before the Hebrews were slaves in Egypt, before sin had entered the world, God had ordained a Rescuer for His people: Jesus. He is the One who will continue to bring Isaiah 61 to fruition. He already is working Isaiah 61 within our lives even now. We already have the blessing of seeing the miracles of Christ in our daily lives.

Jesus brings good news, binds the brokenhearted, proclaims freedom to the captives, frees the prisoners, proclaims salvation and tells us He is coming back, comforts those who mourn, brings beauty from ashes, makes us glad, gives a garment of praise instead of a faint spirit, plants us as oaks of righteousness so that He may be glorified. He rebuilds, He restores, He repairs devastations. He gives us everlasting joy.

Praise Him for allowing us to see glimpses of this perfection in our world, in our loved ones' lives, in our own souls! I can assure you what is to come, the completeness of Isaiah 61, will be beyond even our wildest dreams. It will be even better than the snapshots we have now of Christ's glorious power that brings beauty from ashes. After all, at times our lives still look like ashes, our hearts still break, our spirits still grow faint, we still mourn, we are still tempted to being taken captive, and we are still devastated. 

The glorious rescue is still taking place, yet to be completely fulfilled. The day is coming when the Redeemed will be able to look at Jesus and say without hesitation, without fear, and without a doubt, “I delight greatly in the LORD! My soul rejoices in my God! He has clothed me in salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness, like a groom decks himself like a priest and a bride adorns herself with jewels. He causes righteousness and praise to spring up before all nations!” Oh, what a day!

“What a day that will be, 

when my Jesus I shall see, 

and I look upon His face, 

the One who saved me by His grace, 

when He takes me by the hand, 

and leads me through the Promised Land! 

What a day, glorious day that will be!”