I sat in church a few Sundays ago and witnessed a baptism.
What joy when someone comes to faith in the Lord Jesus and makes a public testimony.
What a privilege to witness their obedience to the Lord Jesus and be baptized in His name.
To be buried with Him in His death and be raised with Him to new life.

The baptismal pool is in the front of our church.
It is under the wooden cross.
The pool itself is behind a low wall.
The person being baptized is seen from the waist up to any of us sitting in the congregation.

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During Holy Week, I am going into the archives.
This Whisper was originally published on April 7, 2012, with a few changes here.

I loved my Easter basket when I was young.
It wasn’t the jelly beans or robin’s eggs or even the chocolate bunnies that I enjoyed.
It was my precious egg.

I can see it now in my mind’s eye.
Small, yellow; it was the size of my hand.
Rough to the touch, with decorations that mimicked a real decorated egg.

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This time of year one will see bunnies galore.
Plush bunnies to cuddle.
Chocolate bunnies to eat.
Bunnies that even cling to your windows for decoration.

Along with bunnies, one will see baby chicks.
Along with baby chicks, one will see little lambs.
This is the time of year where everything seems to be displayed in pastel colors.
The palette of pink, yellow, green, and light blue abounds.

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The news report came on my phone.
Notre Dame was burning.
The cathedral known for its flying buttresses, was burning to the ground.
The spire collapsed; the rose windows threatened to be destroyed.

I had been to Notre Dame when I was fifteen years old.
It was right after my mother died.
After the death of my mother, my father wanted to run.
He booked a whirlwind trip to five countries over the span of two weeks.

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I am typing with a wrist stabilizer on my left hand.
It was bound to happen.
No one, who is as left handed as me, could go unscathed.
It is from repetitive use and being unable to do things with my right hand with any precision.

Think about what you do on any given day.
Children begin to prefer one hand over another by 2 or 3 years of age.
Firmly established by age 5, we go through life with that hand as our dominant hand.
Some people are ambidextrous; some, like me, are inept with their weaker hand.

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Every one of us was probably taught the same thing growing up.
It was something we heard as we were being trained.
It is something we heard if our mother or father thought we were telling a lie.
Three important words that are probably seared in our hearts and minds.

Tell the truth.

I remember my mother used to always say the same thing concerning truth telling.
Always tell the truth then you never have to worry about what you said last.
I did not understand that when I was little.
As I grew up, I saw the wisdom in those words.

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In any given day, we make hundreds of decisions.
Some decisions are small ones.
Some decisions carry more weight.
Sometimes we make decisions on autopilot without ever thinking about why we do what we do.

I thought about that when I pulled into a parking lot.
I always try to park far away so I can walk.
This particular parking lot had quite a few spaces towards the back.
I could have had my pick of any of them but I chose one in particular.

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I remember my grandmother’s pocketbook.
It was a large black pocketbook with two handles.
She kept it next to the chair on which she always sat.
I knew better than to look inside; however, I loved when she showed it to me.

She had a wonderful coin purse that was terribly hard to open.
My little girl fingers could not twist the clasp.
Her arthritic fingers had just as much difficulty when she tried to open it.
We were a pair, she and I.

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There was a television show that was on the air when I was too young to watch it.
However, because of syndication, I was able to watch the reruns.
It was show that ran on one station from 1957 to 1958.
It then ran on another station from 1958 to 1963.

The show was Leave It To Beaver.
It focused on a boy named, Theodore (Beaver) Cleaver.
He lived with his parents, Ward and June Cleaver and his older brother, Wally.
The show was about his adventures at home, and at school, and in his neighborhood.

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My daughter and her husband are expecting their first baby to arrive in May.
It is so exciting to see her belly grow.
Every Tuesday morning, my daughter sends me a special text.
It is a picture that comes from a pregnancy app that she has on her phone.

Every Tuesday, I receive a picture of the size of the baby.
It is not an ultrasound picture.
It is a cartoon type picture of a fruit or vegetable.
The last one I received at 31 Weeks was the picture of asparagus.

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