I met the first “ghost” in the graveyard — a natural enough place to encounter one.\u00a0 It\u00a0should have been a dark and stormy night, though, instead of a brilliant spring afternoon.In fact, the graveyard was not spooky at all, just so\u00a0 old that all the sadness had been had\u00a0been scoured away by countless seasons.\u00a0 All that remained were wild flowers, tall\u00a0grass, and tilting headstones.<\/p>\n
My husband Paul and I wandered around, looking at the worn headstones and reading the epitaphs.\u00a0 I stopped at an ugly angel with a broken nose.\u00a0“Listen to this one,” I called to Paul.\u00a0 “Mary Jones, 1850 to 1923, ‘She hath done what she could’.”<\/p>\n
Talk about condemning with faint praise!\u00a0 Mary must not have amounted to much — just<\/em> like me, <\/em>I thought.<\/p>\n “You’ll have to put this on my headstone,” I said, only partially kidding..<\/p>\n We left the cemetery, but Mary came with me, “haunting” me.\u00a0 What kind of person was she and why did she have such an odd scripture for her epitaph?\u00a0When we arrived at home, I took out my Bible and looked it up.\u00a0 It was a reference to another Mary — who became my second “ghost.”This Mary knelt before Jesus, broke open her alabaster box of incense, and poured it on His feet.\u00a0 She washed those feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair.\u00a0The disciples scolded her saying that she should have sold the incense and given the money to the poor.<\/p>\n Jesus defended her.\u00a0 “She hath done what she could.”<\/p>\n Margin notes in\u00a0 my Bible said that the alabaster box of incense was far more than a pretty container of perfume.\u00a0 It was a woman’s dowry, the “added attraction” to persuade a reluctant suitor. \u00a0 If no suitor materialized, the treasure was her safeguard\u00a0 against poverty.\u00a0When Mary\u00a0 broke open her box, and poured her incense on Jesus’ feet, she was forfeiting her security.\u00a0 \u00a0 She was giving her future.\u00a0 She was giving all she had.<\/p>\n “She hath done what she could.”<\/p>\n Maybe that epitaph wasn’t the faintly veiled insult it seemed at first.\u00a0 Perhaps Mary Jones, like that earlier Mary, had given her all.<\/p>\n Both Marys seemed to follow me around after that.\u00a0 Had I done all that I could?<\/p>\n I knew that I hadn’t.<\/p>\n Like the Mary of old, I had an alabaster box full of incense.\u00a0 However, I kept mine tightly shut and locked away.<\/p>\n Somewhere along my Christian journey, my focus had shifted. \u00a0 I no longer thought first and always about the Lord I loved so dearly. \u00a0 Instead, I thought mostly about me–and my failures. \u00a0 And there were plenty of those to contemplate.\u00a0 I mulled over the stupid things I had said. \u00a0 I rehashed the unkind things others had said to me and thought a lot about my plans that had died before their time.\u00a0 The more I thought about me, the unhappier I was. \u00a0 Surely, no one could love such a dismal failure.<\/p>\n When opportunities came to serve, I hastily refused.\u00a0 After all, I would just fail–again. \u00a0 \u00a0 I quit reaching out to others, convinced that they would only despise me, as I despised myself.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t be like the two Marys<\/em>, I told the Lord.\u00a0 I don\u2019t have enough to give.\u00a0 I don\u2019t do anything right<\/em>.<\/p>\n The Marys continued to haunt me.\u00a0 \u201cWe weren\u2019t concerned about how much we gave,\u201d they seemed to say.\u00a0 \u201c We didn\u2019t worry about whether we were giving as much as others.\u00a0 We gave what we could.\u00a0 That\u2019s all God requires.\u201d<\/p>\n But what if I fail?<\/em> With sudden clarity I saw the real problem.\u00a0 It was pride.\u00a0 As long as I didn\u2019t try, I didn\u2019t risk failure. While my alabaster box was safely closed, I retained a semblance of dignity.\u00a0 If I opened it– if I taught that class or\u00a0 invited the new members at church over for a meal–I might again goof up.<\/p>\n All right, Lord<\/em>, I said reluctantly. I\u2019ll pry open one corner of the alabaster box.\u00a0 If that works, we\u2019ll see.<\/em><\/p>\n But, God doesn\u2019t work that way.\u00a0 He demands complete faith, total surrender.\u00a0 With trembling hands, I brought my alabaster box to Him, broke open the lid, and poured out myself.<\/p>\n Here I am, Lord.\u00a0 Here\u2019s all I am.\u00a0 I will do what I can<\/em>.<\/p>\n And, to my surprise, I found that\u00a0 there were things I could do. \u00a0 I still said stupid things, felt rejected, and in general goofed up. \u00a0 Yet, gradually I acquired a sense of peace even in the inevitable mistakes.\u00a0 My success was God\u2019s business.\u00a0 My business was giving Him all that I could. \u00a0 My focus changed from myself to my God, and to others. \u00a0 That change of focus brought freedom, and happiness, not to mention new friendships and surprising accomplishments.<\/p>\n We drove past the old graveyard again the other day. \u00a0 I thought of the Marys whose lives influenced mine.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m one of you now, Girls,\u201d I said with satisfaction.\u00a0 \u201c<\/em>I\u2019ve done what I could.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cKeep up the good work,\u201d they seemed to say.\u00a0 And I think they were smiling.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I met the first “ghost” in the graveyard — a natural enough place to encounter one.\u00a0 It\u00a0should have been a dark and stormy night, though, instead of a brilliant spring afternoon.In fact, the graveyard was not spooky at all, just so\u00a0 old that all the sadness had been had\u00a0been scoured away by countless seasons.\u00a0 All…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":423,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[28],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-256","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-sunday-special-messages"],"yoast_head":"\n