Charlotte’s hearty and joyful laughter on the other end of the phone and then,
“Mama you really do wanna be Jewish don’t ya?”
“We already are Char.”
Not really, not in blood line, at least as far as I know, but we have been adopted by the very One who came as Messiah. So by way of grafting in, we are a little Jewish. The laughter was preceded by the reminder that that night at Sundown would begin the Feast of Booths and by way of observance we Martins would be making our way to the front steps to celebrate the goodness of the King. To ask His blessing for the next year in more ways than we even know to ask for.
There was a time in history when a great temple stood as the dwelling place of God and the Rabbi would make his way to the pool of Siloam (the place of healing), fill a vessel, then pour out the water out like an offering. As the water made its way down the temple steps there would be praise for blessings had come. The healing was on the way and Messiah was coming and there was the solid reminder of the water the Lord provided from a rock while the Israelites wandered in the desert.
The King once spoke of Living Water and I can’t help but think this very act was in the forefront of His mind when He said it. So some couple a thousand years later, in a crude but no less symbolic nature, in Warrior Alabama, we Martins gathered at the top of our steps, a vessel filled with water, a glass pitcher given to me by a precious friend, who in doing so reminded me to allow the King to fill me up to be poured out again. As we congregated we read some from the King’s book, we prayed and Scott Martin spoke blessings over his flock. Rudimentary and not a word spoken in Hebrew, but no less significant. There is power in speaking blessing over those who have been entrusted to us.
After the paternal blessings, the male son, Shelton, had the privilege of pouring. As I watched the water move over the mortar and stone, making its way down the steps I marveled at how beautiful the very act was. Tears blurred my vision as I pondered how the King poured Himself out willingly for me. As I tucked Shelton in that memorable night he asked about the following year and would we observe the Feast of Booths as we had that night. He asked about the Year of Jubilee and he asked how I knew about “all that Jewish stuff.” I explained that I didn’t really, but we Martins could use much in the way of blessing and it just was something I needed to do.
Like most everything the King asks of me, despite the uncomfortable nature associated with it, ultimately it is for my benefit.
Shelton was satisfied with those answers and gave me a hug and an “I love you mom.” He settled himself under his covers and I reminded him that he is dearly loved, that I love him more than he can imagine, but that Jesus loves him even more. As I reflected on that day I was once again reminded of the perfectness of the plan, how I am loved. Loved enough for One to pour Himself out for me.