A Breath of Fresh Air
A Merry Heart
A Woman's World
A Word in Season
Acting Up
As I Imitate Christ
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Just Between Men
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Joy of Family
The Parents'
Survival Guide

The Rhythm of Life
The Treehouse
Through Their Eyes
'Tis the Season
We Are the Church
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Chosen by Jehovah
By DeAnna Brooks

The bleeding began on a day now ancient...in a Garden...long lost. Two lives, beloved, having known perfection intimately, themselves flawlessly created in its image, now stood together, stripped of all pretense of righteousness. In their naked shame, eyes that could once look on Holiness without fear, now cast their gaze downward before the glory of Loveís Devotion. It was not a nakedness of body birthing this eternal alteration. It was a nakedness of soul that drove their attempt to cover themselves. But every effort at their disposal, every conceivable plan their minds could envision, proved futile at covering so utter a nakedness. And now, having once dwelt united with Holiness, in abject hopelessness they fearfully awaited His verdict.

Loveís Holy hand moved...expertly...and two lives cringed, first in horror and despair, and then in flickering hope, as the earth drank its first taste of Redemptionís bloody wine. As the stain of innocentís offering spread on the ground before them, stretching in a crimson pool, ever closer, until it pierced their souls, and they began knowing the touch of Forgivenessí first garment, neither recipient of Graceís covering felt Loveís heart quake. Nor were they aware of Heavenís Son, looking down on this first blood-letting, knowing its Promise for Him.

From that moment, throughout the belovedís story, during seasons of faithfulness, seasons of betrayal, seasons of disobedience, seasons of recommitment, Holy Grace flowed faithfully beside His chosen love. During those blissful seasons of communion, righteousness shone forth. But always there stood a shadow between the promise and the hope yet realized. The call to righteousnessÖto holinessÖbrought the need for many more coverings. And heart-to-heart the Father and the Son looked on...knowing...knowing and feeling...all that yet awaited.

Then, in a lonely desert wasteland, Mount Moriah, Chosen by Jehovah, called. And two beckoned fathers stood beside two sons. The anguish of the first felt in fullest measure by the Second. A lifetimeís sojourn had reaped a harvest of undaunted faith in the aged patriarch, but it could not erase or ease the pain this moment held. Each agonizing step drew him closer and closer to a parting that would cleave his soul. But Godís friend proved faithful. And a bound son looked in the agonized, yet hopeful, eyes of his father, and understood. A blade rose, poised at the peak of obedience, reflecting heavenís righteous light. With that reflection, a Voice declared its reprieve, revealing a sacrificial ram caught in a thicket.

As earth-bound father and son clung to each other, rejoicing in Loveís provision, a Father and Son looked on, joined in the bittersweet promise of Their heart-wrenching pain yet to come. Mount Moriah would call again. This time there would be no reprieve. This time Redemptionís bloody wine would flow...unstopped...one final time...from a Sonís body fully broken...broken in obedience...obedience to a nail-scarred cross. Heaven would weep. And the tears from a Fatherís broken heart, mingled with a Sonís willing sacrifice, at last wove a costly garment of forgiveness...a garment that would endure.
DeAnna Brooks makes her home in Fredericksburg, Texas. She enjoys taking scripture and discovering its unique heartbeat for her own life. It has been a fifty-one year sojourn that DeAnna says gets fresher with each passing day. You may contact DeAnna via the Letters page of this magazine.
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