{"id":399,"date":"2025-04-11T21:11:59","date_gmt":"2025-04-11T20:11:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/agoodknowing.com\/?p=399"},"modified":"2025-04-11T21:13:05","modified_gmt":"2025-04-11T20:13:05","slug":"olives-and-dust-matthew-26","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/agoodknowing.com\/index.php\/2025\/04\/11\/olives-and-dust-matthew-26\/","title":{"rendered":"Olives and Dust: Matthew 26"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I wrote the story Olives and Dust<\/em> sometime last year. My daughter had recorded a cover of the 1977 song by Kansas, Dust in the Wind<\/em>, and the words were flowing through my mind as I meditated on Jesus in the garden. The longer I stood watching him, the more I felt my flimsy, fleeting, dusty humanity. Watching a love so substantial, that ran deep rooted as the gnarly trees in the garden, watching that love weep for me and all my kind, I began to wonder at the potential within my dusty self to become that kind of love. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jesus. He is more, so much more than I know yet in his brief humanity and his glorious divinity. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somehow as I lean into Matthew 26 I hear him say : so are you Cassie. You are more than you know yet, in your brief humanity, and glorious divinity.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I want to say to you, reader, so are you. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

What we gaze upon, we become like. So this Easter, I’ve recorded a reading of Olives and Dust, and I’d like to invite you to linger a little with me, and watch love weep in the garden. In watching we will become a little more like the One we see. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you’d prefer to read the original blog, search Olives and Dust, and you’ll find it here. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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