For such a time as this, Esther 4:14. Have you ever thought that you lived in the wrong time? I have. I love the 1920’s. I don’t drink, never have, so prohibition wouldn’t have bothered me. I love the cute hairstyles and flapper dresses, though the conduct might not have been to my liking, I’m not the gun moll type. I love silent movies, I would have had a face then.
And then there’s the 1930’s and 1940’s. Oh, to be a glamorous movie star. The victory rolls and the family life, the ideal suburbia after WW2. I went through sci fi. And then I was in my western stage as a teen, I got to meet the Lone Ranger, Clayton Moore. I wore jeans and cowboy boots and a Stetson, and I wrote cowboy love stories, covered wagons and such, probably not me, and then I was back into the 1980’s and the boots gave way to leg warmers and other writing. I was doing aerobics and singing all those great songs.
I was interested in family history at one point. I heard a lot of Civil War stories. I was from Atlanta, but I could never fathom the life led by the women of that day. Most had it harder than Scarlett O’ Hara. The gowns were great. But that’s not me. Though I love the cooking and the fancy cotillions. A lot of my family were sharecroppers, though my great grandfather was once a deputy in Texas and worked on the railroad.
And the 1950’s, not so much my ideal era, some good music, the 60’s, I was there but I had go go boots and a mini skirt, not me. And God help us what happened to fashion in the 70’s. There were a lot of good Bible movies made in the 1950’s, they were spectacular and lavish productions.
But to have lived in those days. Unless you were a princess or queen, you could have had it rough. Women were often secluded and summoned by the King. They would have their own quarters, servants. They would have had lavish jewels and clothing and lived in the lap of luxury. But to have been Eve cast out, Sara, jealous of Hagar, her own mistaken plan backfiring. Ruth, gleaning. Hannah tormentedby Penninah and those are just a few…..those were hard days. I can’t imagine pitching tents or baking the bread or making sandals from camel’s necks.
I was never much of a swashbuckling fan, I don’t fit the wench type for a scalawag. I was a damsel in distress and Jesus saved me, my knight in shining armor. Jolly old England and maiden fair, castle walls and jousting. The Moors and Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, I can see me at tea and writing in an English cottage covered in climbing roses.
I have always had a vivid imagination, but it doesn’t compare to God’s. He can do far greater than we ask or imagine. In fact He already has because He sent Jesus. Who could have ever thought that a real heavenly King would come and take the place of the lowliest of all?
I heard a young man say that the Bible was just a book of stories, fairy tales. Even fairy tales are based on some truth. Every story is. Every person has a story. But there is real evidence that these people lived and died. There are tombs, names. And lots of historical accounts. Is the Bible a story book, yes. It has good stories and bad. An accurate historical record. Whether buried in catacombs or preserved in ashes at Pompeii, those women were real.
And we know Jesus was real, His tomb is empty. He said, He would be back. People have always waited. But we are closer than ever to His return, the signs and seasons have been passing, to be alive in the day of the Rapture of the Church or catching away, if you prefer, to see the beautiful Lord and live forever with Him. I wasn’t born in the wrong decade or century, I empathize with people of all kinds but do not believe in past lives. It is a deceptive lie, the enemy was there, too.
To see Him appear in His glory, I was born at the right time. For such a time as this. Rebecca Jones