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    The Day I Met Jesus: The Revealing Diaries of Five Women from the Gospels
    The Day I Met Jesus: The Revealing Diaries of Five Women from the Gospels
    The Day I Met Jesus: The Revealing Diaries of Five Women from the Gospels
    Ebook191 pages3 hours

    The Day I Met Jesus: The Revealing Diaries of Five Women from the Gospels

    By Frank Viola and Mary DeMuth

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    About this ebook

    Two thousand years ago, Jesus Christ met face-to-face with people just like you. Broken, imperfect, sometimes fearful and without hope. The Day I Met Jesus is a beautifully crafted narrative that chronicles the remarkable encounters of five women in the Gospels who were desperate to find wholeness, security, and purpose. Like all of us, these women struggled with the regrets of their pasts, the stresses of their presents, and the worries of their tomorrows.

    Join Frank Viola and Mary DeMuth on a fascinating journey back in time as they retell the dramatic accounts of five women who met Jesus. Each narrative is told from each woman's unique perspective, yet tightly grounded in the Gospel accounts and faithful to first-century history. Elegantly written and profoundly stirring, this book blends creative narrative with uncommon insight, spiritual depth, and practical application.

    If you are someone who seeks a renewal of hope, faith, and love, The Day I Met Jesus will make your Bible come to life and usher you into a fresh encounter with your Lord.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBaker Publishing Group
    Release dateFeb 24, 2015
    ISBN9781441222398
    Author

    Frank Viola

    Frank Viola ha ayudado a personas de todo el mundo a hacer más profunda su relación con Jesucristo y entrar en una experiencia más vibrante y auténtica en la vida de iglesia. Ha escrito numerosos libros sobre estos temas, entre ellos Paganismo, ¿en tu cristianismo (con George Barna), Iglesia Reconfigurada, Jesus Manifesto (con Leonard Sweet), God’s Favorite Place on Earth y From Eternity to Here. Viola mantiene continuamente su blog en frankviola.org. Este blog es uno de los blogs cristianos más populares del momento.

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    • 4/5
      The first story, Diary of a Woman Caught in Adultery, was so moving, seeing her as a mother in an abusive marriage with a child, a man who claims to be in love with her, says all the right words, makes all the right moves, be around at the right time. Being caught in the act of adultery, brought before the court to be judged and punished, that is when she MET JESUS.The next was A Diary of a prostitute who loved too much, a woman who had dreams of a home, husband and children. One night changed that. After gathering a few things she left her home and went to another village. Then something wonderful happened, she MET JESUS.The third was a Diary of a Desperate Samaritan Woman.The fourth a Diary of a Woman with a Flow of Blood.And the fifth a Diary of the Woman Whom Jesus Loved.These stories are gripping and heart felt. In addition to the stories there is scripture to go along with it as well as a commentary and how it applies today. This is a book you will want to read over and over. Do you remember THE DAY YOU MET JESUS?

      1 person found this helpful

    • 4/5
      At times the book can be a little slow, but overall I loved the expansion of the stories. I love gaining insight to biblical stories and they did a wonderful job telling the story and giving the 1st century background to explain why they wrote the story that way. Helped me to see Jesus in a whole new light! I would recommend this book!

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    The Day I Met Jesus - Frank Viola

    life.

    1

    Diary of a Woman Caught in Adultery

    I wanted to keep my story to myself, cradle it like a mother caresses a baby in the secret place of the night, but today I remembered that some stories cry their way to the streets. I must have become brazen, or far too graced in the months following my encounter. Because I dared to approach the temple in search of something. Someone.

    Jesus, the One who liberated me from shame, met His demise at the hands of both Jew and Roman. Rumors now flew of Him walking the streets of this earth. A ghost perhaps? A wishful hope? After all, many men resembled the simple carpenter from Nazareth. The hope I nurtured felt ragged, and yet the hand of God compelled me to the street today, winding through dusty roads, until I could almost taste the sacrifices on my tongue. As I paced back and forth, afraid to mount the hill leading to the place of worship, I rehashed the story in my mind with each step I took.

    That story began with a man, and it ended with a Man. But oh the difference in between the two. One stole my life; the other offered it back.

    Eleazar had struck me across the face that morning. I felt the sting on my cheek through most of the day.

    You whorish dog! he yelled. Loud enough for my boy, Jotham, to hear. Jotham scampered away, trying to hide in the darkened corner of our small home. If only I could make myself that small, that inconspicuous.

    I readied myself for the inevitable second blow. I prayed. Dear God, Lord of heaven’s great armies, do You see me here? Alone except for Jotham whom I desperately want to protect. As Hagar named You El Roi, the God who sees, I cry out to You. I am Hagar today. Unloved. Despairing. She is me. I am her, except that I am bereaved of Your presence.

    Eleazar loomed above me, a sneer decorating his face. He held up the earthen pot containing the morning’s breakfast I had scalded. Cooking is still a mystery to me.

    I have had enough of your careless ways, your utter disregard for my family, my son, my home. You are trash! You will pay, and the payment will be swift. With that he threw the pot on the earthen floor. And it shattered across the house. I sheltered Jotham from its shards.

    Eleazar laughed until his voice reverberated the walls. He struck me again in the same place. I sunk to the ground, holding my jaw, counting my teeth with my tongue. As quickly as he hit me, he left. When he exited, I let out my breath. Had I been holding it for hours? As I gathered up the broken pottery, I realized I was like those shards of earthenware—shattered, broken at inconceivable angles, never to be remade.

    I looked at my dear son. His eyes were wide and he breathed heavy. Why can we not leave him, Mama? He will kill you someday.

    We would be destitute, son, I told him. No food nor shelter. And no way to make a living. The world does not look kindly upon women who leave their husbands. Besides, he would demand you stay within his care. And I cannot let that happen. I pulled Jotham close to myself, kissed his tousled head. Oh dear God in heaven, I love this child.

    I hurried outside to ensure Eleazar had left. I could see him far down the pathway, speaking to Shechem, the merchant of stunning cloth who befriended me several Sabbaths ago. Eleazar’s arms gesticulated, rage-filled, and I imaged the conversation. You cannot talk to my wife. You cannot help her, and you cannot befriend her. She is to be isolated for her insolence.

    Those were the only words he could be saying, so I sunk back into our small home, wiping away tears. Not even Shechem could rescue me.

    Why are you crying, Mama?

    I touched Jotham’s sweet boy cheek. It is the dust of the day kicking up again. Do not worry. I wiped my eyes to show him, but I knew he understood my lies. He had seen so many tears in six years of life.

    When my father had told me of Eleazar, my heart leapt. I did not know him as a friend. We did not grow up in the same village or run in packs as children do before they attend synagogue. But I had heard whispers about him from my friends—whispers of his stature, his charm, his intelligence, and his handsome face. And when I spied him after my father told me he chose Eleazar to be my husband, I smiled.

    Ours would not be a marriage of two families as much as it would be a union of love.

    And it was. For a time. Until Jotham cried his way into the world, bright-eyed and lung-strong. Eleazar’s feelings shifted with the birth of our boy. I could see in the way he dismissed me that his great affection changed from loving me to holding this tiny namesake in his arms.

    Odd, now in retrospect, as Eleazar does not take care of Jotham and does not teach him as a rabbi would gently lead a learner, does not swing him around on lanky limbs, does not tell him funny stories or pray for him after sundown.

    No, he likes the idea of Jotham. He is happy to have offspring—a boy to carry on his family name. Had I birthed a girl, would he have loved me longer—in anticipation of an heir?

    I gave Jotham some porridge I had hidden. My stomach rumbled.

    You have some too, Mother.

    No, I have already eaten. It is for you.

    Jotham angled me an I-do-not-believe-you look, but ate the small amount anyway. He then grabbed his satchel and ran toward the House of the Book, our local synagogue, where he had been learning for one year now. Such a smart, smart child.

    I love you, I said. But the Judean wind stole my words away. I sat hard on the dirt floor, cupping my face in my hands, telling myself to breathe, to feel, to live. Eleazar had stolen so much of me. I used to laugh. I once dreamed of making garments for princes and elders and dignitaries. My skills brought me praise in the market, and Shechem’s fabric made my tunics sing. This one thing brought small shreds of joy, only to have each denarius grabbed from my hand and placed in Eleazar’s purse. At least I could revel in my creations. At least that mended my heart a little.

    A noise at our home’s entrance shuddered me. I looked up and then stood.

    Shechem loomed there, broad shouldered, eyes smiling.

    I thought of my neighbors, how their tongues would wag at this visitor. I looked around, seeing no one, which both excited and unnerved me. Where was everyone?

    I wiped my face of tears, hoping he had not seen my vulnerability. But my husband, I said. Just now I saw him talking to you.

    He says a great many things, Shechem said. But I am a man with my own mind. I do not believe everything I hear. He held up some breathtaking cloth, cobalt blue with pearly white swirls. You like this?

    "But if he sees the tunics I create from your cloth, he will hurt me. I saw how he stood furious near

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