I am pastor and mother. Holy Week and all of its emotions and
experiences are very much a part of my life and psyche this week. All
the while, I am mother of two thrill seeking and darling toddlers.
We
play kitchen, or as my oldest says "chicken" with the fake food, and
when I am asked to hold the grapes, my mind wanders off to a scene of
the disciples and the Last Supper. We play outside on the swing and the
slide and I reflect on what betrayal does to relationships, in Jesus'
time and my time. We bathe them, and kiss their tiny feet as we dress
them for bed, and scenes of Jesus and washing the road weary feet of his
adult disciples seems so far removed from the experience of giggles and
soft baby feet.
On Good Friday, their respective childcare was closed and both sweet hubby and I were home. We did typical things: watched Frozen,
play in the "chicken," negotiated cease fires (over toys) with children
whose language skills are not complex enough yet, we ate lunch, and put
them down for their afternoon naps. Now, a moment to reflect on the
cross that is not broken up by cries for "Mommy" and "Daddy," or diapers
to change...
I keep thinking about how I
won't always be able to shelter them from some of the horrible things
that happen in this world. My beautiful children will indeed experience
heartache, disappointments, and pain. One day I will hold them while
they cry over the latest injustice or act of violence. And then in the
next breath I feel guilty because I can shelter my babies knowing that there are children throughout the world that are subject to horrible things.
Today, I reckon with the cross. And its messy and not always focused, but I am grateful that God's grace is big and wide and welcoming. And I'm thankful that Jesus loved us all that much.
