Please note, local friends, that this story, though true, is not about a member of our church, not someone you've ever met, so please, no gossipy speculation.
I love Palm Sunday. I know that it's a minor celebration, compared to the swelling joy of Easter morning, but I love it all the same. I love explaining to my children's choir that Palm Sunday is their day. Easter has big words; Easter is death and resurrection and conquering the grave and it is big news but it isn't easy news. Palm Sunday, though -- Palm Sunday is waving branches and a parade for a King and shouting "hooray for Jesus!" and all of the songs talk about the children.
This year, Palm Sunday was also my dad's birthday and so it was also blowing out candles and wearing party hats and singing "happy birthday, dear Grandpa" and lunch that spilled into nap time and eating cake for dinner. It was Levi's first palm branch and sitting in church with Grandma so Mommy and Daddy could sing in the choir and three pint-sized sweater vests over white button-down shirts. I'd been excited for this day for weeks.
But then there was our pastor, stopping me in the aisle, me with car seat over one arm and toddler in hand with pre-schooler firmly instructed to stay close this time, trying to get to the birthday lunch that would spill into nap time, asking awkwardly: there is a girl here, she is like you, will you come, will you talk to her . . .
I didn't have to ask because I carry it with me, not hurt anymore but an awareness, my own story being a part of me the way all of our own stories are. So I handed over the three evidences of our love to the man who loves me anyway and I sent them off to celebrate the man who loved me first of all men and I went to look bravely into the eyes of the girl who just found out that her husband is gay.
Our conversation, laced with tears, encouragement and sympathy in fits and starts, would leave me raw for the rest of the day, remembering my own journey with an ache that is no longer pain and hurting desperately for this girl I only just met who is only at the beginning of her journey. Late into the night I would cling to the man who loves me now, until I no longer felt so hollow, lamenting how little hope I had to offer this girl, because I do not know which road her journey will take, and because the waiting for direction is maybe even harder than the soldiering on. And he would remind me, as he always does, that when he first loved me it was because of how much of God's grace he saw in me. This is a miracle, and I know it, because when he first loved me, I was announcing to a group of friends that there was absolutely nothing that could happen in 2006 to make it a better year.
But I was wrong, because that overflowing grace of God and the man who saw it in me, combined, produced a force to be reckoned with. And these years, they get better and better, because God has and is restoring what the locusts ate.
I promised the same restoration to this girl with complete faith, even though I do not know what it will look like for her. I looked her in the eye -- those tear-filled eyes, so young, so pretty, so confused, so bewildered, and so utterly familiar -- and promised her that all things work together for good for those who love God. And I thought of three pint-sized sweater vests, and waving palm branches, and Jesus who is King, and the celebration of children that marks the countdown to the big, hard news of Easter, and I knew again that it is all so very true.
I love Palm Sunday. I know that it's a minor celebration, compared to the swelling joy of Easter morning, but I love it all the same. I love explaining to my children's choir that Palm Sunday is their day. Easter has big words; Easter is death and resurrection and conquering the grave and it is big news but it isn't easy news. Palm Sunday, though -- Palm Sunday is waving branches and a parade for a King and shouting "hooray for Jesus!" and all of the songs talk about the children.
This year, Palm Sunday was also my dad's birthday and so it was also blowing out candles and wearing party hats and singing "happy birthday, dear Grandpa" and lunch that spilled into nap time and eating cake for dinner. It was Levi's first palm branch and sitting in church with Grandma so Mommy and Daddy could sing in the choir and three pint-sized sweater vests over white button-down shirts. I'd been excited for this day for weeks.
But then there was our pastor, stopping me in the aisle, me with car seat over one arm and toddler in hand with pre-schooler firmly instructed to stay close this time, trying to get to the birthday lunch that would spill into nap time, asking awkwardly: there is a girl here, she is like you, will you come, will you talk to her . . .
I didn't have to ask because I carry it with me, not hurt anymore but an awareness, my own story being a part of me the way all of our own stories are. So I handed over the three evidences of our love to the man who loves me anyway and I sent them off to celebrate the man who loved me first of all men and I went to look bravely into the eyes of the girl who just found out that her husband is gay.
Our conversation, laced with tears, encouragement and sympathy in fits and starts, would leave me raw for the rest of the day, remembering my own journey with an ache that is no longer pain and hurting desperately for this girl I only just met who is only at the beginning of her journey. Late into the night I would cling to the man who loves me now, until I no longer felt so hollow, lamenting how little hope I had to offer this girl, because I do not know which road her journey will take, and because the waiting for direction is maybe even harder than the soldiering on. And he would remind me, as he always does, that when he first loved me it was because of how much of God's grace he saw in me. This is a miracle, and I know it, because when he first loved me, I was announcing to a group of friends that there was absolutely nothing that could happen in 2006 to make it a better year.
But I was wrong, because that overflowing grace of God and the man who saw it in me, combined, produced a force to be reckoned with. And these years, they get better and better, because God has and is restoring what the locusts ate.
I promised the same restoration to this girl with complete faith, even though I do not know what it will look like for her. I looked her in the eye -- those tear-filled eyes, so young, so pretty, so confused, so bewildered, and so utterly familiar -- and promised her that all things work together for good for those who love God. And I thought of three pint-sized sweater vests, and waving palm branches, and Jesus who is King, and the celebration of children that marks the countdown to the big, hard news of Easter, and I knew again that it is all so very true.
I'm so glad I know you, Christy. (and I really like the thought- "restoring what the locusts ate")
ReplyDeleteThanks, Katey. I am forever grateful to Isaac for pointing me to that passage in Joel. It has been such a comfort -- and such proof that God fulfills his promises!
ReplyDelete