We've been home all week. Wading through homework and chores. Getting better but still a little sick. The baby still congested. A series of phone calls and text messages land heavy on my heart.
Jesus wept.
He came to his friend who had just died. He knew he would raise him, but still, he cried.
Days later in the garden, he prayed. "Take this cup from me. "
He didn't want to do the hard part
He didn't want to but he did.
I don't like holy week, but there is no other way to reach Easter. I don't like holy week, but it's the way to end Lent.
I cup my arms around my uneventful day, my sick baby, my heavy phone calls and I feel the feelings. Disappointed about the deflated sprint break. Concerned about the baby's health. Frustrated about the pile homework. Sad about my friend's situation. Sad about the trauma some people face. Sad about conflict and pain people cause each other. Wishing Jesus would just hurry up and come back because we're not doing great. Feeling tired from lack of sleep.
I felt all my feelings today and I thought about Christ. I thought about what he felt and what he went through, feeling small and petty next to his great suffering.
In his humanness, Jesus made space for my feelings, however petty they may be in the big picture of things. Jesus made space for his own feelings and he allowed himself to feel them. He allowed his disciples to witness them and write them down as a key part of his humanity.
Jesus wept. Jesus prayed. Jesus asked for another path.
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