Reflections for the road home.

It’s easy to look around on holidays where we are supposed to express gratitude and fondness and sense our lack. How do we think well about the ones who resist loving us, recoil against us, or remind us of what has been lost?

Navigating the familiar trail this morning, the thought occurred to me how safe and at ease I typically am there, and yet, there was a surprising anxiety that registered in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never broken a bone in my life, or faced any other significant injuries, so the sudden realization that I could easily slip and twist my knee distracted me with fear momentarily.

And then the moments of shared reality — "You too? You have that scar too? Oh dear Jesus, thank you. I thought something was wrong with me. I had no idea. Will you pray for me? Can I pray for you?” The relief of being loved and known in the darkest parts of who we had become to survive.

Once the shared meals, special church services, and egg hunts have passed, we probably find ourselves quickly shifting back to normal routines. How might we hang onto the hope of Easter as we go back to the office or turn into the pick up line at our child’s school?