Hours upon hours of stillness. A world frozen. A world in motion. One has ended, the other in a flow that barely paused. Voices filter through the bars, laughter even. Huddled in spots, people gather for the news, casting for details they might have missed. Mouth to ear, word by word, a story gets told.
Almost forgotten is a mother, whose heart beats in the shadows of anguish. Surrounded, yet alone, travelling the length of remembers.
Of a Baby She held to Her Heart, a life loved, a life lived, lit by lamps of a million memories. Thoughts and words, so many, many, tucked into each crease of times gone by. Old yet fresh, anguished yet tender, in its unveiling.
Held again, this Mother Her mutilated Son, in farewell poignant, one last time. Released now as Light to the world.
That life may live again.
On Good Friday, I was tired and irritable from a tough 2 weeks. With Easter only hours away, I was dissatisfied with my Lenten practices.
As we prayed the night’s Rosary, I asked Jesus dejectedly, Lord, what would You have me bring to Your Table? Dry and almost empty inside, I was to approach the Throne of God with empty hands, no gift did I have for my King.
In the early hours of Easter Vigil morn, I had a dream. I dreamed of people and situations somewhat similar to what my husband and I were facing now, that which was bringing us much frustrations. But unlike our actual reactions, in the dream, we did not lose our calm. There was a serenity as we faced each situation, even a cheer, although deeply cognizant of the wrong present in those situations. We took the wrong in our stride; we did not fall by the side.
In the dream, we were a people of hope, in careful and obedient tracing of the path of Jesus.
Very unlike reality– we were frustrated, hurting and struggling.
The dream continued. When the slideshow of sorts ended, I found myself back in my bedroom, lying back on the pillows. The room was dark. All of a sudden, a big ball of bright white light appeared high before me. I felt myself being lifted towards the light.
I had no fear.
But an immediate prayer escaped on my breath: Jesus, take care of my family!
Immediately, I was lowered gently back onto my pillows.
I awoke from my sleep later, still tired but not drained. I began my day with prayers and reflection, calm and purposeful, unlike the usual distracted state I am in usually. Work got done with nary a hint of carping. Home got a good cleaning, fresh sheets for the beds, kids’ clothes all ironed, laundry done.
But the White Light stayed before me. In every chore done, I saw that light. I felt being lifted up. I felt the soft sheets beneath me again.
I pondered. I questioned.
No Word from my Lord, yet.
My life – the various tensions, the beauty of domesticities, – are they the gifts He asks of me?
Do I seek to give Him what I think is right, but not what He actually wants of me?
Does He instead want the mundane and the blighted hopes, the struggles and thwarted good intentions?
Does He wish for His gift my climb up Calvary, my stumbles and missteps, the bruises and tears?
Did my Lord come to me in that bright white Light, lifting me to Him to ask that I gift Him with myself?