Sleepless in Long Beach

A night when sleep has mostly eluded me for some reason. Just been listening to worship music, reflecting on the week to come.

Today is Palm Sunday. I think of Jesus looking with love at Jerusalem, and weeping, wishing he could gather his people under his wings.

Without wishing to elevate myself to his level, I am poised, too, at the beginning of this Holy Week, and perhaps tonight I glimpse another facet of the heartbreak Jesus was feeling. That sense that despite all his divine efforts, he must have had the sense that as he prepared to leave the earth and return to the Father, there were still a lot of loose ends, unfinished business, people ... Even those who loved him and knew him best ... Who did not understand.

I am preparing to leave, too, having spent almost a month here helping my dear mom. I want to feel confident that I have everything in place for her to walk with confidence through whatever the next days, weeks, and months hold for her. But I don't feel confident. I feel like weeping, too, and feel like gathering her close to me protectively. And yet I can't.

Jesus had to leave the earth with unfinished business yet to be done. He had to entrust his disciples to the Father, his mother to his friend. His of course was a desperately lonely and painful path, through the next few days leading up to Good Friday, and mine is nothing like that.

And yet, maybe a little. There is such a sorrow at partings, as faces crumple and stomachs churn. Those last, longing glances. Those final hugs and brave smiles. That sense of walking away alone, into the unknown of the next few days, weeks and months.

Jesus was going home, and yet the path was horrible for him. He was returning home, and yet he was leaving home, his home on earth with family and friends.

I am going home, to people who love me and the life I have been granted there, and there is joy and anticipation in that. But I, too, am leaving home, the house where I grew up, the mother who raised me, the daughter who I raised, and so a sense of anguish and loss.

As I prepare to pack my bags ... For unlike Jesus, I have a baggage allowance ... I feel like I stand on the hill looking with love at those I am about to leave behind, before beginning the slow and long descent into the week that is coming. I pray that The Lord will finish the things I have not seen, or managed, to do.

Jesus is closer than ever.