Waiting
For hours Dusty has been waiting. I had to bake cookies and
a cake in the top oven because the bottom one is broken. That seemed to take
hours. Well, it did.
Then I made asparagus soup, just to have to fill the gaps
of anyone who doesn’t eat enough hot cross buns tomorrow.
Now I am here, but there...she’s just walked through the
room again, looking at me with reproach, with longing, with hope and expectation.
Waiting is never easy for any of us.
Holy Saturday...Easter Saturday...a day of waiting. The
Passover...the Sabbath. Nobody stirred, certainly not to go and defile oneself
by washing and anointing a dead body.
But the women could hardly wait until dawn on Sunday to get
to that tomb and do their last act of service – or so they thought – for their
Lord. The Marys, Salome, Joanna. They’d watched where Joseph of Arimathea had
laid the body and they ran at dawn, wondering aloud how they would move that
huge stone blocking the opening of the tomb.
Their time of waiting ended wonderfully, beyond all their
imagining – despite Jesus’ teaching of what would happen to him.
An empty tomb. Jesus himself, alive and risen. And then the
rush back to the men, who didn’t really believe them.
Then more waiting for him to show himself to the disciples,
to the others, and finally, for him to send the Holy Spirit once he’d returned
to heaven.
A lot of waiting, with hope and expectation.
May your waiting be full of hope and expectation, and may it
end in joy and celebration.
Happy Easter.
