“It feels like…” he rolls his eyes up thoughtfully. “It feels like I’m tending this little patch of grass and I so want it to grow bigger.”
He chuckles, self-conscious.
I think about how high the grass is back home—how it’s only mid-March and it needs mowing already. How sometimes spring comes early.
So I tell him the words that I need to hear—this thing I’ve been struggling with too.
“But,” I say, “The growing can’t happen without the planting. And sometimes, we may not get to see the fruit.”
He nods and we talk about dreams and we dream together for the future generations and I do my level best to affirm his work, because I have felt this too. I have felt the tired of the empty hands after the long labor.
And it seems like this is all I’ve felt lately: tired.
This morning when the alarm goes off at way-too-early A.M., my hand shoots out to still its steady whine and I proceed with mine: But I’m tired, Lord.
But I’ve made this promise, so I rise and light the candle and in the still of the morning I read these words:
Each day Jesus was teaching at the temple, and each evening he went out to spend the night on the hill called the Mount of Olives, and all the people came early in the morning to hear him at the temple. (Luke 21:37-38)
Each day…each evening…early in the morning…
It strikes me how tired he must have been. And I ponder that just a wee bit. Imagine. Then I move on to the second reading.
Then there is this:
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. (Matt. 11:28-30)
I wonder about the deep soul-tired he must have been when he gave us these words and this tender root burrows into the soil of me and I am grateful for the tired…I am grateful for all that brings the weary.
And I pray for this little patch of grass that I tend and I stare out the window at the sky spilling red on the horizon—how charcoal clouds hover like a chuppah over that burning glory. And I remember a teaching I heard—about this traditional Jewish wedding canopy—how it is open on the four sides so that the glory God pours on the bride and groom will spill out over their guests … so that all will share in this wondrous gift.
And I stand in this glory spilling out from the sky and give thanks.
And the wind blows the grasses in the meadow beneath the red sky.
And with kd: