A suitcase full of bricks – getting to Easter 2021
Dear God, “We’ve lost a year,” I heard someone say.
As if it had slipped between the sofa cushions along with the remote and the spare change and pizza crumbs.
Well, God, I haven’t lost a year, I’ve carried it, I’ve not been able to put it down.
Through lockdown and easing, I’ve carried isolation, home-schooling, boredom, grief, my own cooking, the company of the same people for months on end, worry, over-work, anger, binge-watching, binge-drinking and good intentions. And loss. I’ve lugged them all around like a suitcase full of bricks on broken wheels up a rocky hill. I want to put them down and run away but I have to carry on. Slowly edging on to hope, to vaccinations, hugs and time together.
I look at my brother Jesus who has been dragging up his heavy cross beside me all this time and ask, “You get it don’t you? That hope is coming but the way there is slow, painful and tiring.”
He nods, wincing. He pants, keeps going.
“When you get to the top of your hill, can I leave all this with you?” I ask.
He smiles at me, “Of course you can. Put it down, unpack it, have a good cry. Curl up and sleep for days if you need to. I’ll deal with it.”
And so, we plod on together up this rocky hill. Towards hope but not quite there. Glad for each other’s company.