On Good Friday, I was somewhat at a loss for what to do/how to act. This is not a rare occurrence, since the kids and I have no work outside the house, or gym to go get fit at, or school routine to chase, or much of any routine, for that matter. But particularly on Good Friday, I felt it important throw off my old, random, abstract self and to do something, anything to acknowledge the fact that it’s the day our Savior and brother died. I didn’t want it to be ordinary, or particularly free-wheeling, or fun.
But we hadn’t seen our Thursday friends for quite some time, and this was the only day we could see them for yet again quite some time, so we went with them to a high-muka-muka coffee shop instead; and naps ran late enough that we couldn’t go to a stations of the cross re-enactment, or an ecumenical service, or any service at all, for that matter.
Like our very own wise Sheila, I tried to offer up little pains and annoyances throughout the day. And, actually, I felt privileged that I didn’t have to go in to work as many, including dear husband, had to do that morning. I kept thinking about the disciples. What were they doing on that Friday (and Saturday) so many years ago? I feel that, through faith, we have a natural kinship with them. So I wanted to walk through the day with them. And I just kept feeling guilty as I ate a delicious meatless salad from the coffee shop, as I loaded the dish washer, as I planned decorating for after the Easter Vigil. The disciples surely didn’t do any of those things on the first Good Friday.
But when my munchkins woke from their naps, I figured it out. For whatever reason, both had gotten up on the wrong side of the crib. And then they were completely happy and distracted, 2 minutes later. And I realized, that whatever the disciples did, surely their kids did much of the same things that my kids did on Good Friday. They perhaps reacted in some way to the distress of their parents, but I feel that surely they must also have played a little, wined a little, and also been somewhat oblivious to the import of the day.
And then there’s their mamas. Their mamas must have had to deal with the all the same things that I dealt with on Good Friday: changing diapers, handling dishes, managing tantrums, being unable to keep from smiling at them a little despite their pain and confusion, etc.
It was a realization I will hold in my heart for many years. Not only did the Lord show me his heart for mothers, but, sappy as it sounds, I truly felt a kinship with those grand ladies. And it simply brought peace to my soul knowing that I could walk their road with them, in a manner of speaking.
….meanwhile meltdowns are imminent and I must sign off…!