Holy Week. . . sometimes it feels like that. . . the days before the resurrection can feel fearful, insecure, depressive, sad, filled with longing, and hoping against hope that things will get better. . . needing God’s Spirit to lift us up once again, to cup our chin in His gentle hands and lift our face to look up at Him, to look into those deep, pure, beautiful eyes and see the love that is there, that He will never leave or forsake us. . . ever.
Tonight my husband and I walked up our walking hill—a breath-stealing, heart-pumping, leg-aching climb. I was already tired and kind of mad that we hadn’t made this trek earlier in the day. My husband said we should quit when we reached the top of the hill. Not wanting to cut our walk short, I told him this was the hard part and after that it would be easy schmeezy. Sure enough, after we reached the top, we continued our walk down a gentle slope and I hardly noticed that I was tired anymore. Since the worst was over, we could easily keep going. Some days we walk the other direction from our house, which is mostly downhill to begin with, but on the way back home, we climb several smaller inclines. When I see the last hill before we reach our house, I always think, only one more hill to climb! I can make it!
Jesus climbed a hill—a breath-heaving, heart-wrenching, leg-crushing climb. He was already beaten and bleeding but he wasn’t mad. His Father, however, was legitimately angry with our sin so took it out on Him—on His perfectly pure, righteous, and deeply loved Son. The hardest part wasn’t even climbing that hill. The hardest part was yet to come. My chest tightens and my breathing becomes harder just thinking about that.
I still have a hill to climb. I don’t even know if it is the last one, but one of these days it will most certainly be the last one. Until then. . . I want to walk in the Light and abide in the Vine. Please join me. We can rest when we get to the top of the hill, catch our breath, and be strengthened for the rest of the journey.