the wheelbarrow

When I was a child, every Holy Thursday my family would go from church to church to visit the wonderfully decorated altars.There was one church on the South Shore of Long island that was so special.Not only was it festooned everywhere you looked with white and yellow flowers, but there were white cages with bright yellow singing canaries.I can still hear their songs.What a wonderful feast for the ears and eyes,especially to a young child.Then, the next day, the altars were stripped totally bare,statues and the cross covered in purple and the bells silenced, for this was sad Good Friday.

For the last several months, I have been pushing a grey,rusted out Good Friday wheelbarrow everywhere I go.Assorted rocks clang and tumble around and they are so heavy.The handles have given me callouses.Often, I stop, take a few out,rearrange the rest and put the others back.It is still heavy.If only I could find the right thing to say to this pile of rocks;the right arrangement,all will be well.

Going out with this load became too much and so I stayed home and worried.And stared at the wheelbarrow.My prayers have been desperate and whiny.Fix this,this way,I demanded or begged.I hate this,this is not how I saw it.Take this wheelbarrow with it's painful load and give me a break.

Finally,finally, a light came on and with grace I have been able to say,"Thank you for this disgusting, dirty load.I praise you for it.It is certainly not what I envisioned but in your hands it will become a floating, shining barge loaded with flowers,red and orange hibiscus,roses,and parrots, lightly drifting down the Ganges in all its glory."

Scripture says that this is what we are to do and then peace will come.I can't say that I have been dancing but I have felt more calm ,more sure that all shall be well,in time.