Here’s how I know that it’s Holy Week.
This morning I made myself a second cup of coffee because I’d left the first cup upstairs and was too exhausted to go get it. I needed coffee for my coffee, is what I’m saying, and that’s how I know that the Triduum is here.
Holy Week is always a seat-of-my-pants affair. What gets done gets done and what doesn’t, I let fly. I may shed some tears along the way (in fact, it’s pretty much guaranteed) but for the most part, I try to cut the corners that will keep the peace.
I say that like it’s fairly easy, but cutting corners can be deeply humbling, like when my friend Erin came over for lunch yesterday and I tried (but failed) to get the floor mopped in advance. She was gracious and didn’t seem to mind at all but I was…
And thankful for her friendship.
(Some of you less-than-perfect homemakers may relate. You want to pass out protective bubbles at the door because there ain’t no WAY your house is germ-free.)
(Humbling, I repeat. HUMBLING.)
I’m reminded of the twelve apostles who must have known first hand such humility, especially when Our Lord knelt before them and took their mud-caked feet into His hands. Our God is not about being perfect; instead, He comes to us as we are.
We are, after all, His children.
I’ve mentioned crying a lot this Lent–have alluded to it, what, like a hundred times? And I will say this–set it down for the record–that this parenting-a-teen gig is one of the hardest EVER. And I think back to what *I* was like for my mom and am like…
“That poor woman made it to 90 despite me.”
Because it’s true. I could be a butt.
And yet when my teens become a bit bucky–when they rebel, push back, stare at their stupid phones all day–I forget to remember that I, too, was like that, minus the smart phone & social media, thank God.
Anyway. I have a point and I need to return (somehow) to it. So much of my Lent has been about acceptance–coming to terms with my human weakness and accepting (somehow) that God loves me regardless. I’m not EVER going to be a perfect mom…or a perfect wife…or the perfect homemaker. I am who I am and she is flawed.
Which brings me back to the title of this post. My 5-year-old and I are doing the Holy Week in Handprints project, which I highly recommend starting even today if you could. (Or tomorrow, or even next week. I am so not into perfectionism!) It’s a great little book that tells your child this great story: Jesus suffered and died and rose from the dead. This is Easter. This is God’s love for us.
Note: we sometimes skip the messy painted hand prints, opting instead for tracing his hand with a marker.
So this morning he was coloring Judas’ betrayal and wanted a gray marker for the coins. “Here’s a black colored pencil,” I offered, and he set to work saying, “It will do.”
God spoke to me then through my five-year-old’s words.
It will do…and so will I.