Every time I have made eye contact with anyone over the last thirty six hours I have muttered, “it's been a long week,” and then trailed off hoping the other person would pick up the thread. But everyone else had a long week too and so then we both, me and whoever, have just stared dumbly but contentedly at each other, and then wandered off in a daze. At least I think that's the way it's been. I'm too tired to remember. And maybe I'm only talking about Sunday because I didn't see anyone yesterday.
Yesterday I dug weeds out of the garden and then lay down on the floor in the office and slept and then got up and did it again. And then we went to bed at 8. No one complained.
It was a long week.
But surely more can be said about it.
It was a good week. Bizarrely, I find, as I sit here, that I am covered with some tired feeling of refreshment. Like for once, instead of just muscling my way through all the work and praying for God to do something, I walked through it myself, and lived it a little bit, and heard some of the words, and sang some of the music, and let some things go that didn't matter very much. Is it that I'm getting older and more sensible? Well, older maybe but I doubt more sensible. God must have had some kind of mercy, as he so often does.
Also, I bought an Easter dress and shoes, for the first time in my life. Knowing on Good Friday that you're going to be wearing beautiful shoes on Sunday enriched the whole passion and death of Jesus for me in a special and meaningful way. I did feel really sad that he died, since I wasn't dying myself and knew I wouldn't be at any point on Saturday. No, on Saturday I ironed all the children's clothes and set the table and boiled six cartons of 18 eggs (how many is that? Matt and I tried to do the math yesterday as we were weeding and found we couldn't agree on whether it was 8 cartons of 16 eggs or 6 cartons of 18 eggs and then stopped because who really cares anyway, it was a lot of eggs). So don't worry, I'm not any spiritually deeper and more obedient to God than anyone else. Possibly, as you can see, less so than the national average. If I was Mary the Mother of somebody, huffing my way to the tomb, I'd probably be the one slowing everyone else to keep adjusting my veil and whining about the blisters on my feet.
So it was a long week, and a good one. And here are some pictures.
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