Sunday, April 20, 2014

Triduum

The Garden
Gethesmene.
I have been there. On a trip to the Holy Land I visited the garden of Gethsemane. It looked just like I had imagined it would look. Those olive trees.
I have experienced my own Gethsemane as well. Probably more than once. My own gardens of pain and fear and loss. A time of hoping against hope that someone would sit with me in the dark. Sit with me and wait with me.
And what I have learned in my gardens of suffering is that I am never alone.
Always God is with me.
Always.

The Cross
Crosses. I have carried my share. Not quite as physically painful as what Jesus suffered. Emotionally painful, yes. And the feeling of being alone.
I found God at an early age, in the middle of my Good Fridays. A young child, sexually abused for years by my father, Jesus came into my life. A gift from seemingly nowhere to a little girl who had little religious instruction.
Given the grace to survive.
And to know I do not carry my crosses alone.

The Light
Easter Vigil. Became a Catholic as an adult and my life’s journey changed dramatically.
Light overcame darkness.
Pain from my cross and my Gethsemane still there sometimes but now is offered for all victims. Now there is always hope. I know God is with me. 

Always. No matter what.
Hope.
New life. Resurrection.
Light.
Love.


Wishing you all a blessed Easter.

9 comments :

Michael said...

Happy Easter, Colleen! We are saved!

Lora Goulet said...

So very sweet and beautiful! Lovely meditations! ¡Felices Pascuas!

Daily Grace said...

Happy Easter Colleen. Beautiful meditation.

Colleen said...

Michael, Amen! Happy Easter to you!

Lora, thank you! God bless

Daily Grace, so good to "see" you here! Happy Easter!

Connie Arnold said...

Easter blessings to you, Colleen!

Colleen said...

Connie, thank you!

Sue Elvis said...

Happy Easter Colleen! I hope you're having a joy filled celebration with your family.

Colleen said...

Sue, Happy Easter!

Barb Schoeneberger said...

Happy Easter to you, too, Colleen. Those old olive trees have a strange sort of beauty to them, gnarled like our souls having been through the trials of this world.