During Adoration last Monday, close to where I was kneeling was a statue of Jesus with one hand pointing to his heart and the other reaching; a gesture of patient invitation.
Since I have moved to Toronto, I can (with a goofy smile stretching across my face as I type this) say that I have fallen, madly and deeply in love with Him. It was as though my “yes” to move was a deeper yes into taking our relationship one step further. It became increasingly evident that what was a big leap for me, was in fact, a big leap for us.
I have gone on trips alone in the past, and during these trips, I walk through the city holding His hand. This, essentially, is what the move became. Being without my family and leaving my comfort zone meant I had to hold on that much tighter to the hand in mine. As I kneeled there before Him, I opened my eyes and looked up and the sculpture was there, with its hand so close to me. I took a good look at it and realized… in the hand reaching for mine, there are wounds.
The hand I hold has wounds.
The hand in mine has bled.
The hand in mine has been pierced.
In my hand, I’m holding wounds.
And as I let this thought wash over me, I realized, this is what Lent is. To hold His wounds. To be there with Him and prepare with Him. I can’t be there only for his Resurrection. I need to be there with Him in the Garden of Gethsemane. I need to be there with Him as He gets ridiculed, as He gets crowned with thorns, as He endures unimaginable pain. I need to be there in his Crucifixion.
That’s what love is, isn’t it? To not only be present in the other’s joy, but to be there in their pain.
And because I must be there… I too, must prepare. Lent isn’t meant to be easy.