A Wilderness Funk

    I haven't been able to write.  It's as though all my words have dried up.  Certain topics were coming to mind, excitement about some books I've read, reflection on conversations.  But when I thought of signing into this blog and writing I felt empty.  I'm still feeling that way and am kind of wondering why I'm even writing today.
    But it's the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter and that just seems like a good time to think about those times when the world as we know it disappears and a world we would never have expected might start to take shape.  I haven't written since the beginning of Lent.  I was truly thrown off by the words of my doctor telling me he needed to see more healing so I should stay off the leg another six weeks.  For seven weeks I had let people help me out, I'd given up trying to get to my office, given up trying to be productive, given up trying to do any of the household chores.  People reworked schedules and provided rides and fixed meals in order to accommodate me.  It seemed like it was time for me to start stepping up and carrying my part.  But no, I was sentenced to another six weeks.
    Maybe part of the reason I haven't written was due to being tired.  A lady loaned me her "knee scooter" and that gave me much more stability and maneuverability in getting around, so I felt I could take on a bit more.  I could make the bed, help with the dishes, bring in the mail... I could also move around better so I spread out from my "couch office" and set up shop in the dining room.  What a luxury to spend time sitting in the dining room while working and using the living room as... well, a living room!  However, in doing more, I've also experienced more frustration with the time and effort needed to do each of these extra things.
    So I've felt scattered, tired, ineffective.  Reminds me a little of walking on the Meseta during my Camino pilgrimage.  However, there I knew it would end.  In fact for many days I could see the mountains in the distance with their guaranty that the climate would change, trees would reappear, and water would flow.  I didn't know exactly how that would look, but I knew it was coming.  Meanwhile, in the Meseta I walked in the dryness, carried extra water, wilted in the sun.
   Yesterday, Good Friday, our pastor asked, What is it you thirst for?  I'm still thinking about that question.  I thirst on so many different levels.  On Thursday the doctor said I could put weight on my left leg, but that is not the same as walking and I thirst for walking.  I hear about N. Korean threats and Iran, and terrorists and I thirst for peace.  I thirst for the living water that Jesus promised which seems to have eluded me during Lent.  I thirst for facilities that will let me enter and move around them easily, whether in a wheelchair, or on crutches.  Yes, I thirst.
    I need Easter.  Easter is for me as the mountains in the distance were for me on the Camino.  Easter brings with it hope, the hope that can only come through God.  The hope that is as steadfast as a mountain range.  Hope that takes the place of needing all the answers.  Easter is my reminder that God is with each of us, even when we travel in the Meseta, the wilderness, the dark places... especially when we travel in those places.  Easter is my reminder that one day I will not thirst - but with God that day may not come as I expect.
    Today, on Holy Saturday, I see Easter and somehow I know my thirst will be quenched.  Not instantly, but it will.  May the hope of the resurrection, and the eternal love of God help to quench your thirst this Easter.  Blessings on your journey.