I wait

intentionally

on my knees,

silent,

still,

listening,

remembering,

reflecting,

meditating,

looking ahead

with

anticipation

though I know

the end of the story,

like a child knows

gifts will come,

and cake will be eaten,

and friends will sing

and they will be celebrated.

 

I know

the betrayal will occur,

friend against friend,

the denial,

the trial,

the crown of thorns.

I know the walk,

the weight

the lifting from a bloody back

the stained wood

of another man’s cross.

I know the tears,

the arms

round Mary

broken,

I know the eyes,

forgiving,

accepting.

I know the

gasping,

the last words,

the darkness,

the shaking,

the bleeding heart

pierced one more time.

 

I know

the mocking,

the belief,

the shining in the centurion’s eyes

 

I know the desperation

of a noose,

the disillusionment

of the left behind.

 

I know

the dead weight,

coming down,

the wrapping,

the tomb of a rich man,

and I know the stone.

 

 

I know it all,

but this waiting,

intentional waiting,

remembering,

reflecting,

it increases

the joy.

 

Because I know

the waiting

on the Sabbath,

the mourning,

the heavy disappointment,

the early morning,

the fragrant spices,

carefully prepared,

the heart stopping sight

and the terror of angels.

 

I know the empty tomb,

the swirl of questions,

the Gardener’s voice

calling my name,

the ascending,

the returning,

the entering,

despite locked doors,

the eating,

the revealing,

the scars,

and Thomas’ fingers therein,

the breathing

the Holiness,

the exchange,

the promises,

the vision,

the purpose,

the call,

the assurance,

“I will be with you always,

even to the end of the age.”

The returning,

the rejoicing,

the waiting…

beginning again.

I know it all,

like a child knows,

but I wait,

intentionally

like a child,

and the joy increases

exponentially.