The rain drips, drips incessantly. Venturing out to Sunday worship today, we pulled up the hoods on our raincoats, opened up bright umbrellas, and carefully stepped around the multitudinous assortment of rain puddles scattered in our pathway.
The mood is dismal and lugubrious this Sunday afternoon, reminding me of the sleepy disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane that evening, eyes that were droopy, nodding off...at an extremely crucial time in history.
Today the skies are grey. For three hours on the day Jesus died, the skies became ominously dark...I envision a midnight sky without benefit of moon glow.
The crowds made up of citizens from Jerusalem, along with the visitors from the outstretching countryside, jostled each other to be a part of what was going on that day in their midst. They tossed their garments on the ground for the man entering Jerusalem on a donkey. Palm branches were waving, swishing in the faces of children and adults alike with voices lifted up as they sang joyful songs of praise and shouted out loud blessings.
I live on this side of the cruxifixion and the resurrection of my LORD and Savior. But I desire to see things in my days on this special week. Little things even that will cause me to stop, remember, reflect on His final week. Surely I will not miss it?
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