Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus…
(Hebrews 12:1-2)
I’ve been mulling over the exhaustion I experience after serving people, or just after caring for a high-octane toddler. Is that what hospitality is? Is that what service is? Is that what raising a child is? Giving until your throat hurts and your back aches? Facing deep weariness, but then remembering that you are greatly privileged to be part of something splendid and un-reproducible?
The big hurdles were the missing host, an unusually fussy toddler, and a deep theological conversation turning intense.
But I thought, why not invite Jane for supper too? I could just run over there right before supper and pick her up, if she was there. If Marnell was home just a little early, I could leave Anina with him and be even more efficient.
We don’t close our eyes to the realities of the gloom-cloaked world. Rather we see them squarely for what they are and we choose to celebrate amid them and in spite of them, glorying in the knowledge that the serpent’s head has been crushed and there will come a Day when the song and the feast go on.
When the grocery store no longer plays “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men” and the snow has turned to slush, sharing your daily bread will still be at its finest.
I did not expect to be mentally ambushed by this song when I began to sing it with Anina, but that’s exactly what happened to me on line 3 as I sang “By His hands we all are fed.”
