Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Yes Lord, rest from the violence. Rest from the spin, from the 24 hour nonstop barage of news and bad news and images and videos. Rest from the one more thing, the constant trauma that we almost can ignore.

I long to see your garden, God. The one my grandma used to sing about as she held me on her lap and rocked even my teenage body into submission and rest as she sang, and he walks with me, and he talks with me, he tells me I am his own.

Photo by Phil on Pexels.com

There is a picnic table at the entrance of your garden. The trees are heavy with buds and flowers, the grass is lush, there is a river rippling with clear and sparkling water. The table is overflowing with suitcases and hatboxes, duffle bags and brief cases, misshapen packages wrapped in brown paper tied with dirty silk ribbons. Bottles of tears, buckets of blood.

You invite us to come. You invite us to leave every burden here on this table and to enter a place of rest and peace. You invite us to wade in your river and to make ourselves clean again.

Help us to come. Help us to set it down, to realize how heavy it is. Help us to rest.

Help.

Us.

Amen.


Alicia Hager resides in West Michigan and is a Postulant to the Sacred Order of Priests in the Episcopal Church. Alicia enjoys spending time with her daughters and her husband, is bonkers about her cats, and blogs at astrawberrypointe.wordpress.com.


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