She sat crouched over, holding both hands to her head to stop the rhythmic, pulsating pain.

The aching pains felt in her limbs merely reflected the pain emanating from her heart, reaching to the outermost parts of her being.

She looked up momentarily to see the busy people brushing past her in their hurry to do important things.

She couldn’t throw herself back into the ongoing traffic of busy people going places and getting things done.

Not today.

But what should she do with this pain?

The pain sat like a lead weight on her stomach, pinning her to the ground.

Could anyone help lift the weight off her?

She contemplated opening her mouth to ask someone to please help her lift the load.

Share each other’s burdens, and . . . Pay careful attention to your own work, for then you will get the satisfaction of a job well done . . .

Ancient Text

They couldn’t hear her. They couldn’t see her burden. She felt invisible.

What now?

And then hope descended in the form of a feather. Was it a clue? The feather slowly floated from above and landed beside her. She examined it quizzically, then looked up to try to locate the source of this object.

She held it in her hands, the soft white of the feather brightening her otherwise grey surroundings, the dull grey she felt inside and saw everywhere she looked within her and around her.

She set the heavy weight on her stomach aside; it moved easily now, and she sat a bit longer examining this feather. It symbolized hope to her. “If another could fly, why couldn’t she?” she wondered, looking longingly upward into the sun, clouds, and blue sky that parted the grey sky as she watched.

She stood up now and wondered, “How does one fly?”

She turned around once, twice, spinning her arms with the feather outstretched in her right hand. She felt the joy soaking into her skin with the sunlight.  Maybe she didn’t HAVE to stay pinned to the ground, rooted in pain to this one spot, she mused.

Maybe she, too, could fly?

And then she saw it, a flicker at first. “Was that a dove circling above?” she wondered. She stopped spinning and stared, her eyes straining into the sun. Yes! There! It was fuzzy again. WAS it a dove, or…?

She doubted herself and her vision and her hope. “Who was she to think that…?” She found herself slouching against the wall again, slowly sinking back into that familiar curved position, ready to hold her head in her hands in that overly familiar position again to help the pulsating pain, which she felt beginning again.

“What do you choose?” he asked her. Jesus was now standing before her and holding out his outstretched hand. She blinked as she looked into the sunlight and saw only the shadowed outline of this person. Was it a person standing in front of her?

What was He saying? Her hearing was suddenly fuzzy, garbled, and his voice was only just clear.

“What was that?” she asked, finding one of her ears on the floor and trying to attach it. It fell off again. And he was gone, leaving only the feather.

Was it real?

“What do you choose?” he had asked her.

Hope or despair?

What WOULD she choose?

What do you choose?

(Do you choose to be awakened to hope?)

Photo Credits – Here’s A Gift by tommao wang on Unsplash, Busy Traffic by Iqro Rinaldi on Unsplash, White Feather by Nayem Islam on Unsplash, Hand Outstretched by Billy Pasco on Unsplash

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