Lazarus

I’ve been sour all day. First, I attributed my mood to the gloomy weather, or the lady who hung up the phone on me when I was trying to make a dental appointment for my grandmother, or because my students bombard me with emails, asking me questions, I know I have patiently addressed a trillion times, or because I started my day off with lesson planning in my head, instead of sweet, quiet devotional time.

Yes, all these things contributed to me being a little grumpy and not like myself… but I know what’s at the root of all these feelings…

This morning, when I finally did get my act together and carved out time for my devotional...God led me to the book of John...the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, after he had been in his tomb for four days...I’ve read this story so many times, but today I really felt for Mary and Martha--Lazarus’ sisters… Their frustration about Jesus not coming soon enough, according to their watch, really resonated with me.

And then it happened. I was triggered to remember an ongoing dream that I’ve had so often. So regularly, for years. I haven’t had it recently. But it’s a dream of my mother. In the dream, she’s always either dead or in the hospital. But it’s always a mistake. And we literally, dig her out of the grave, and she’s alive. Or we speak to someone in the hospital, and tell them they’ve got her confused with some other patient. And then she goes home. Totally healthy. And totally whole.

Reading that scripture today for me, reminded me of the wondrous power of Jesus. Then, I got angry: wondering why He didn’t do for my mother, what He did for Lazarus.

Grief is heavy and weird sometimes.