Day 25: Imagination

We pursue our own imaginations, the Bible says.

And our own ends are always up for restoration.

I took my imagination to my grandparents’ cabin in Maine this morning. Just like that, and I am on the porch facing Kingsbury Pond.

I walk down the steps, carefully. The boards are warped and the paint, chipped. Splinters are a distinct possibility. My tiptoe continues across the smooth stepping stones, long since sunk into the thick crabgrass of the lawn that leads to the dock.

I step onto it and hear the creak of boards followed by the lapping of water to greet me. There are other sounds, too – the occasional croak of a bullfrog to my left and the mourn of loons on the other side of the pond – each amplified in what is otherwise a quiet place.

It’s so green out here, and the crisp, clean scent of pine needles fills the air. I enjoy this place best when I’m still, and I sit at the edge of the dock – knees up, arms wrapped, chin resting.

I feel the shift before I hear the footfall, and I look over my shoulder to see Jesus walking toward me. He’s wearing Bean boots, obviously.

I thought I wanted to be alone, but this is better. He sits down next to me, and I pour it all out.

I had a bad day. I’m worn out, and what wore me out is what’s worn me out for forever. Where’s the change? Why can’t I change? I’m angry, and I’m sorry.

He puts his arm around me, and I lean into his side – a response that used to take a lot of coaxing, but I do immediately now. I put my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. I feel the heavy go, scattering across the pond like breadcrumbs. I match my breathing to his.

When I’m ready, I sit back up. He turns his hand, palm up. I see the scar from where he was pierced. I touch it before I lay my hand in his, palm down.

I know about your day, and I know you.

He shows me the palm of his other hand, pierced in the same way. He looks at the scar before looking at me, through me … to the deepest part of my soul where my longing for him resides.

I would do it all over again, Beth. I did it for your worst days. I did it for your anger and for everything else. I love you.

I don’t know how much longer we stay, but when we get up to go, it feels like the right time. He helps me step down from the dock before heading left up the drive while I go right to the porch.

There’s one last thing, and I call to him.

Who would you have me tell?

He turns, looking at me, through me, past me.

Tell everyone.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed – for me, for you, and for …

Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth. The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy. I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and crying will be heard in it no more.

Isaiah 65:17-19