Holy Week on the Ranch is a week full of intense reflection. Shadows of suffering darken the nights and even the full, fuzzy moon seems to hang in waiting, waiting for the joy of Easter morning, the day that breaks our sadness. Easter seems a long way off, although it is only 2 days away.
Tonight, in a chapel lit only by candles, we knelt in silence and prayed for all the suffering in the world. I found myself crying for the never-ending sadness, the desperate people, the children without families. I cried for my own family, so far away, and for all the families separated by miles or by histories. I cried for the lives of the children here who I love so much more than I ever could have imagined, for their lives lived before coming here, for their challenges in the future. For the fact that in a year I will leave them. I cried for those who are alone, who have no hope, who are full of hate.
I cried too for my own moments of hate, the suffering I cause.
I have a picture of a heart on the inside of the door of my room. I put it there to remind myself--every time I leave my room--to love the people I don´t want to love. The awful thing is, I forget to look at that heart all the time. Sometimes I walk by people and look right past them because they might return my hello with a scowl or ignore me. I get irritated and unkind. I am revengeful or jealous or ungrateful. I give in to fear by not giving other people a chance, or a second chance, and forgetting why I am here. Love is a hard thing and I am not very good at it.
I am awaiting Easter like I never have before. This year, there will be no Easter eggs, but there will be light to end these dark days. Our celebration on Sunday begins at 4 a.m. with a bonfire and candlelit processional. Even in the darkness of early morning, there will be bright light. With this light will be hope and a new beginning for all of us.