I dragged my dad to the flea market on the chilly, drizzly, gray Saturday morning we were in Paris. I collected some real treasures, like a map from 1790 of France, and some glorious upholstery silk, which the rag-and-bones vendor told me was created in 1860. I believe in William Morris's motto, do not have anything in your house you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. I have been preparing this silk for use in my house, researching how to best clean and care for antique silk for use.
I bathed it, washing away years of dirt. It took three rinses for the water to come out clean! I lovingly ironed it, and am ready to cut it for my project. But no matter how much I patch holes or wash away dirt, there are snags, loose threads, weak points. These add to its character, but whatever my efforts it will never be like new again.
I have been thinking about the Resurrection deeply this Easter season. I have had more reason to than I ever have. Spending nearly 8 months in the NICU with my sick baby, and witnessing the suffering of other parents and babies, and experiencing my own heartbreaks that will never truly mend in this life, the desire for wholeness, to be completely whole, has been more meaningful this year. Carrying a baby who couldn't swallow any amniotic fluid wreaked havoc on my body. I hope never to experience pain like that again, and even though I feel so much better now, there are scars, stretch marks, and physiological problems that will never go away. I've been stretched physically and emotionally to the breaking point over the last year.
I have need of the Atonement. I need healing that can only come through the grace of God. Someday Eloise will have an esophagus that is not riddled with scar tissue, she will have no scars on her back, her sides, her stomach. Someday my heart will be whole again. To be whole again, body and soul, is the most appealing, desirable feeling of all, and this Easter Sunday I am grateful there is hope for that.