Sometimes God whispers through the words of others. I’ve taken to looking for Him in novels, newspapers, magazines, even billboards.
One day a package arrived, heaven sent by Laura and Amazon. Two books.
The unlikely pilgrimage of Harold Fry
The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy
In Harold’s tale, he starts walking the length of England to speak unsaid words to Queenie, hoping she’ll live to hear.
Queenie lingers in hospice, hoping to unburden her heart to Harold.
One day, Finty, a patient, says, “I’ve been thinking… If Harold Fry is serious about walking, he might as well do it for me as well. All I gotta do is wait.”
Then she asks, “Anyone else waiting for Harold Fry?”
“One by one, and in silence, the patients raised their hands. Sunken faces. Skeletal wrists. Bandages and tubes. Sunlight poured through the windows, and the air shone with dust motes, billowing like silvered snow. The friends and families of the patients began to raise their hands too and so did the volunteers and nuns. At last everyone in the dayroom had a hand in the air… Something new was happening. It was palpable.”
“That’s it, then,” said Finty. “It’s a unanermous yes vote. From now on, no one dies. We’re all waiting for Harold Fry.”
They wait, tethered by hope, while Harold trods northward on blistered, bandaged feet in yacht shoes, held together by duct tape.
Who of us doesn’t wait or walk for some one, some situation, impossible to bear without hope?
At Lent we remember.
The Via Dolorosa.
Remembering, we just might sense the One who walked sorrow’s way, walking and waiting with us, plodding pilgrims held together by hope and holy duct tape.
( quotations from The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy by Rachel Joyce)
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