BURNING DAYLIGHT

At precisely noon on Good Friday, we nested the last boxwood in the ground.

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I have taken on the distress of neglected spaces more times than I can count, answering their silent cries of desperation by way of both hands and spirit pouring out.

I have been both emptied and then filled by the sweat-soaked work that nearly always offers both little time for completion, and great satisfaction in conquering the seemingly insurmountable work.

This is the week of big vision—

Of palm fronds laid down like blankets

And donkey swinging tail with boundless pride

And so, I set my mind to a ‘good Friday’ completion, the ambition of a garden renovation a noble distraction from what is medically ahead. In truth, I find my sweetest peace among the boxwood and lupin, surrounded by the colors of His creation, embedding bits of my own vision into soil.

Between tractor rides and displacing worms and grubs nested in the safety of dank earth, there has been a singular refrain running through my head—

Hosanna.

Along with a rare collection of rescued homes, I’ve assembled some of the most memorable fellow-builder quotes—

Fire in the whole—success at accomplishing an impossible task

We know the program—there is nothing we can’t do

I can feel you but I can’t quite reach you—response to my project vision being shared

Burning Daylight—when it comes to important work, we haven’t got all day.

Of these favorites, it’s the latter I found myself repeating with some urgency as this week’s hours were devoured.

Hosanna.

I stand still in the center of dug up earth. Saws humming. Shovels clanking. Above all the noise, I hear the desperate shouts of longing people who gather palm fronds from their own gardens and wave them about.

It strikes me as I dig my hands into soil, that He was the only one present that knew precisely what was ahead.

Such singular intention.
The magnitude of His loneliness overwhelms me, kneeling in the garden, digging up earth.
And yet I picture Him still advancing.
His gaze fixed on the completion of his charge.

“We’re burning daylight.”  I hear my voice somewhere far off in the distance shout. I am weary, both from the week’s ambitions and the weight residing within me of the “what comes next.” But we have work to finish, and the sun is setting. And so, I fix both will and feet to the task.

In the distance I faintly hear the freeway from where I stand.
The rushing off and away.
The advancing without stopping to marvel at this Good Friday.

We rise to our agendas, so much to accomplish, to mark off our lists.
I grieve for myself and others as we frenetically rush through our days.

This burning daylight.  It sears conviction on me like a brand.
What great mission have I forsaken? What distractions am I chasing in my life?

Hosanna.

Through the shouts he steadies himself.
There is no hesitation when salvation of the whole world is at stake.

Good Friday. The antithesis of a simple life. The grit of an elevated vision made vivid, incomprehensibly real.

“I will finish what I started,” is the take-away I cling to. “No matter the cost.”

Life, if measured by this standard,  is a feat of endurance, of perseverance that reveals a kind of beauty on an entirely different scale. In and through it we discover what is possible. In and through it we learn just how far we are able to go.

“Burning daylight.” I imagine his whisper as the Hosannas swirl about.

Then, I nest the last of a hundred seedlings into fertile earth. And I marvel at the frailty of the body overpowered by the will.