Tomorrow is the Palm Sunday. Over here we call it Willow Sunday because we don’t have palm trees but willows are in abundance.

My “clock” has been completely messed up this year. Christmas is always early for me, starting in September. But at least the official dates don’t move. Not so with Easter.

To add to the confusion, this year, Catholic / Protestant Easter took place in the end of March while Orthodox (and since Ukraine is Orthodox, we also use this date) one is on May 5th. I have friends almost around the world and therefore sometimes it’s hard to track what is going on.

But it’s finally Palm “Willow” Sunday.

The triumphant entry Sunday.


We never know when we are destined to die (unless we are on a death row and our death is scheduled…)… but Jesus knew.

I always thought of him as an older guy, but now that I am 27 myself, I marvel at how young he was.

33 years old.

Carpenter’s son.

The one who turned the world upside down (or is it upside up?)

One more week. Even less than a week.

In just four days, it would be Passover.

In five, he would be killed.

In seven, he would rise up.

Two Sundays, both cheerful.

One welcoming a king by the standards of this world. Next one welcoming the King.

It’s what is in between of those two glorious days that is terrifying and painful and yet…¬†marvelous.

He knew the schedule. He knew the timeline. He knew the cost.

And yet he did it anyway.

I often struggle with my own faults and mistakes and sins that I seem to keep walking into again and again. I look deep into my eyes reflected in the mirror and I wonder, “Why do You still love me?” I have never doubted God’s love… but I have often doubted that I am worthy of that kind of love.

And even deeper in my eyes, I see a reflection of someone bigger than me.

“My love does not depend on your actions. I just do love you.”

I look at myself and I manage a smile.

He knows my timeline and schedule.

I just hope I am following it.

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