Rededication
For about six weeks, I’d been driving around with a large pumpkin in my trunk.
The pumpkin was something my kids eyed in the check-out line, and then forgot about in the time it took to transport it home from the market.
Every time I approached a red light, or reached a close-stop the pumpkin rolled forward — thudding against the back of the kids’ seats, and I’d say
“Aw, man, that pumpkin! I’ve got to get it out of the car.”
But by the time we approached home, driving up our street at an incline, the pumpkin rolled the other way — quietly — out of ear shot.
And I'd forget about it.
The same exact thing happened the next day.
And the next.
“The pumpkin!”
Then forgetting about the pumpkin.
For about forty-five days.
Until one day, last week, when I heard my six-year-old calling to me from the garage. He’d climbed into the hatchback trunk from inside the car and needed to be let out.
When I opened it, there he was sitting next to the pumpkin, in December.
I scooped them both out.
This is a true story and it is also a parable.
A parable about Hanukkah (of course!), which means rededication.
What is rededication? And how do we know what to rededicate ourselves towards — when sometimes we haven’t even realized we’ve lost track of it?
Well, let’s make the pumpkin a poetry manuscript, or a carpentry project or a business venture and the car ride is two years, or twelve years or twenty years.
It’s something that you know you need to get back to, that crashes against your spirit with the seriousness of bowling ball several times a day, only to be muted down by the repetition of to-do-lists, and matters both urgent and mundane, and forgotten about by the end of each day.
Sometimes we simply can’t remember the thing we want to return to until it’s right in front of our eyes.
And when it appears it’s more than a consolation, it’s a miracle.
Wishing you light and warmth wherever you may find it, and that something you love may once again become illuminated.
Happy Hanukkah!
Prayer + Action: Holiday Giving Guide