Palm branch waver

The children waved palm branches in the morning service. My sweet little ginger-haired grandbaby was among the wavers. There was an early (and indoor)  Easter egg hunt that happened immediately after the palm waving.
I expect that the children's workers spent time explaining to the young assemblage about Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. I've loved that story and been disheartened by it at the same time, as long as I can remember. I love the idea of the people recognizing His Lordship, His Kingship, on that day and paying him homage. I am repelled by the idea that those same folk who cried "Hosanna" and "Hallelujah" the day He rode into the Holy City were crying crucify him just a few days later.
How little we have changed as a people over time. How how allegiances wax and wane, just as our fervor and attention.
How much I want this little girl, in her pink dress holding a single frond to know and believe the words of Scripture that implore each of us who are called by His Name to know how deep and high and wide; how immeasurable His love is for us.
How much I need to remind myself of that love when news of world disasters, terrorism, strife fill the news feeds on every manner of media. How easily my thoughts can turn to fear and to despair. How quickly I can take my eyes off Him who loves me and died for me. How much I need to remember that He is coming back again, this same One. He promised.  O Glorious Day.
Let my Hallelujah be constant and unless He first calls me home, may I be found faithfully waiting. My prayer is that many, many more, including this precious child, will also be ready and waiting when He comes.