My Anywhere But Here Blog

Palm Sunday in My Anywhere But Here

There are days when even my Anywhere But Here

feels a little more still than usual.

Not heavy in a way that overwhelms…

but in a way that asks to be noticed—

felt, respected, and acknowledged.

Today is one of those days.

Palm Sunday has found its way here.

It didn’t just appear; it was planned a long time ago—many thousands of years ago.

It was meant to reassure people that Christ would calm their feelings of overwhelmingness.

But it also carried a foreboding sense that all might not go as planned by His followers.

The same is true with my Anywhere But Here realm—there is always a quiet foreboding that perhaps the end is near, and that not all the time can peace be found easily and readily available to all.

In my Anywhere But Here space, I am learning that maybe, on our quest for peace, there has to be a little foreboding and uncertainty about what the future holds before we can truly grasp it.

There is an expectancy of peace, but it doesn’t come with certainty.

You have to be open to it—allowing it to come and fulfill your life.

Like with Christ, the Jewish people were told of an expected King who would bring peace to their world—but you had to be willing to accept Him.

They were accepting Him… but often for their own reasons.

They were hoping for:

• A political savior
• A king who would overthrow oppression
• Immediate relief, visible victory, earthly change

And Jesus came offering something different:

• Inner transformation
• A kingdom not built on power, but on surrender
• Peace that does not depend on circumstances

So in a quiet way, Palm Sunday holds two realities at once:

Acceptance… and misunderstanding.

It would be easy to make this space light today.

To let it stay soft and untouched—

a place of only peace, only calm, only escape.

But Palm Sunday was never only light.

It carried something deeper—much like my Anywhere But Here space.

Something layered.

A quiet tension that lives beneath the waving palms—

like in my Anywhere But Here, where we seek to find peace but don’t always reach it.

It can feel elusive, as if we are just on the cusp of something that will change us forever—

yet it doesn’t happen overnight or as we planned.

And still, the voices shout praise.

Because even then…

there was more unfolding than the crowd understood.

Welcome was real.

Praise was real.

But so was what was coming next.

And in my Anywhere But Here,

I cannot pretend I do not know that part.

I cannot hold only the palms

without also holding the path ahead.

Like I know, inevitably, my end is death, as I am stage 4 cancer—

but I persevere anyway.

While I know death is the final act, what can happen after death is that my spirit lives on—both figuratively and non-figuratively.

In the sense that I continue living in heaven,

but also in the hope that the legacy I leave behind—my writings, thoughts, and opinions—can touch people’s lives long after I am gone.

Much like how Christ saw it—He was to be the intended Savior and took on that role knowing that even if people did not choose to follow Him, those who did might impact others in the way they lived their lives.

So He took on the task of dying, knowing people would find their way to the Prince of Peace—the God omnipotent.

Knowing the future, we still carry on, as Christ did.

Still… He enters anyway.

Not avoiding what is coming.

Not turning from it.

But walking straight through it—

with a steadiness that does not rush

and a peace that does not shout.

It’s like I write my blog here, not knowing if people will find peace in it—

or just the opposite, and instead find unrest as they grapple with it after it is published.

And maybe that is where this space changes today.

Because my Anywhere But Here

has never really been about escaping life.

It has been about meeting it differently.

Holding it with a little more gentleness.

A little more faith.

Palm Sunday reminds me

that faith is not always found in the easy moments.

Sometimes it lives right here—

in the knowing,

and in still choosing to welcome Him anyway.

To be reminded of things written long before the New Testament and the arrival of Christ.

Like remembering David, who wrote the Psalms.

Like Psalm 23:

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

Because God is the rock and center of my Anywhere But Here space.

The same hearts that praised

would soon grow quiet.

The same path that felt sacred

would lead somewhere difficult.

And yet…

none of it stopped Him from entering.

So today, in this space,

I do not rush past the weight of this week.

I sit with it.

Gently.

Faithfully.

The palms still wave here—

but they do not hide what is coming.

They simply remind me

that even in the unfolding,

even in the unknown,

even in what feels heavy—

He is still worthy of welcome.

And maybe that is the quiet strength of Palm Sunday…

not that everything feels light,

but that we choose to keep the door open anyway.

My Anywhere But Here is not a place that avoids the hard…

it is a place that learns how to hold it with faith.

_______________________________________________

Susan Thomas

My Anywhere But Here