By Cathie Ostapchuk

As we move closer to Palm Sunday, the tone of the Lenten journey begins to shift.

There is a sense of movement in the story now, a gathering of momentum as Jesus makes His way toward Jerusalem. The crowds are forming, expectations are rising, and there is a kind of energy in the air that feels almost hopeful, almost triumphant. The people are ready for Him. They have been waiting, watching, wondering when He would finally arrive in a way that would change everything.

And when He does, they respond with celebration. They lay down palm branches. They shout Hosanna. They welcome Him as King.

But underneath that moment, there is something more complicated unfolding. They are not only welcoming Jesus for who He is. They are welcoming Him for who they believe He will be for them.

A rescuer who will shift their circumstances.
A leader who will restore what has been lost.
A King who will move quickly and visibly on their behalf.

And if I am honest, I recognize something of myself in that crowd.

There are ways I come to Jesus — especially in seasons of leadership and responsibility — with my own quiet expectations. Not always spoken, not always even fully conscious, but present nonetheless. A hope that He will clarify what feels uncertain. That He will open doors in a way I can recognize. That He will move things forward when they feel stalled. It is subtle, but it is there.

And yet, as the story of Holy Week begins to unfold, it becomes clear that Jesus is not the kind of King they were expecting.

He does not take power in the way they imagined. He does not accelerate the timeline. He does not respond to urgency with urgency. Instead, there is a steadiness about Him that almost feels out of step with the expectations around Him.

He remains present. Grounded. Completely aligned with the will of the Father, even as the road leads somewhere far more costly than the crowd understands.

And this is where something begins to shift for us as women who are trying to follow Him — not only in our faith, but in our leadership, our decisions, and the way we carry what has been entrusted to us.

What if the invitation of this week is not to ask more of Jesus,

but to allow Him to gently re-form what we are expecting from Him?

What if following Him is less about the outcomes we are hoping for, and more about how closely we are willing to walk with Him, even when the path is not clear?

Because there is something deeply grounding about releasing the need to have everything resolved before we move forward.

We do not have to walk ahead of Him, trying to figure it all out.
We do not have to keep asking Him to align with our timelines.

We are simply invited to walk with Him.

To stay near. To remain attentive to His presence, even when the direction feels uncertain and the next steps are not fully visible.

In these final days of Lent, perhaps that is the invitation we need most.

To loosen our grip on the version of Jesus we have been holding — the one shaped, even subtly, by our expectations and our need for clarity — and to behold the Jesus who is actually present to us.