That's me, under the house, buried - and only sometimes am I a wicked witch. In order to lift myself from the ground, I must first lift this house above me. To run, I must carry this house along with me, this house and everything in it. This house is filled up. It's filled with kids, my nine kids and the dozen or so neighbor kids who spend their afternoons loitering around my lot. It's filled with clothes and shoes and coats and leotards and soccer jerseys and boy scout uniforms. It's filled with the chore of feeding breakfast, lunch, snacks and dinner. The house's desk is filled with papers and books and correspondence and phone messages; it's filled with papers to be graded and notes to be written and a calendar to be planned. All this work 
- every, every, everyday. Everyday.And where am I? Oh here I am. I am melting. The wicked witch is melting. I guess that is what it is taking for me. For the wicked witch in me to die, to melt away. Oh no, she's not gone yet, but she is slowly dying. My self pre-occupations, my petty attractions, distractions and attachments, my sloth, my lofty opinions and ideas. Yes, here under this house, a part of me is dying. I am dying and it hurts. Sometimes, it hurts a lot.
However, the wicked witch must die. She must go, for there is no room for her in this house. The more this witch is purged, the lighter the weight of the house. The witch cannot lift the house; she can only be buried and burdened by it. That is all the witch can see of the house; she can only see the burden that it brings to her, for her thoughts are only of herself. The more the witch is concerned with the weight, the heavier is the burden.
The witch begins to melt when the waters of truth and light, of beauty, love and forgiveness are poured out. The thing is, this water is only poured out from above. As Saint Paul tells us in the New Testament book of Colossians,
If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
And as the witch melts, the burdens lighten. Perhaps someday we can rejoice that the wicked witch is dead; she's finally dead. AMEN.
Peace,
Hope
