Over the years, Easter has always been a weekend I have appreciated with, typically, significant anticipation. I have observed the practice and season of Lent, watched the movies, read the stories in various forms, and subscribed to the daily devotionals, preparing my heart for remembrance. This year…was different.
This year has been one of busyness, chaotic emotions, numerous unknowns, stress, and grief. Such profound grief. This year, Easter seemed to sneak up on me and I didn’t realize it until I found myself in a Good Friday service, attempting to focus my mind on remembering the sacrifice of Christ while shutting out the fears that have been running rampant in my mind for weeks…months…the past few years, if I’m really honest. Perhaps you know the feeling I’m referring to. The one where you watch silently as something you love so dearly seems to slip away. I’ve recognized that, in times like this, I do two things. First, I try and keep those things within my control, in every attempt to grasp onto it, to keep it, to protect it, to not let it slip away. But I also tend to bury my head in the sand, so to speak, and simply try not to think about it.
I have some experience in the realm of watching the things I love slip away, while I shed silent tears, praying and watching, knowing there is nothing more I can do to hold on to them. But when it comes to your children, that grief hits differently. This past Good Friday, I made the decision to gently let go of my efforts to control, knowing that in the long run, it wouldn’t do any good; hoping, praying for a miracle.
This morning, as I do every Easter Sunday morning, I listened to the old song by Carmen entitled, “The Champion”. It describes a descriptive story of the spiritual battle that occurred between God and Satan during the original Easter weekend. On Friday, Satan believes he was victorious in the battle as Christ died. It goes on to the countdown to Sunday morning where the crescendo echoes Jesus’ victory, “He has WON!” Tears rolled down my face as I loaded the dishwasher, knowing the very real spiritual battle that has been going on in my home and in the lives of my children. As my husband wrapped his arms around me, I whispered, “It doesn’t feel like He has won.”
After wiping my cheeks, I went to church this morning, feeling a heaviness in my heart, as though a part of me was missing. As people smiled and greeted one another, hugging family members, singing songs of victory and hope, cheering over baptisms, my heart was filled with grief. I was surrounded with joy, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to feel the same. My grief has been so pronounced. Heavy, these past few days. It’s the kind of grief where I realized that if there was a way to trade places with the child I love so very much, for eternity, I would do it. And that’s when it hit me. That’s precisely what Jesus did. He traded places with us, His children, so we could have the choice to spend eternity with Him. The grief He must feel over those that choose to reject Him…
So, where does that leave us? The people living in the season of “heavy”? The people where joy is not something we feel, even on Easter Sunday? The people where there is no end in sight of the difficulty of the life they are living? The people who are living in what feels as though darkness still reigns in the tombs of our lives?
I wish I had the answer.
A few week’s back, a friend of mine sent me a message regarding something I’m not ready to share with the world just yet. But, a part of his message struck me and I’ve been trying to apply it in every aspect of my life. His words were, “Go in curious and you’ll do well”. I’ve been repeating the mantra to myself “remain curious” in almost every new situation I find myself in and I have found it to serve me well so far.
This grief is no different. I’ve chosen to let go of my control, knowing, believing, trusting that Jesus loves my children more than I ever possibly could. All I can do now is love them, nurture them, support them, and pray for them. Oh, how I pray for them. But, the message of Easter IS one of hope. In that, I’m also choosing to hope in the Jesus that I’ve chosen to trust, so many times over, remaining curious as to what He will do. Because, as I have been telling my son…and myself, I do believe that God still works miracles. If He can raise people from physical death, He most certainly can raise them out of spiritual death too. As the season of Easter comes to a close, I will continue hoping and will remain curious. I’ve seem Him take the things that have slid away from me in the past and make them beautiful. I know He can do it again.
Finding A Place To Call Home 