Somehow I thought I understood Easter before, and maybe I did, in the same way that a third grader learning to do multiplication and division understands combining numbers. Or maybe more like a much younger child adding and subtracting.
I'm sure I'm nowhere near the level of a graduate student.
But maybe I'm beginning to really learn...
Oh, Aaron, I cling to the Resurrection, the joy of Easter, the rising of Christ, the hope of eternal life, and to seeing you, holding you again.
It's quiet here, soft music playing and the heater blowing, but nothing else right now. Everyone else sleeps and I sit by the window waiting for the sun to rise. It's cold, snowy, not much like what stories and greeting cards portray. But it's Easter just the same, Easter Rocky Mountain, crazy Utah style.
And grief is not what I expected either. I knew, academically, that it was hard and long and . . . well, something. But somehow I thought that knowing this was coming for so long, studying and learning, I'd be better equipped in some what to handle it. Reading about soul-wrenching, gut-aching pain is very different than experiencing it.
But I know He knows, and He knew, and He has been through it in ways that I simply cannot (nor wish to) imagine. And He holds me, and you.
Bit by bit, the sky grows lighter. Each Easter I look up what time the sun rises, hoping to catch it. And each year I remember that it comes later than I've learned. We are so close to the mountains on the east that the shadows last longer than expected. So I sit, and I ponder and pray, and wait, much like I wait for comfort, for relief, even for you.
Growth is hard! It stretches, molds, hurts, but I have faith that it makes me more than I am.
Happy Easter, Aaron.
He is risen, risen indeed.
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| Easter morning 2023 |
and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.
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