Good Friday

Dear Aaron,

It's Good Friday. In the ultimate scheme of things, it really was a good Friday. 

But I can't help but imagine it didn't seem that way at the time. The agony, the sense of hopelessness, the abject sorrow of those who loved Him when He died.

I know my own pain, my own grief, but that is tempered by His sacrifice and the knowledge that I will see you again. On Friday, they didn't have that. They didn't know, they didn't understand. Not yet. 

As I drove past your grave tonight, I thought of that. Without the knowledge of the resurrection, I don't know that I could go on. I cling to it. 

Last year for Easter, we wrote about Jesus and put the thoughts inside plastic eggs and then read them on Easter Sunday. Two in particular caught at my heart: "Jesus makes me all better" from Linnaea, and "The tomb is empty."

On Friday, the tomb was very much not empty, and they didn't understand that it would be. Tonight, your grave is also not empty. But someday, because His tomb is, yours will be, too. 

That will be a glorious day. 

I will see you run, play, jump, dance, sing, and maybe even enjoy ice cream. 

And my own heart will be whole again.

Love you.

Miss you.

"Unless there is a Good Friday in your life, there can be no Easter Sunday."

Fulton J. Sheen