This week quickly got away from me as three of the five of us were hit with head colds, mine of course being the worse complete with the chills and body aches. Thanking God though that little Grace has managed to stay healthy so far, praying it continues!
Squeezing this post in while we are still in the Easter Octave, still celebrating like it’s Easter Sunday!
As I sat at Good Friday service this year and reflected on Christ’s great passion and death suffered for me we were asked to think of our own crosses. The small and the large, the daily inconveniences to the heavy burdens. The ones that seem to come and go quickly and the ones that forever remain on our shoulders.
For seven years there had always been a particular cross that I found so hard to carry. One that never seemed to get lighter, never seemed to get easier and daily there for me to embrace. I wish I could say I carried it well, but most days I met it with resistance. Complaining at the pain it brought into my life. Wishing it would go away and hoping that some day we would be blessed with children.
Yet this year as I thought of the pain Christ endured on that dreadful Friday and the cross that forever changed humanity I found my heart praising God, because I knew what Sunday would bring. The victory had been won! Death conquered, the gates opened. New life given, humanity restored.
After every Good Friday we are met with Easter Sunday. No matter the cross, no matter the struggle. Every cross carried will someday be lifted, someday made glorious. It may not be in three days, in three years or even in our lifetime. But the hope is real, the promise is ours. Our suffering is not in vain. The Resurrection gives us peace allowing us to journey in hope knowing that at some point we too will be victorious.
Oh how this has been made so tangible in my own life. These three are my witnesses. This is the hope of Easter!