the end isn't really the end

My heart is camping out in the empty tomb today. The empty tomb that isn't really empty. Because it's filled with hope.

Promise.

Undeserved freedom.

Scandalous grace.

The empty tomb is actually bursting at the seams, overflowing with unexpected second chances.

What seems like the end isn’t really the end.

When it’s over, lost, gone, broken beyond repair… that’s when things have really just begun.

Life after death is so much more extraordinary than life before it.

Wholeness comes from brokenness.

Beauty is birthed in ashes.

The new life of spring actually begins with the slow death of autumn.

And that, to me, is the joy of Easter. Found right here in the empty-yet-abundantly-full tomb...

Happy Easter, friends. He is risen!

silent saturday

Waiting is hard. Waiting in silence is even harder.

I can't stop thinking about this day... This Silent Saturday wedged between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. This day we know very little about.

What did the disciples do? Were they crying? Praying? Angry? Hopeful? Worshipful? I don't know what they were doing, but I know what they were hearing.

Nothing.

All they could do was wait.

For what? They didn't even know. For how long? They had no clue.

I'm sure the night-hours seemed darker. I'd imagine the questions kept coming and the fear grew crippling. I'm sure it felt like they were holding their breath, hoping against hope that Jesus was still who He said He was and that the last few years hadn't been a complete waste.

But their waiting was met only with deafening silence...

Just like yours and mine sometimes is.

So on this Silent Saturday, I'm reminding us of what we know to be true:

Keep waiting.

Redemption is coming.

why this friday is good

I'm thinking about this day we call Good Friday. And how it felt anything but good at the time. It was dark and heavy.

A day with more questions than answers.

More confusion than peace.

More doubt than faith.

Despair hung thick in the air, hearts crushed and despondent. The soul-depth disappointment in God was palpable and suffocating.

How could He? Why would He? What do I do now?

None of it made sense. It didn't line up with all they had seen and heard and experienced. The miracles... the teachings... the love... it all hung in the balance of two wooden beams on a hillside.

Everything they thought their Messiah would be, died that day.

All their hopes and dreams shattered with His nail-split hands. They'd given up everything to follow Him -- families, careers, homes -- and now this. A horrible, wretched death.

Of Him.

Of their hearts.

Of their hope.

They didn't know what we know now, looking back thousands of years later. That life comes out of death. That new beginnings spring forth from the worst of endings.

That hope rises.

This Friday is so very good to me because of the mere fact that it was so very bad.

It reminds me that the dark and heavy times of my life are not devoid of Him, even when I can't see Hm or feel Him. That doubt doesn't nullify my faith. And that questioning isn't wrong.

It reminds me to let everything I think my Messiah should be, die. Because He is so much more than my imaginary version of Him, made in my own image. He loves, redeems, and saves me in ways I would never expect and could never imagine.

And it gives me hope that someday... Someday I may even call my darkest Friday "good".

scarlet letters

I'm divorced.

::Deep Breath::

That's the first time I've actually said that word out loud.

Over the past two months, I've used varying versions of "my divorce was finalized", but I've avoided saying the actual word.

I feel a shameful sting in the word divorced. I hear unspoken judgments, like What's wrong with her that made her husband leave? and She's used goods and even simply a sigh of disappointment.

I hear them because my heart has also condemned others that way.

My good Christian upbringing left me judgmental. Pious. Spiritually stuck-up. I've unconsciously viewed divorce as the ultimate failure.

And now here I am, walking around with a red D on my chest for the world to see. And I feel not only the weight of others' judgment, but also the historical weight of my own.

Oh how arrogant I have been...

A friend recently spoke some healing and freeing words for my heart:

Divorce is no more a sign of relationship failure than marriage is of relationship success.

And even just typing those words out, my breath catches in my throat. Because I know it is true.

Even when it is hard for me to believe.

I hope someday I won't feel completely defined by my divorce. And that I can eventually say the word without hanging my head in shame, or feeling the need to justify it with an explanation, or wincing as I hear it megaphone my insufficiencies.

Because though it feels like divorced has been written on my heart in permanent ink, I need to remember... So has beloved. Chosen. Loved. His.

And those are my true scarlet letters.

[Originally posted at Deeper Story...]

through

Last week I prayed "out loud" on my blog. I was nervous about it, and I deliberated long and hard before I hit publish. There was a lot about it that felt scary and risky to me. There's a lot about it that still feels that way. But, right or wrong, I hit publish... And there it was.

And then the comments started streaming in.

Words poured freely out of fellow velveteen hearts.

Honest, raw, heartwrenching words.

Of pain.

Of praise.

Of questions and answers.

Of deep soul aches.

Of longing.

Of love.

It has been so moving and humbling to read the words that spilled out in the hallowed ground of a simple blog post.

It's left me wishing I could say or do something that would make everything better.

But I know I can't. And I know it wasn't the point to begin with.

You didn't put voice to your long-unspoken prayers so that you'd receive platitudes and advice in return. So I don't want to offer either.

Just know that my heart is resounding an "Amen" to the prayers streaming from yours.

And as I was thinking about you and me today, the word "through" kept turning over and over in mind. And I thought of Psalm 23:

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

I was struck with the thought that "through" is the most important word in that verse.

Through.

He is leading us.

All. The. Way. Through.

Amen.