She woke up tired. Sad. The night had been long – weighed down by disfragmented dreams – halfway between sleep and imagination. Her worst fears were confirmed when her brain finally computed the fact that her reality of yesterday was no better today than it had been last night.
The night had been cold. Lonely. Heavy. She cried. She stopped. She thought and she cried some more. Today was a bad day. The emptiness was pronounced. The sadness was vivid. The silence was loud. The pain was tangible.
Yesterday she had smiled. Yesterday she had laughed. Yesterday she had felt real joy. Today … not so much. How did people do this? Did everyone know how special he had been? Her baby boy. Her son. her life. Her special one. She remembered the day she had been told she was carrying him. What seemed like too much pain back then was a mere pin prick compared to this. She didn’t want the condolences of all those who wanted to tell her that he had said he would rise again in three days. She didn’t want to be consoled. All she kept seeing were the open wounds from the flogging. All she kept hearing were the chants and the abuse as he was mocked. It was too much. The sense of betrayal from this big God. The one who knew her before HE formed her and chose her yet allowed this to happen.
She felt the betrayal of relatives and friends who had been chanting with the crowd. She felt the betrayal of her baby as he looked distant and handed her over to “her son” to comfort her. He had always been so amazingly gifted. And gentle. And loving. Yet at this hour when she needed him to look her in the eye and need her, he would not do it. The setting of the sun brought with it ghosts of years gone by – years when he had been away and they had seen one another less and less. Whispers of regret: Should she have followed him through this life’s journey? Would it have mattered?
She felt the sharp sting of death and bitterly chose not to speak to God. After all – what could she say? She got up, got dressed, refused to touch food – who needed to eat when her baby was dead? She roused her companions. She headed to the tomb. She was too emotionally spent to think of what awaited her there. But too wounded not to go and confirm one more time before saying her final goodbye.
How many times have we faced the tomb, too spent to think of what lay behind it, yet despite our experience with this Big Big God, too wounded, battered and bruised to think beyond the grave. The death of a season means the birth of another. Today I choose to look beyond the tomb to what is risen. April is our month to #BirthANew and in this month, I choose to revive my joy. My peace. My love for God and those dear to me. Today I choose to move forward. Today I choose to not look back. Today I choose to press on and press into His presence.
Today I have peace. I have joy. I may not have all the answers, but I have the firm assurance that God has a plan for me, for good and not for evil, to give me a future and a hope.
To anyone who is facing a dead situation. A dead relationship. A dead job. A dead marriage. A dead ministry … know this. The God who spoke and you became surely has the power to speak life back into you. I speak a newness into your situation today. I speak a freshness into this season. I speak a sharpness into your vision. I speak an awakening into your dream. I speak a new birthing into you and all that pertains to you.
After all, you are Beautiful – Empowered – Visionary
You are @BeautifulPetal_
You are #Malkia – Let the Queen in you Arise!