I think in paragraphs and stories. I long to spend hours writing, and then I somehow feel like the things I would write are too tender or too insignificant to share. The days go by, and the stories remain unwritten-- for now, at least.
My calendar has been full, our days have been busy, and the stress of life seems like almost too much sometimes. Even to say that, though, I know that so many have far more stress than I do. I have the responsibility of leading our homeschool co-op, and even that has been a really rough road lately. On this night before Easter, I'm just plain tired. Exhausted, really.
I don't say all of this to complain, but more to explain why I feel like Easter has come upon me suddenly this year-- without much stillness or time for contemplation. Here it is, the middle of the night before Easter, and I can't sleep, despite my exhaustion.
Were the disciples unable to sleep on the night before the Resurrection? What about Mary? On that dark night before the glorious dawn, what were they thinking? Was the stress of life almost too much for them? Had the events of life left them little time for contemplation? Were they even able to share the things they were thinking at that moment, or did they feel that those thoughts were either too tender or too insignificant? Were they full of fear and despair-- trying to face the reality that the One in whom they had placed their hopes and dreams had been nailed to a cross a few days earlier.
Ah, but then the next day everything changed. Christ was risen! The amazing truth that gives my current small difficulties some perspective is that my Jesus lives. I'm not alone, and He is not dead. I have a High Priest that is able to sympathize with my weaknesses. He understands that I get stressed, discouraged, hurt, and laden down with life. And He lives. He lives. He lives.
When life feels like I'm just slowly trudging uphill, He lives.
When I am heavy- hearted, He lives.
When I'm filled with joy or sadness or confusion or weariness, He lives.
He lives, and He gives me life.
He lives.
He lives.
And on that one truth I place all of my hope, because if Christ is not risen, then my faith is in vain. He lives. He lives on this night before Easter.
And my exhausted heart finds rest yet again.
