The Day In Between

Entering the quiet stillness that keeps bringing me back to life.

For Christians, this day between Good Friday and Easter has no name. It’s a blank paged transition between chapters of death and resurrection. A forgotten day in the grave where all hope was lost, so desolate that there’s an instant shift of focus — toward the joyful conclusion. No consideration of what transpired in a tomb of darkness.. no story told of the silence in between.

We all have a tomb. A place so deep and dark that we’ll do just about anything to not have to enter it. When we do go, it’s often unwillingly—when life outside becomes so painful we feel we can’t go on. But we rarely choose to spend time in the tomb, where we believe that things have gone to die. Parts of us we’d rather not look at, much less understand.

But if we are looking to turn our mourning into dancing, our grave into garden, or to make beauty from our ashes, there’s nowhere else to go but into the tomb. To stop, and grieve, and wait. To sit in our depths long enough to see all that begs for forgiveness and compassion.

For me, going into the tomb means sitting down with my tiniest fragments. Shining light on hidden parts that want to try harder…to grasp for approval, and acceptance. The ones that try to fix me, the ones that feel shame and sadness at never meeting the mark. The ones that search endlessly for places to distract and hide me from my weakness and failure. The ones that know I’ll never have or be enough. The empty, and afraid ones.

And when I start to wince at the sight of them, I remember the assignment: to meet them as crying children—little ones who know not what they do. I call on the Grace of a God who reminds them that each moment is a new beginning. Who urges them to roll away stones and return find the Light. Who sings a song of hope: of the infinite opportunities to choose to awaken, and come alive. All is not lost, all has been redeemed, and I am free. And no matter how many times I forget, time in the tomb of stillness will eventually lead me back to this Truth.

So today I’m sitting in the space between—embodying those women two thousand years ago who, despite their trepidation and grief, returned to the grave to anoint a body they thought was dead. Willing to go into a dark, scary place out of love for what lay seemingly lifeless in their presence. And met with the overwhelming and unexpected joy of a life, resurrected.