WE: Unformed

Death in its grave

Yesterday was Raj’s birthday.
Happy birthday, loved one.
Thanks for loving our boys so well.

I spent some time yesterday reflecting
Reflecting on the past few weeks.
They have been a bit busy.
They have been all over the place…figuratively and literally.
They have been hard.
But redemptive.
They have shown Him as Sustainer and Grace- giver and Provider
So we thank Him for these weeks


But when I look at my own heart walking thru them…
I remember myself getting a little tense…
Feeling as though I was not “setting up well” for Easter.
That we were not properly prepared for that Friday, Good
And that Easter Sunday
In this age of “gramming” our photos instantly
And pinning up our ideas
(Dont get me wrong, it is fun to see creativity and be inspired…
But it is also easy for people, like me, to get a bit discouraged
And to compare and envy
Even to think a holiday amounts up to how we decor it


And when we had all that was going on in these past few weeks to think about…
Just getting thru days
Finishing operations
Changing dressings on aching, skin grafted bodies
Breaking fevers too high
Finding meds to treat the right things…
Decor was not possible


I was getting worried that my family would not be in the “easter spirit”
(Whatever that is)
Because there were no pastels lining my walls
Or pretty baskets 
Or anything of the sort


I had high hopes of merging our 2 cultures
To create a beautiful, cultured American/Indian Easter
And one morning, I got real discouraged
Would my boys remember this Easter well?
(Yes, laugh if you must, they are 6 mo and 18 mo, comical I know..but the thought did come)
Would I have pictures to testify to the beauty?
Were we understanding the gravity of that Friday?
And the hope of that Sunday?
Those thoughts crossed my mind
And He stopped me
He silenced those thoughts
With the Whisper 
“I AM”
“Rise up O YOU SLEEPER”


“AWAKE”


“The LIGHT OF THE DAWN is upon you”
Oh, how futile those things are
Pastels and eggs
They do not matter 
When the Light of the World 
Who gives the dawn LIGHT 
Has come
And died
And RETURNED
To give LIFE


My soul, which was pining away on meaningless things
Has a reason to sing 
My chains have been broken
I am a ransomed soul
With nothing to fear in this world
Because He conquered death
“Death where is your sting?”


Little me, so quick to be consumed by making Him look a certain way
As if that is how my boys will understand Him
Oh how I hope they do not limit Him and His majesty and eternal nature to some trite decor
I hope they have a heart and mind to understand that He is more beautiful than I could ever portray Him.
This God incarnate who longs to dwell within each of us
To display His Glory to the world


Little me, thinking there is an “Easter spirit” to create
Yes, tradition is good.
Oh, I love tradition
And yes, there is significance in the designation of a day for the world to come together to remember 
To remember that
That curtain tore
On that Friday, dark but good


So that the ransomed can pass behind 
Into the Holy of Holies
To remember that 3 days he departed
That mystery of a God meeting death in its grave
So that us, who deserve an eternal meeting with death
Can behold forgiveness and adoption and redemption
To remember that on the morning of that 3rd day
He spoke first to women, meek and broken and fearful
So that woman, man, and child
Can know that He speaks to the meekest and most broken and most fearful of hearts
And He doesnt speak judgement and condemnation any longer
Because He took those things
And speaks life to our weary bodies


I hope that instead of exhausting myself to create beauty in fallible things
My life will be spent
Sharing a glimpse of the beauty He has given me eyes to see


I hope my little family 
In this little corner 
Of this massive planet
Teetering on nothing 
In a star filled galaxy
Designed by the One who came to set me free, mind you
Will remember the darkness of our souls, like that Friday, Good 
And the Light that pierced
And the Key that freed us
And the Tomb, opened for us
More than anything, I pray that is what they remember
And I look around me
And it makes sense
There are Fridays, dark but good
Fridays with names and faces circling me daily on these streets
I see the lost
The broken
The perishing
The abused
The trafficked
The forgotten
The sick
The poor
The homeless
All, without help
Not knowing that Sunday is coming
Not knowing that they can be
Found
Restored
Alive
Loved
Freed
Remembered
Healed
Made rich 
Home
Not knowing this is all possible in the Name that is above all names
In that Name, under which, every knee will bow
Not knowing that when that Tomb opened, so were their weary hearts
It is often easy to only see Fridays
And to forget
That Sunday, is coming
In fact, Sunday HAS COME
It is FINISHED
He is risen.
He rose.
Death has no power over Him and therefore, over those in Him.
I look at my Adam
Those first 3 days of his life, were like the gloom of that Friday
And then it all shifted
Cosmically and eternally
He became our son
The tomb opened, life was glimpsed
Restoration found
I think of Hadassah
Years unknown and wandering streets looking for shelter, love, ANYthing but the gloom of Fridays
The tomb opened
She walked forth with Him, pierced, at her side
And Sunday came
And she laughs
And it is beautiful
I think of my own heart
And all the years it lived as if it only knew Fridays
Not walking in the light of Sunday
And you, my dear?
Are you living in the darkness of that Friday
Rise up, O Sleeper
The light of the DAWN has come and longs to shine upon you
Let us not try to minimize it’s glory and power to mere decor and candies
Surely those have a place
I am not about minimalism at all
Some of my favorite childhood memories are built around tradition and its decoration
That is the truth
But I am about our heart being decorated first
That is what I long for
For you and for me


Comments

  1. wow, this is better than amy voscamp…wonderful writing. so many riches living in his light, and yet i am stuck in fridays, and somehow he has not set me free yet.