Then suddenly, a breath.
Cold air rushing into empty lungs. Grave clothes abandoned on a stone slab. An explosion of earth-shaking light. Hardened soldiers’ knees buckling. Trumpet blasts and angels singing and sunrise.
Then the creaking of a boulder shifting. A cave opening. A dead man walking out of his grave more alive than anyone had ever been. Resurrection.
This is Easter, but not for me.
For me, it’s whispered rumors shared behind closed doors. An aching sadness, wondering if it could possibly be true. “Jesus is alive!” they said, but no one knows where he is.
Silence, and tears crowding tired eyes. Confusion hanging heavy on grief-soaked hearts. Disillusionment colliding with hope. And a long, long walk home.
This is Easter for me.
“We had hoped…”
These sad words catch in my throat and hang with a heaviness of their own. Tears spill as I admit the crushing disappointment that weighs on my shoulders.
We had hoped. That this would be the beginning of something beautiful. That our enslaved hearts would find freedom. That we would be redeemed.
But Jesus has disappeared, and I’m left clutching impossible rumors.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t how Easter is supposed to feel. It’s supposed to be resurrection and sunrise and birds singing and new life. Not disillusionment and confusion and dirty feet and a heavy heart.
We had hoped.
Speaking these words now, on the day when I’m supposed to feel triumphant and victorious, I feel guilty. For wondering if the rumors could be true. For trying so hard to believe but still failing. For walking away with a heavy heart on Resurrection Sunday.
This is Easter. They say it’s sunrise and bright angels and the majesty of the Risen Lord. For the travelers on this dusty road, it’s mile after mile with dying hope throbbing inside.
Then suddenly, it’s Jesus. More alive than any man has ever been. Walking beside me when I’ve given up searching for Him. Whispering in my burning heart, “I’ve been here all along.”
[ image: shenanigan87 ]
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