I found myself here at the cemetery, my first out-of-the-car field trip since the mandate to stay at home. 

I figured I couldn’t expose or be exposed here of all places. To my surprise, our section was overly populated with a sweet family clad in matching orange t-shirts, celebrating what would have been their child’s fourth birthday on this Saturday before Easter. Another life cut incredibly short. 

As the last car drove off, I left my own to go about my task of spring cleaning Rob’s grave. I usually reserve this for this quiet Saturday. It reminds me of the helpers, the women, anxiously waiting to tend to their final preparation of their Master’s body. 

Our cemetery is a beautiful place to rest and wait.  Wait for the grief to soften, wait for the glimmer of hope to return.

The whole world awaits hope this year. With bated breath, we watch for the death count to retreat, for a glimpse of normalcy. We remain in our homes, our waiting places. 

How long, Lord? How long shall we wait?

 I wonder what the women asked on that still Saturday? Did any of them hold out for hope? Did they even remember the things Jesus had told them?

Saturday hope is a lot harder than Sunday Hope. 

There’s no doubt found at this resting place, not on December 4th, today, or in the hard weeks to come. This is a temporary place to remember and honor a beautiful life, but make no mistake, Sunday Hope is written all over this grave. 

Bones may rest, but this man knew where his hope was found...and so does his woman. 

Rob’s name may be etched here, but his heart will not be found in any grave because of Sunday Resurrection Hope. 

Oh happy day

my debt is paid

so great a love

how can it be

an empty tomb

my heart set free

There is something quite sacred and sweet in the tending of a grave. The Marys knew as they carried spice and linen to the garden tomb.   In the quiet of the night shift, I've tenderly prepared many who have passed...honorable work, but these grieving women, theirs was  holy work.   

 Today, I gave Rob's grave marker a thorough cleaning before decorating it for Easter Week. Soft cloth, car cleaner and elbow grease...an hour later his name sparkled in the afternoon sun. A lot of dirt collects in the crevices of the raised letters, making for a tedious task.

I was reminded that Jewish women all over the world are completing the cleaning of their homes this week for Passover. They started a few weeks ago, ridding each room of hidden leaven, the chametz, which symbolizes the haughtiness that lies within a person. It's a big deal in many Jewish homes; there's no hiding yeast or pride during Passover.

As I scrubbed the stubborn grime, I found it impossible to clear it all. Isn't that like our lives? Sin at some level is always present and it always takes a Savior to remove it. 

This week, I'm dwelling on the hidden places as I prepare for Resurrection Sunday. Searching for the deep ugly, I want it exposed, laid open before the Lamb.

 Cleanse me with hyssop and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Psalm 51:7

Thirty four years ago...We had the whole world ahead of us!

Today, this Easter Sunday, I prayed hard to just make it out of bed and press one step into my small, overturn world.   No "up from the grave" resounding from the keys of our living room Kimball like Easters past, no picking out the perfect spring tie for my sweet man, no one to tell me that I look okay for The Big Event.

 Sweet Jesus, this is not about me this shaky morning; it's all about You, the Risen One. Turn my grave story into one of hope.

Lean in strong...Don the purple dress I wore to celebrate Rob's welcome into his Savior's arms. Yes, wear the regal one for the King who gives you courage.

Oldest son graciously fills the empty seat next to me...My pew family bolsters me with love and encouragement.

I make it through strains of alleluia.

Silence swallows the late afternoon.  Like Mary, I run to the tomb, bringing stuff as women folk often do. I already know Rob's not really there, but... I take snippets of the church hydrangeas and a band I've sported all week to help me remember nails and crossbeams and redemption. 

I read the Resurrection Story;  Rob lives the Resurrection Story! 

 God, turn this grave into one of hope. 

Gathering my chair and Bible to leave, a Persian family gathers around a freshly dug grave. We nod and smile with understanding glances, then, the matriarch approaches me.  'My husband was buried here last week...stage IV pancreatic cancer...he lived three months after they told us.'  I whisper, "I know, mine too." Two wives, different accents, different worlds, immediately bond over the toll of this devastating cancer. She's still numb, feels nothing...I've traveled far enough to feel everything. But today holds Hope... I share with Spirit-infused boldness; a stricken family hears about Grace, the very reason I'm still standing. I drive away one friend richer.  

A quick stop for refreshment finds me sharing Jesus to another griever.  Milagra, her name, and I remind her that she is a miracle created by God. This newly divorced woman spews tear- stained disdain and despair and all I can do is hold her hand, shake my head, tell her I don't have answers for our present pain...but I have Hope to offer and today is the reason. 

Thirty-four Easters ago, baby in arms, husband by my side, never would I have believed today would take this precarious path. 

But this I know; He's using these ashes every shaky step along the way.

He is risen

He is risen indeed

Death defeated, sins forgiven

Debt paid, hope restored

Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. Colossians 3:2 

Waiting for Sunday

Last nail thrust, final breath drawn.

Women waiting with spices,

Waiting for the Sabbath to end, to anoint his body.

Disciples waited behind locked doors, afraid of Jewish leaders.

Did any of them wait with hope? 

Were there any Simeons or Annas?

Were there any waiting for something greater than death?

For what are we waiting this 
Holy Saturday?

A restored relationship, healing, answers to long-standing prayers
Or simply for the return of 
the One and Only?

Are we a people who wait with hope?

Surely, a people who know the end of the Jesus Story...

May the God of hope fill you will all joy and peace as you trust [wait] in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13