And Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock; and he rolled a large stone against the entrance of the tomb and went away. – Matthew 27:59-60

When you’re one of the walking wounded, having a good day is all relative, isn’t it? Maybe a good day is when you are out of bed before noon. Maybe it’s when you can manage a smile. We’re all hurting in some way or another.

In this season of Lent, I’ve been thinking a lot about how Friday felt. The disciples didn’t know Sunday was coming. They didn’t know. All they knew was what Friday brought.

Peter, curled into a ball, feeling the battering of his heart… knowing he denied his very best friend, and will never get the chance to take it back. There’s no do-overs in death. He knows this full well.

John, the fresh responsibility of caring for a grieving mother when his own suffering is still so very raw. He can’t get the mangled images out of his mind. He knows he never will. No chance to comfort the one who is gone, so he focuses on Mary.

Thomas, his hopes all dashed to pieces in one tragic night. He vows never to trust again, never to invest that much hope in anything again. It’s just too hard. Too hard.

I’ll tell you, dear ones, I’ve what feels like years of Friday. Every night I go to bed praying for at least Saturday, and the next day I wake up and it’s Friday again. Again and again and again until it’s tempting to just give up.

But I don’t. Because I know what those disciples didn’t know. Sunday is on the way.

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW…

Heavenly Father, help me not to despair. Help me to remember what I already know. Help me to keep looking for Sunday. In Jesus’ Name, Amen…

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May God Bless You,

Shelly