The Saturday In-Between
All week our family has been talking about Holy Week. We’ve taken time at dinner to discuss the events of each day–leading up to the somber pinnacle of Good Friday, where we then wait expectantly for Resurrection Sunday. Yet what of Saturday? Saturday was always a day I didn’t quite know what to do with. I would consider it a day of quiet sorrow, impatient waiting and—to be honest—a little confusion.
What happened to Christ on Saturday? The Apostles’ Creed tells us Christ descended to the dead, but what does that even mean? Did he go to heaven? Did he just sleep and wait? Was he actually tormented in Hell for my sake and—if that’s true—how could Jesus claim “It is finished” on the cross if he still had more punishment to bear?
I recently finished reading Matthew Emerson’s book “He Descended to the Dead”: An Evangelical Theology of Holy Saturday and it has shifted my perspective on the day in-between. I’ve come to believe it’s not a day to hurry over, but as with Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, it’s a day that offers Christians great hope and encouragement.
What We Have to Do Now
I’ve googled a lot of medical symptoms throughout my life. I wish this time my guess was wrong.
Instead, last week, my husband drove through a winter storm in order to take our youngest son to the emergency room of our children’s hospital. Our suspicions were confirmed: our son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. In an instant our world changed.
As we sat through hours of instruction with hospital educators, practiced administering insulin, and learned how to take blood sugar tests I felt so overwhelmed. It was if I was being handed a newborn again… except even scarier. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Yet it’s here nonetheless. We may not feel capable, but we just have to.
Finding our Footing in a Shaky World
Have you heard the latest inside scoop? You can’t go too far these days without hearing the breaking story behind your favorite actor, tv show, or historical figure. Headlines shout at us about how Tom Cruise really acts on set, the true dynamic of the cast of the latest Spiderman movie, or the tell-all book on the hidden secrets of the Laura Ingalls family. The headlines cast out their bait, making many, including myself, grab for the worm.
Yet even though these stories are clearly looking for clicks, they also often tell the truth. Our favorite All-American movie star is found to be a jerk behind the scenes. As much as we hate to admit it, the real stories behind beloved families like the Ingalls and even the VonTrapp family are more sad and troubled than we’d like to admit.
This disappointment spreads both in secular culture and within the church. A thriving church suffers under the hidden narcissism of its pastor. A well-known speaker reveals a hidden life of predatory behavior. The constant barrage of exposes might leave us petrified to put our trust in anyone. When will the next shoe crash to the ground?
Broken Cup
Some teacups break
They shatter against the floor
The shards scatter into slivers
And their form is no more.
Glue will not mend
The damage is too far gone
Its once-beautiful pattern
Will never come to live on.
The Characters We Welcome Into Our Lives
I closed my last book of 2021 just in time for the New Year. The Reading List, weaved its story around the lives of strangers connected through a mysterious list of books. The book was a touching display of the beauty of story and the effect fictional characters have in our own real-life worlds. Author, Sara Nisha Adams, displayed this by making the books come alive for her characters. They didn’t just read To Kill a Mockingbird, they heard Atticus Finch prodding them to speak boldly and rightly. They didn’t merely understand the story of Rebecca, they saw the grumpy housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers popping up to interact with their thoughts.
As I was transported through these characters’ interactions, I couldn’t help but find myself saying, “Yes! That’s what it’s like to read.” The good books we take in are not merely stagnant stories, but they intertwine with our lives. We turn that first page, and we welcome the characters into our own world. My own favorite books tell this tale.
Soak in the Sun
Last week our family camped at a nearby state park to drink in the final dregs of summer. We returned to find the warmth had gone the way of the corn stalks surrounding our home. The chill of fall had come to stay. Now my body shivers as I grab my puppy’s leash to take him outside. Each time I reluctantly walk him out, I tiptoe past the shadow cast by my house towards the strip of light illuminating the grass farther out. I just need to feel the sunshine.
While my feet perch in the frosted grass, my brain refocuses and concentrates on the rays I feel against my body. I feel its shine penetrating the back of my neck, slowly soaking into me. I feel it heat the fabric on my shirt, and imagine it enveloping my frame. Though the temperature around me doesn’t change, I can feel the warmth filling me.
This is a routine I’ve perfected through the years. My husband will readily admit I don’t like to be cold. During early morning hikes, colder-than-normal boating trips, and those few winters we took to the beach, I would try my best to soak in the rays of the sun when I could find them. And it would help. In the midst of my discomfort, I’d lean towards the rays, focusing on the sliver of heat to hold on to.
Our Scattered Longings
I’ve been thinking lately about my adolescent days. This is mostly likely because I spent the last week reading Abigail Shrier’s book Irreversible Damage: The Transgender Craze Seducing Our Daughters. It’s a heavy book (you can check out my Goodreads review here), and while my own story is quite different, it prompted me to think on the longings that have consumed me throughout the years.
Like most girls my age, I struggled with my own body. The number on the tag of my pants seemed like the gateway to true happiness. I scanned the girls in my middle school and high school and concluded If only I looked like her… The end of that sentence was long. I’d be happier. More comfortable. More adventurous. Confident. Assertive. And obviously no longer single.
I believed reaching my dream would cure me, but every time I grasped that ideal, I realized it never satisfied. There was always a need for something new to change.
The Words we Take and Give
I’ve been thinking a lot about the words we take and pass along. I don’t want to negate the seriousness of plagiarizing in this post. It’s not only a copyright infringement to steal another’s words and parade them as your own, but it’s a ninth commandment violation. (This is a good site that lays out the details about what plagiarism entails).
Still, as I think about my own Christian life, I can’t help but think about all the words I’ve passed on through the years. I’m not talking about the words we create for work, sermons, articles, audiences, or followers. I’m thinking about the words shared between a friend on the phone or over a cup of coffee.
I can think of phrases from Sunday school teachers, mentors, and pastors that have repeatedly passed through my own lips. Explanations of theology that set off light bulbs in my brain have been shared time and again to another. Encouragements in the midst of suffering have bolstered my spirits, and I, in turn, have spoken the same words of life to another. I’ve grabbed the words of our pastors and rehashed them to give answers to our children’s confusion.
What Colors Do You See?
What colors do you see? Look around while you walk to the mailbox, or as you drive to the grocery store. What hues do you see sidled next to each other? What tones shape the landscape that you live in?
Our family just got back from a trip to western America. For four thousand miles we drove through multiple states, visited three national parks, and (hopefully) made some memories our kids will tuck away for later.
Our voyage directed us through the cornfields of Indiana and Illinois, followed by the flat prairies of Iowa and Nebraska. I watched the horizon stretch upward as we travelled west. Plains became hills. Hills became foothills. Foothills became mountains.
Yet what hit me the most as we took on each new landscape were the colors around me. I was used to large fields of green in my home state of Indiana, but as I gazed out the window I saw a completely different scene. Outside a sea of greens played before me that I had never seen.
The Feast of Grocery Day
I’ve been meal planning for the past several years. I find that without a plan, our budget (along with my sense of sanity) flies out the window every dinnertime. So every fortnight, I can be found driving home with a car full of groceries that will carry my family through the next two weeks. The simple act has become a ritual of sorts. The kids await shopping day to supply new batches of yogurt and replenished snacks. I look forward to fresh produce and all the ways to use up my lettuce.
And each day, as I watch my fridge go from empty to bursting, and see the cans and boxes crowd our pantry, my heart can’t help feel a sense of—safety. I have food for our family. Everything I’ll need to cook is right here already. The feeling is freeing, but also sobering. How is it that I can easily fill my storerooms to the brim? What if I wasn’t able to?