Easter Saturday and Waiting.
Today, at one point, Edson and I were cuddling in a chair and both crying. Not sure either of us could have actually told you why we were, other than the fact that we are just both tired.
Tired of waiting.
One night recently, Edson was lying in bed looking pensive (not his default), and I asked him what was going on. He sighed, and said he was sad for one of his "brothers", because he was going to have to wait so long to get a family.
"I waited a long time for you to adopt me. I knew you would, but it took a long time."
Sometimes I forget that those months when I was doing paperwork, waiting for the next piece of paper to be handed on, he was waiting too.
And then I got visits, and we had to wait for him to come live with me.
And then he came home, and we had to wait for finalisation.
And then we got finalisation and we waited for the next thing, and the next, and the next.
And now, Edson asks daily when we can go to Ireland, but we're here - waiting again.
But that, that's why I love Easter Saturday.
See, if Jesus had been raised from the dead again straight away, we would have missed the uncertainty, the wait that is Easter Saturday.
That in-between time, when it looks like everything is falling apart, like you were wrong - like there is no possible way that God can redeem this one.
When the religious leaders thought that they had done it, that they had really brought an end to Jesus.
When the disciples hid in that upstairs room, terrified, and worried that after everything, maybe they had been wrong.
When Mary mourned her eldest son, wondering how it could be that everything could have ended like this.
When everyone else wondered how it was that this man, who said He was the son of God, could possibly be gone.
But God was still at work. He wasn't thrown by this, freaking out that everything had gone wrong or trying to come up with a fix. No, this had been the plan.
Friday happened exactly as He knew it would.
He knew that Sunday was coming.
But He still gave them Saturday.
Tired of waiting.
One night recently, Edson was lying in bed looking pensive (not his default), and I asked him what was going on. He sighed, and said he was sad for one of his "brothers", because he was going to have to wait so long to get a family.
"I waited a long time for you to adopt me. I knew you would, but it took a long time."
Sometimes I forget that those months when I was doing paperwork, waiting for the next piece of paper to be handed on, he was waiting too.
And then I got visits, and we had to wait for him to come live with me.
And then he came home, and we had to wait for finalisation.
And then we got finalisation and we waited for the next thing, and the next, and the next.
And now, Edson asks daily when we can go to Ireland, but we're here - waiting again.
But that, that's why I love Easter Saturday.
See, if Jesus had been raised from the dead again straight away, we would have missed the uncertainty, the wait that is Easter Saturday.
That in-between time, when it looks like everything is falling apart, like you were wrong - like there is no possible way that God can redeem this one.
When the religious leaders thought that they had done it, that they had really brought an end to Jesus.
When the disciples hid in that upstairs room, terrified, and worried that after everything, maybe they had been wrong.
When Mary mourned her eldest son, wondering how it could be that everything could have ended like this.
When everyone else wondered how it was that this man, who said He was the son of God, could possibly be gone.
But God was still at work. He wasn't thrown by this, freaking out that everything had gone wrong or trying to come up with a fix. No, this had been the plan.
Friday happened exactly as He knew it would.
He knew that Sunday was coming.
But He still gave them Saturday.
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