"He is not here, 'cause He is WISSEN from de dead!"

Spring is coming.  Slowly.  Is it slower for real, or just in my imagination?  The year's weather seems to be a bit blonde, with apologies to all my blonde friends-and-relations.  One day is 50 degrees, calling for shirtsleeves and bare feet, the next brings a foot of wet snow.  As March beckons April, is it yet safe to stow the snow shovel?

Every change of season brings a fresh wave of grief.  The new season, though welcome, is yet another marker of time gone by and no change in the attitudes and actions that provoke our grief.  Each season also includes its own holidays, which instead of the former joyful celebrations, are now fraught with pain.  

Last Easter Sunday's service included a reading of Matthew 28.  A beloved triumphant chapter.  Our little ones memorized this whole chapter at a tender age with just the mere effort of listening to it read every night for two weeks.  In fact, in a drawer resides a precious cassette tape holding their childish recitation of the passage.  

Grief never gives advance warning of its triggers.  

When the pastor began reading, "At the end of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn, on the first day of the week," my mind flashed back to our first precious daughter, at three years old, reciting in her baby voice, giving random emphasis on the words.

"...as it began to DAWN...," and 

"wolled back de stone, and SAT on it...(this always accompanied by a giggle)," and 

"He is not here, 'cause He is WISSEN from de dead!"

Sudden, uncontrollable sobs wrenched and heaved their way through my chest, as I desperately attempted to choke them back.  Too far gone in my emotion to walk down the aisle and outside, my only recourse was to tuck my streaming face behind my dear hubby's arm and soak his sleeve with tears.  Again.

Does she still remember that chapter?  Can she still quote what she learned, cuddled in my lap?  Does she care?  And even, where is she?  And will I see her again, in this world or the next?

Had I known that Easter morning, a whole year would pass with no change; our family members still divorced from each other, misunderstandings and selfish hurts still tenaciously clung to, the spiritual strongholds of lies, fear, and control still angrily in place, my expression of grief could not have been kept appropriately quiet for a Sunday service.

Deuteronomy 33:25-27 , the promise given to Asher son of Jacob, rings true. 

"As thy days, so shall thy strength be."  

David Jeremiah says this about Deuteronomy 33:

Moses... prayed that as long as the tribe of Asher existed, it would possess strength—strength equal to its days. As long as you’re alive, Moses told them, you will have the strength you need to do what God assigns and you will have strength to bear whatever each day brings.

But there’s more. Verses 26–27 go on to say: “There is no one like the God of Jeshurun [the God of the Upright], who rides across the heavens to help you and on the clouds in His majesty. The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”⁴

These were actually the final blessings spoken by Moses on this earth.  He blessed the tribes of Israel, finishing with Asher, then climbed the mountain for a look at the promised land, and passed through death to God.

As a child grafted into God's family, I too can claim this promise.  No, I do not know what the future holds.  Yes, I am glad not to know.  But even though my days hold the weariness of long term grief and loss, with unanticipated outbursts, I know that God's strength is mine, doled out in daily batches.

Just as I hid a streaming face behind my husband's arm and drenched his sleeve with tears, so also I can securely hide in those Everlasting Arms to grieve.  Knowing that there will always be enough grace, no matter the length or severity of my pain, because, "His mercies are new every morning; great is His faithfulness."

Although this is a season of triumphant joy, it is also a reminder of sacrifice, of loss, of pain, unimaginable for those who have not experienced it.  Yet because He lives, even through my tears, I can still proclaim with confidence, 

"He is 'WISSEN' from de dead!"