The tomb is full. The stone rolled into place. The earth has gasped, recoiling in horror at the brutal death of the Son of God. 

Creation is still.

This is the day I wish I was a cloistered nun. I long to just sit for hours on end contemplating the vast emptiness of the tabernacle, the open door, and the yawning vacancy within. One needs a few days to completely internalize the happenings of the past two days; Judas’ betrayal, Mary’s sorrow and heart-wrenching pain, the apostles’ fear and confusion, and the mighty hand of God in and through all of it— his exacting justice and his unending mercy.

Waiting and preparing must somehow go hand in hand for mamas like me today.

Baking and last-minute cleaning, planning an elaborate celebratory dinner, purchasing Easter treats and flowers— my list is a mile long. Yet, the deep silence of this day and the soul-quenching joy of tomorrow must somehow intermingle and dwell within me. 

Such a dichotomy, such irony.

Such is the way of the cross and the way of redemption.