I laid in bed late last night, unable to sleep.
I was thinking about Holy Saturday.
I know we celebrate Good Friday and Easter Sunday but we don’t really talk about Holy Saturday. We don’t talk about the day all seemed lost.
A pastor’s wife told me that she could see that one day, I would abound in so much joy and light that everyone around me would be trying to keep up.
I sat there crumbled up in all my pain. I had just left my family’s house in the middle of night, because God has asked me to. He had asked me to walk away from what was the darkest time in my family’s life and seek safety.
I didn’t know it at the time but He was really rescuing me from continuing the cycle of abuse and alcoholism that had plagued my family for generations. Because I was definitely headed down that path.
But I didn’t understand what God was doing at the time. I just knew that the pastor’s wife’s words sounded like a promise.
One day, I would be better than okay.
Holy Saturday is actually the one day of Holy Week I really understand. It’s the dull, aftershock of a promise gone wrong. Or so you presume.
I actually think it’s worst than Good Friday. At least the disciples could kind of understand Good Friday. Jesus said He would die.
But you see, I would imagine that the disciples would think the same thing I would have thought: Surely, Jesus would come back that same day. Why would He wait to have the victory?
I think God was teaching us something about His character by allowing Holy Saturday to happen.
I had a friend once who had a disability that impacted her nervous system. This disability made it impossible for her to eat fresh fruits and vegetables.
But she had a cheerful disposition. She claimed God had told her that one day, she would be able to eat fresh fruits and vegetables.
I struggled to shut my mouth. There was no way that God could have told her that. What an empty promise!
Sure enough, within a few months, her body was able to digest fruits and vegetables again. I still remember her biting into a fresh banana like it was chocolate.
I had been wrong.
So I decided I would ask God a burning question and see if He responded. I was at a place in my life when I was at a crossroads. Would I get married or would I commit myself to a lifetime of singleness?
And He responded with a resounding, yes, I would get married.
So I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking of the disciples. How distraught they had been, how misled they must have felt.
And I thought of God’s character, to let them go through that.
Sometimes, He lets us think the promise has been broken in order that we might rest in the faith that He is still good.
Hear this: our faith cannot rest in the promise of a marriage, a child or a job. Our faith deepens when in spite of apparent defeat, we decide God is still worth the battle.
I’ve been rejected by 5 different men since I received that promise from God. And somehow, it gets easier each time. Because each time, I draw a little closer to God. I become a little more enthralled by His love and affection for me as I wait.
And if He rescinds His promise, He will still be good.
I reached a point where I am so in love with Jesus that I cannot contain it all.
I am happy, satisfied. I was blissfully unaware of the men around me until I heard a man tell his friend that he thought my shirt was weird.
All of the sudden, I cannot get this man out of my head. I’m perturbed, annoyed, interested and all together too shy to say anything.
I whisper when I am around him because I don’t want him to hear what I’m saying. I’ve lost the ability to walk properly. I still haven’t mustered up the courage to say hello or at the very least, tell him my shirt isn’t weird. I’m 13 again.
And it’s wonderful. Because even if nothing comes of it, I’ve been reclaimed from the person I used to be.
It’s been unbelievably dark since I first heard that promise but I’m seeing peeks of light coming through. And it’s just so damn beautiful.