Easter came and went. Very little fanfare around here which left me feeling rather unsteady and a little sad, if I’m being honest. It certainly gave me good time to reflect which was beautiful. In my quiet hours beginning the day, I was able to focus in on the sweet and hard parts of why we even have Easter in the first place.

In my life, there’s been a lot of stripping down of things. Each time it’s been asked of us, we initially balked and then obeyed and then dealt with the weird after-feelings which often take years to work through. We have homeschooled, have worked from home, and have changed our worship setting entirely in a way that has alienated us more times than I can say. Each of these things has taught us how to find the truths for ourselves and dig deep to do so. Obedience is hard, isn’t it?

So, as the rest of the world finds their balance walking those paths for entirely different and new reasons, I am intrigued to observe. And my personal struggle is because one thing we’ve always had is our little village. Now our village is isolated from each other, and as my daughter prepares to give birth in a month, I am separated from the kicks and growth of my third grandchild. This baby won’t hear my voice telling its little self how much its Mimi loves it. I am hoping there is a miracle and change of circumstances and that I am, let into the birthing room for the third time. I am deeply saddened to not be able to be a physical support for my daughter because it is a huge part of my life purpose — to be present for my people. So, we fence-visit, and we meet on screens, and we cry over text and phone. I worry my grandbabies will think this is my choice, somehow, even though they are reassured this is beyond our ability to decide. How can a Mimi possibly stay away from her bestest buddies? And then, when I’m done wallowing, I try to remember that other folks have things so much harder, and are struggling in much bigger ways. Do they wallow? Do they just rally better? I’ve decided that we can do all the things within an hour (cry, be thankful, have hope) and that’s allowed. We can both have our Easter in a deeply spiritual way and then weep because we cannot hug necks and share food.

We used to revel in doing Easter in unique ways. It was a family tradition and trademark to refuse ham and instead eat something from another culture on a train or on a beach or at a hibachi table. Saturday, I dug out a freezer ham from some pig we bought and cooked it up and dropped some off at my daughter’s and the rest of us came home and ate ours rather lackluster-y and tried hard to drudge it all up. Those of us that were here tried hard, but no one was used to this egg-hunt-less, ham-and-potato-kinda-meal. Did you, too, feel like Easter was just super weird and empty, too?

There is not much I wouldn’t do to get to my family right now. There was NOTHING Jesus wouldn’t do to get to me. I have that deep awareness. This too, shall pass. It will. But knowing Jesus understands helps, doesn’t it?

The wind is blowing, but the ground is solid. There is Peace available. (<— Click to listen)

Will you share your struggles with me? Do you have things that are making you sad? No matter how small they may sound, they matter. Feel free to share.