(I wrote this the day after Easter, April 18. And just now posted.)
Every year in Sunday school as we were approaching Easter, we talked about Jesus in his final days. What He was doing. What His disciples were doing. What His mama was doing. I always wondered how Mary got through it. Seeing her son like that. Watching her son die. Then real life got me.
We went to ride by Will’s grave yesterday. Sometimes it’s just too hard to get out and walk down that short path. And not physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. I’ve had more spiritual warfare standing on that small piece of land than I’ve ever had in my life.
But yesterday was different. I remembered sitting in Sunday school. In the downstairs of the church on the very same road as my son is buried and thinking about how saddened I was about Mary. So I got out and told Coy I needed to do this alone.
And I stood at my sons grave and prayed. And asked God to forgive me for doubting His plan. And thanked Him. I thanked Him for Easter. I thanked Him for Jesus. I thanked Him for promises He has made. I thanked Him for the hope of Heaven. I thanked Him for Will. I thanked Him for impressing the importance of Mary on my heart 25 years ago.
You see, Easter is about being whole. Easter is the whole reason we celebrate. Jesus was made whole and ascended into Heaven. And now my baby is there with Him. And I know in my heart I will be too. One day.