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Long, we wait

03/08/2011

As a young child, my grandparents tried to use an ice cream shop as a buffer between life and loss. Now, it isn’t a buffer, but a still painful reminder of death. Daisies remind me of the day my eleven-year old friend buried his twin brother. I can still feel the hard plastic of the green lawn chairs I would sit in, weeping across the ocean, as my mother said her good byes and prepared her suicide (one that though it didn’t come, I still had the scars of wondering, waiting, pleading). My own birthday reminds me of the day I realized that my little brother, his body weak with cancer, might not outlive me. When school buses start traveling the streets every fall, I am reminded that I almost lost a precious mentor and friend just a few years ago.

As far as I can tell, the only buffer between life and loss is the promise of resurrection and redemption–the hope that all things will be made new.

We trudge through the winter, this season of gray darkness that sinks into our souls, and we squint our eyes toward the horizon for any sign of our buffer– of resurrection. But I can’t find it, and Easter Sunday still seems too far away. Against the backdrop of the weary sky, the shadow of death lurks, coming fast, unnaturally, too soon. Where is the resurrection?

Finally, finally I see it. Easter is on the horizon, and the promise of hope travels in soft scents in the still harsh air. It’s me! Here I am! I am alive! I once was dead, asleep, lost to this world. But Jesus came to me, he called out his promise of new life: “Little girl, arise!”

 

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