It's Friday . . . But Sunday's Comin'

When I think of Good Friday, I think of the despair and disappointment the disciples must have felt. The One they loved and in whom they put their trust was crucified like a common criminal. The earth was dark. Hope seemed far away. Surely, their hearts were heavy.

Some of you may feel that same sense of despair today. The job you thought you had, the person you thought was your friend, the baby you longed for who seems so elusive now. You're discouraged, disappointed. Your heart is heavy.

Oh, my friend, the Lord wants you to hear, "It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'!"

He has heard your cry. You are not forgotten. Today may be your Friday, but your Sunday IS coming!

Your Sunday may come with a single phone call. A check with the right amount of zeroes on it. An encounter with someone new -- or someone with whom you'd lost touch. God can move in any way and at any time.

Be like John, the beloved. Draw near to Jesus today. Go with Him to the cross. Wait with Him. Pray with Him. Weep with Him. Seek a word from Him. Then, wait with joyful hope.

It's Friday, but Sunday's comin'!! Hallelujah!

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After I posted, I found this video:

Through the Rear View Mirror

Twenty years ago today, at about this same time of the morning, I was in a surgery recovery room. Mourning. Weeping. Hurting.

My twin babies had gone to be with Jesus. The babies I had seen only through the lens of a sonogram. The babies I had nurtured in my womb for four months and in my heart for years.

My physical pain was significant, but my emotional pain was overwhelming. Bereft. Bereaved. Bewildered.

The pain gave way to anger, confusion. I tend to process information internally – as opposed to my husband, Writer, who talks all the time processes information externally. The thoughts in my head were jumbled, messy, condemning.

Why? Why me? What was wrong with my body? Thirteen-year-old girls were able to do this, why couldn't I? Thirteen-year-old girls were disposing of their babies in abortion clinics and dumpsters. I had been a "good girl." Why had God not seen that? Why had He not honored that? Why had He not protected my babies?

No one knew what to say. My mother drove 250 miles through the night to be with me before I went into surgery. Our pastor loved on us and prayed with us. Friends brought food (hey, it's the South. Food is ALWAYS appropriate!!!).

The grief was unbearable. It settled on me. Hovered over me. Never fully lifted. Until.

Until I allowed Jesus to bring healing. Until I allowed Him to speak the truth to my heart. Until I allowed His redemptive work – even in or especially in – the midst of terrible circumstances.

Slowly, and after additional miscarriages, I began to understand that my heart's desire was to be a mother. That my children didn't need to look like me or Writer. Didn't need to have his blue eyes or my brown hair.

No longer was I limited to what we could produce (yes, it's a double entendre). I had the vastness of God's love and His good plan for me – His plan not to harm me, but to give me a hope and a future.

So, this morning I wept for the loss of my precious babies. Then my mourning turned to dancing as I rejoiced over Ballerina and Sketcher. One who hears music like I do and one who walks (and talks) like Writer.

This sustained me:

I would have lost heart, unless I had believed
That I would see the goodness of the LORD
In the land of the living.
(Psalm 27:13, NKJV)

This is to encourage you today:

Wait and hope for and expect the Lord;
be brave and of good courage
and let your heart be stout and enduring.
Yes, wait for and hope for and expect the Lord.
(Psalm 27:14, Amplified)