Sunday is coming...

This week feels like death week.

On Monday I got news that one of the spunkiest, most intelligent and confident women I have ever met, passed away just shy of her 94th birthday. My Great Aunt Edna lived in New York so I never got too close, but just hearing about the way everyone spoke of her and chatting with her a few years back when my grandpa died, kind of bonded me to her in a unique way that I don't even think she was aware of. I was sad on Monday but proud of her long life and strong legacy.

Yesterday was Rory's birthday (which is like a mini-holiday for me, too, because he's so much fun to play with on his birthday!) and in the middle of the movie we went out to see, he passed his phone over so that I could read an email from our Children's Pastor. One of the smartest and wildest little boys that I had known through Sunday school was killed in a car accident. Marco was in 2nd grade but we would always let him hang out with the 3rd-6th grade boys because I think it made him feel good about himself. I remember praying strong prayers for that boy. And I remember the strong prayers he would pray during class.

Today I found out that some dear family friends lost their father/grandfather in the wee hours of the morning. I didn't know him too well, but his passing is a definite loss in our family.

And all week long, being as it is Passion Week, I've been gearing up for the horrible Good Friday. I know, I know. Sunday is good news!! But I can't read His last words and last steps and not grieve.

I felt very sad on Monday (not directly because of my aunt's passing) and called Rory to ask him to come home early if he could just to be with me. For some reason he had already felt the need to go home early so he was on his way. When he got home I just cried and sat with him. I couldn't explain the melancholy.

Now I feel surrounded by it. It's not a depression, it's not even grief. Just sadness.

I remember being a young girl and hearing for the first time of someone I knew who had died. She was my grandma's roommate of sorts (she rented a room in my grandma's duplex). She had lived long and her death was not a shock--at least not to anyone else. But I remember hearing the news and telling my mom. Tears came without notice.

Death has always hit me hard.

So today I am mourning and honoring the lives of three amazing people and preparing my heart for the most powerful death of all time: Jesus'.

Rory and I are reading through Jesus' words and actions during Passion Week (we are using an amazing book I used in Bible school that blends all four of the Gospels to give a chronological telling of Jesus' life) and I am struck by his repetition of love, love, love, obey, obey, obey. It was on the night of the final Passover meal (Thursday) that He implored them to lose their lives for His sake. He talked of how the world cannot receive them (the apostles) because it could not receive Him. How the world hates them and Him because they are not of the world.

He also talks a lot about the coming kingdom--the end of this world and Satan's rule as we know it. This helps me a lot. This confirms that this world is home to no one who is His.

It's not that I grieve for their loss or even for ours. Death has clearly lost its sting and the grave its power. I don't believe for a second that death is not appointed or fitting.

But it is just so sad. I think of the Jews and the wailing wall and how openly and publicly and loudly they grieve (almost all of the Middle East grieves death very openly). And I feel akin to them. There is something healthy in acknowledging pain and grief--not living there, but being very present in it while it lasts.

So here I am, the day before Good Friday, feeling very, very present in death.

Sunday, come quickly!!