Concrete & Abstract

It doesn’t seem right to write about hope while Jesus is still in the tomb. It’s still Lent. It’s still grey. It’s still much more Gethsemane than Garden of Eden, and ‘Darkness came over the whole land’ than sunny spring skies.

I’m hungry. I’m tired. My back hurts. There’s a lot left to do to prepare for the feasting. I’m “suffering” – in huge ironic quotation marks, because this is not suffering. Not really. I did it to myself and I will undue it in 6ish hours. I will break my fast and then feast – and feast, and feast – for the next 50 days.

There is hope. There’s always hope. I can smell hope baking in the oven and we’ve been planning hope for the last several days. Our Lent will end, our Easter will begin, just like it always has. I am so, so grateful to have hope… especially the concrete kind, where we know with 99% certainty that whatever the current suffering is will come to an end. But sometimes, especially when you have the security of knowing the end is in sight, it’s good to dig into the pain. It’s good practice for times when hope must be abstract.

— MeganPrestonMeyer