Silent Saturday

The resurrection is coming up. I love this time of year. Even when I was wandering in the desert I would long to be in a church that celebrated Jesus and the resurrection. I went to a church once on Easter Sunday (during the lost years) and came away disappointed. Even though I was living in sin; Deep Dark Nasty Sin...my heart longed to hear of the resurrection. My only hope! On that Sunday I came away empty...desolate..thinking all hope is lost. As usual, I am looking forward to Good Friday. We will have the church service and such but then there is Saturday. Silent Saturday. That day between the crucifixion and resurrection morning. Silent Saturday. I understand that day. I understand the fears...doubts and questioning. I understand the dejection and abandonment. Silent Saturday. During those wandering years I would try to understand God... I understood what Jesus did but my heart was so full of fear and questioning and wondering if He is really really real. Silent Saturday. I would go about my life and tried to be the authentic person without God and without hope. Silent Saturday. In the midst of my sin I would go so far inward in my mind and would just *hope*, a small glimmer, a small flicker, and say I don't want too...be so far away from You. Silent Saturday. The Good Friday before I, the prodigal, came back home was just another day. I had put on my figurative running shoes and left my home. My marriage was in shambles. I could barely maintain my own life. I was surviving on day to day existence. Silent Saturday. That Saturday two years ago I decided I would go to church again. Try it one more time. I had nothing else to lose. I had lost my dignity and my life during those 12 years of wandering. I was the woman at the well. I was the woman with the issue of blood. I was untouchable. I was diseased ridden and unclean. Silent Saturday. I went about that Saturday in fear. In silence. Not thinking much about the day except trying to go on with my life to survive. I had nothing to say to God. I had failed again. Was lost again. There was nowhere else to go. I went to bed Saturday night. I knew where I was going in the morning. Silent Saturday. Sunday morning I get up early. I go to the church that I now call home. I couldn't bring myself to go in the normal church doors so I entered in through the art gallery. I am scared. Silent Saturday is looming in my head. I am afraid of rejection. Afraid that I will never make it. Afraid that God will remain silent forever that I had gone too far... Did Peter think the same thing on Saturday when he rejected Jesus? Silent Saturday. The music started at this new church. The music...Oh God..I wanted to sob...the joy! The anticipation! The reality! Is this real? I was by this time crying...and I did not care. Silent Saturday has met its match with the Resurrected Jesus.... I heard these words in the resurrection service. BROKEN, REJECTED, AND COME HOME! I broke my silence Sunday night. I fell to my knees and asked for forgiveness. And there God met me. In my 12 years of desperation and fear. He answered my prayers. He welcomed me home. Silent Saturday...

Broken Pieces

I am shy to even mention this. To even note what God does in my life. (But isn't it really His life?)
With healing comes questions. I have been meditating on Psalm 139. It says that He knew us before we were born. He knows all of our days...and that I cannot escape His Spirit. Never can I flee from Him. Never!
So I have been thinking on this. And I am angry. But it is a detached, dejected, wimpering little girl...angry. And I dared to voice it to my Father.
While talking with a friend yesterday we were talking about brokeness and a vase. (reminds me a bit of the potter and the clay in Isaiah 64) She dared to say that all the pieces of my life have been smashed. Shattered. In the back of my head I am saying to myself- my pieces so small I don't know if even I can find them. I then tell her about the general patching of broken vases with gold so that they are made stronger. More precious because of the cracks being filled with gold. We talk a bit more on the subject and she exclaims OH...I see this! YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL GOLDEN VASE!!!!!! I am like huh what? She says yes those tiny pieces that were broken and that don't really fit are surrounded and put together with gold.
My God sees me as this...MY God sees me as this...My GOD!!!!!

And during this conversation my phone vibrates and I choose to ignore it.
On my way home a friend sent me a random text at the exact time my friend and I are discussing this.
And the text is of the now infamous Kitsukuroi..to repair with Gold...

And to put the proper Christian spin on it. I am bought with His blood. Spotless. BLAMELESS. How much more precious (and I mean this with all my heart) is that which was bought by the Lamb. I am humbled that despite when I air the brokeness His love pours through...