It’s Monday morning and I fill the sink full of suds and strip the bed sheets and I run the vacuüm down the hallway, my heart clenched like an angry fist.
It’s the day after Easter and snow is falling from a gray sky meanly defying the hope of spring.
The green, daffodil buds that poked through the brown, barren earth a couple of weeks ago, were already buried under snow once.
When the first snowflakes fall from a gray sky, we wonder and we celebrate and we cut intricate snowflake renditions out of white paper and secretly wish for snow days. The trees are bare-naked and vulnerable and the landscape is opened up and hollow, and we feel skinny and exposed in all the wide-openness. The snow comes and it feels like some grace and beauty return to our lives for awhile.
Before the claustrophobia hits and the same flakes that birthed wonder evoke heaviness. And winter feels long and everything is cold and frozen over and chapped. I feel this and I’m drinking a luxurious homemade cinnamon mocha. I think of the Israelites who lived a long darkness of slavery and bondage, and a sovereign God who was more concerned with His glory than their immediate deliverance.
“And I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, and multiply my signs and my wonders in the land of Egypt.” – Exodus 7:3
I know it in my own soul, that winter and darkness can be lived with hope because whether it snows the day after Easter or not, HE is ALIVE.
I admit it, that the winter that rubs sore and cracks open and bleeds is really the winter in my heart, the winter that cynically storms. Sometimes I just want justice for the wrong in this world and I want it right now. Because somewhere an eight-year-old girl is being sexually exploited, and my friend’s son is swaddled under the earth, and this girl I know sits huddled in a corner of her dark bedroom closet listening to her parents fight.
And I think of the Israelites who labored long in the hot sun, and a God who hardened the heart of the Pharaoh.
Sometimes life just doesn’t make sense and absolute justice feels impossible and redemption feels shrouded.
But I know it in my own soul, even as I wrestle, that winter and darkness can be lived with hope because whether it snows the day after Easter or not, HE is ALIVE.