It’s Good Friday.
Will you join me for a few minutes over here, by the cross.
Because I don’t know about you, but I need to see Him. I need to absorb this moment, His final moments.
Despite the chaos of life that swirls into a cacophony around me.
Despite the loudness and laughter and bickering of my two little girls.
Despite the messy living room and the surface clutter that beckons me to tidy up.
Despite the myriad demands on my time in this moment, I need to be right here. At the cross.
It hurts to look up, doesn’t it?
Sometimes, it hurts to look up instead of at the world around us.
But right now, I need to look up.
I need to see Him. To see Him in His pain. To see Him in His sorrow. To see Him gazing down with love despite what He is enduring in this moment for me.
I need to see His last ragged breath and to feel the darkness that descends as He breathes His last.
I don’t want to think about Sunday.
I don’t want to think about colored eggs or frilly dresses or candy or Easter baskets.
I don’t want to think about Hallelujah choruses or rejoicing.
I want to be here, like His disciples, and acknowledge this moment.
Because in this moment, for His disciples, there was no anticipation of the empty grave.
And I need that today.
I need that so that I don’t take lightly that Jesus died for me.
I need that in the middle of my ordinary life. I need to look up.
(This post is part of Kate Motaung’s Five-minute Friday at Heading Home. She gives us a word and we write for five minutes. This week’s word: Good)