 This season has been hard. I wish I could tie a neat bow on it and say, “Everything is okay because Jesus is risen.” And that is true. Deeply, eternally true. But if I’m honest, it doesn’t always feel that way. Right now, it just feels hard. Between the questions and the wondering and the waiting, Easter didn’t feel very celebratory this year. It felt quiet. A little heavy. Like I was standing in the middle of a story I don’t fully understand yet. And I’ve been thinking about the women and the disciples—the ones who were actually there when the resurrection happened. We often picture Easter morning as triumphant and clear, but I wonder if it felt that way to them in real time. Because from their perspective, everything had just fallen apart. They had walked with Jesus, believed in Him, trusted that He was the One who would fulfill every promise. And then, He died. Not metaphorically. Not spiritually. Physically, painfully, publicly—He died. Can you imagine… …the confusion? The grief? The questions? Luke 24 tells us that when the women went to the tomb, they were not expecting resurrection—they were bringing spices to anoint a body (Luke 24:1). Even when they found the stone rolled away, they were “perplexed” (Luke 24:4). And when the angels told them Jesus had risen, Scripture says they were “terrified” (Luke 24:5). Terrified. Not celebrating. Not posting about it. Not tying it up with a bow. Just trying to make sense of what they were seeing. I think sometimes we forget that part. We know how the story ends. We know that Jesus rises from the dead. We know that the resurrection means our sins are forgiven, death is defeated, and we have access to a relationship with God. We know the theology. But sometimes our hearts are still asking, “What does that actually mean for me right now?” Because my reality still includes grief. It still includes uncertainty. It still includes bills that show up on time when everything else feels delayed. It includes health questions, anxiety that creeps in at night, and days where “fun” looks like sitting in the grass outside your house because that’s all you have the energy for. This is the part of adulthood no one really prepares you for—the quiet, in-between spaces where there are more questions than answers. And if I’m honest, this season has made me wrestle with something Jesus said in John 10:10: “I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” Because I believe Him. I really do. But sometimes I look at my life and think where is that abundant life? And maybe that’s the tension Easter invites us into. Because the resurrection doesn’t erase the reality of hard seasons--it meets us in them. The women at the tomb didn’t immediately step into clarity. The disciples didn’t suddenly become fearless overnight. In fact, later in that same chapter, we find them hiding behind locked doors (John 20:19), still unsure, still afraid. And yet, Jesus came to them there. Not once they had it all figured out. Not once their faith felt strong. But right in the middle of their fear and confusion. He stepped into the room and said, “Peace be with you” (John 20:19). I think that’s what the resurrection means for us, too. Not that life suddenly becomes easy or predictable, but that Jesus is alive—and present—in the middle of it. Present in the questions. Present in the waiting. Present in the grief and the anxiety and the ordinary, unremarkable days. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead (Romans 8:11) is not distant or theoretical—it is active. It is near. It is sustaining us in ways we don’t always see. And maybe abundant life doesn’t always look like what we expected. Maybe it looks like peace that doesn’t make sense (Philippians 4:7). Maybe it looks like strength for today, not answers for tomorrow (Matthew 6:34). Maybe it looks like choosing to trust God, not because everything around us makes sense, but because He is still faithful. The disciples didn’t have a guidebook for what they were walking through. They were the ones writing it. They faced persecution, loss, uncertainty, and ultimately gave their lives for what they believed. And yet, they kept choosing to trust. Not because their circumstances were easy, but because they had seen Jesus alive. And we have that same hope. Reflection Questions:
Prayer: Hey God, If I’m honest, this season feels heavy. There are questions I don’t have answers to, prayers that feel unanswered, and days that don’t look anything like what I hoped they would. I know the truth—that Jesus has risen, that He defeated death, that You offer new life. But sometimes my heart struggles to feel what my head knows. So I’m bringing You both—the truth I believe and the tension I feel. Thank You that You are not distant from me in this. Thank You that You meet me in the middle of the questions, the waiting, and the uncertainty. Just like You stepped into the room with the disciples, would You meet me here too? Speak peace over the places in me that feel anxious and overwhelmed. Remind me that You are still working, even when I can’t see it. Help me to trust You—not with a perfect, unshakable faith, but with a willing heart that keeps coming back to You. Teach me what abundant life looks like in this season. Open my eyes to Your presence in the ordinary, the quiet, and the hard places. And when I feel stuck in the middle of the story, remind me that You are not finished yet. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
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