The celebration of Easter this year felt bittersweet. Although I enjoyed the holiday — who doesn’t love bunnies, colored eggs and the excited squeals of children when they wake up to find an Easter basket?
Easter falls smack in the middle of one of the most beautiful seasons in Kansas.
When life bursts from the ground in purple crocus, early yellow tulips and wild hyacinths all over my scraggly lawn.
Even my feral cats represent life as one of them lumbers with kittens in her womb — the other birthing three babies under my deck.
Still, this Easter flipped onto the calendar only four months after we buried Mom. And three of my friends in early 2022. And hundreds of Ukrainian citizens slaughtered by Russian troops. Some of those citizens probably distant cousins.
Death reminds us of our fragile existence. We are mortal, after all. We will all return to the dust that formed us.
Sobering truths are still true, no matter how we seek to avoid them.
But the converse is also true. Despite the death and destruction, life exists in that other realm. Behind that invisible veil that separates us from the spirit world.
Our loved ones wait for us there. God watches over us from that ethereal place we can barely imagine. Where life stretches without end. No more separation. No more death and destruction.
Only the beautiful burst of living color and light where we know as we are known.
Someday, I will be with my parents again. With the friends I lost this year. Someday, God will vindicate those Ukrainian souls and judge those who murdered them.
Someday, eternity will continue to burst with renewed vigor and the beauty of life. No decay. No chaos. No disruption from the beauties of creation.
In the meantime, I will focus my hope on resurrected life and continue to believe in the eternal every day of the year.
And when chaos tries to disrupt that living hope, I’ll play this song and believe all over again.
©2022 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved
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