The Cross Road

 I have found on this journey of grief that I am constantly coming to a cross road. Yesterday I went to the cemetery and found that the grave stone had not been placed because the rain had made the ground too muddy. This represented stone cold sorrow.

On the way home I found trillium growing by the side of the road. From the first year Steve and I met we would go on a treasure hunt in April looking for trillium. It was a treasure hunt because trillium grows in the woods. I’ve never seen it growing on the side of the road before. For me trillium represents living hope.

I’m writing this on Holy Saturday. It is the day between when we remember Jesus’ crucifixion and His resurrection. It is a day to sit with sorrow. A day when you don’t rush past the grave but instead pause long enough to acknowledge the pain of grief and reality of death. Grief and sorrow are part of the story.

This is the cross road where I find myself. Roads lead somewhere. I have to choose either to stay in the graveyard looking at stone cold sorrow or turn my gaze to the trillium that represents living hope.

I choose hope. I choose to believe that because of the resurrection one day in the future a trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we will be changed. I choose to believe that when this corruptible is clothed with incorruptibility, and this mortal is clothed with immortality, that death will also be swallowed up in victory.

 Oh grave where is your victory? Oh death where is your sting? Today I sit with sorrow but sorrow is not my destination I choose the road that leads to a living hope!