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I’ve heard it said that the Saturday after Good Friday and before Easter Sunday, is in the ellipsis.

In the (…) if you will.

A story has been started, and there is most certainly an ending, we just haven’t gotten to it yet.

We’re in the in-between.

Things feel up in the air, doubtful, heavy.

Yet, they also feel hopeful.

There’s wonderment, and confusion, and awe, and fog.

I got up this morning and slowly found my way to the kitchen to make our traditional Saturday morning family pancakes with pecans and chocolate chips. The boys were already awake, as usual, always and forever my predawn cockcrows. As soon as my feet hit the hardwood floors downstairs, my oldest insisted that I come to the back deck to have a look at what the skies were doing.

“Hurry Mama!”, he said.

I scrambled over to the living room to have a look through our big windows. There was an eerie mist above the mountain. An early Saturday sun (the best kind, in my opinion) was beginning to rise, attempting to erase the murkiness of a hazy morning. You could see its light pushing through the mist but it wasn’t shining in full force yet.

Kind of like our betwixt Saturday here.

We, with the gospels in hand, know what’s coming, we know HE’S coming. We know that the sun in all it’s fullness will indeed push past the fog and shine at full power, tomorrow.


So today we wait, we expect, we look forward.

We hang on in hopes that Sunday will deliver something triumphant and eternal. Someone mighty, and worthy, and able, and knocking.

The saving story of Christ will find the end to it’s sentence, on the flip side.

I can’t wait to see you there.

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