Good Friday was a beautiful day here in Iowa. The sun was shining and you just wanted to be outside and feel the warmth of the sun on our face. We’ve had such a hard, long winter that I almost forgot what that felt like.
But before we enjoyed the sunny afternoon, my family went to church where we knelt before the cross and remembered that Jesus died for all of us this day. We all had a chance to come before the cross and lay our hands on it. As I touched the cross, I couldn’t help but think that I carry my own cross and have my own journey to the cross – much like Jesus did.
I’ll try to explain the best I can –
In the moment when Jesus heard the crowd yell, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” – it felt like the moment when I was sat down in the hospital and was told that my son was probably not going to make it and he had all of these things wrong with him. The words of the doctors echoed in my mind much like the angry crowd and the reality Jesus faced.
The day we found out Jonah had died inside of me was when I feel as though I began to physically, emotionally and spiritually carry the cross as Jesus did on his way to Golgotha. Jesus was publicly scorned, whipped, beaten, mocked and spit on. Those long hours of labor and the lingering feeling that his birth was coming resemble the intense pain and struggle He suffered.
Drew was much like Simon in Jesus’ journey. He carried the cross the best he could, but ultimately knew that Jesus had to finish the rest of journey. Drew was so good to me that night. He told me that he hated to see me in such physical and emotional pain that he wished he could do it for me. I knew I had to do it on my own though. I had to participate in the death of Jonah – whether I wanted to or not. This was my journey – our journey that we had to make together.
The moment Jonah was born into this world I felt like shouting, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” – as Jesus did before his final moments. Throughout my labor I kept believing that things were going to be different. That there was going to be some sort of divine miracle and Jonah was going to be born screaming, crying and healthy. I tried to trick myself into thinking it was going to happen. The silence that came after – was deafening.
Right now, I feel as though I’m still in the tomb waiting for resurrection. Everyday I still live with my grief. I know my own resurrection will come someday, but I will still be able to look down and still see the nails pierced through my skin. It will always be there.
We all carry our own crosses and our own burdens every day. I found comfort in knowing that my God’s son died too. And I knew I wasn’t alone in my loss or grief. He lost a son – like I did.