Holy Saturday
Jesus and I are really similar because I too cried when I prayed on Good Friday I cry every time I try to pray. cry when I even think of prayer, try to reach out to a hand I have always found extended. When I tried to wish a friend happy easter. All I found were tears. can’t find rest here; Good Friday doesn’t feel right. Easter feels worse. Saturday is all I’ve got. How can I celebrate death’s destruction when I’m still in the grave? can’t find faith. Everything I’ve ever hoped or believed for is dead all around me. Gospels? I can’t escape lamentations. am here with Jeremiah. We scream, and scream, and no one listens. My bones are on fire but I would rather burn than speak. am hunted in my dreams. I wake over and over, my heart racing, scream on my lips. When I close my eyes, I’m back in Saturday. Back in hell. Back in the grave. don’t ...