Good Friday. It’s a day that stirs a range of emotions within me. As I sit in silence reflecting on the Good Fridays of my childhood I am flooded with memories. My soul is filled with sounds of singing – the really old hymns: At the Cross, The Old Rugged Cross, At Calvary and I tear up. My childhood Good Fridays (and most Sundays), sitting beside my Omie in church, were grounding moments; a grounding that has transcended time.
Those years, the ones before deciding if the message of the Gospel would be mine to accept, those years came with an abiding sense of belonging. The thought that someone would die for me, simply because I am me, brought me profound peace. For me…wow!
And now? Good Friday continues to be a sacred day. I no longer religiously follow the tradition of church, hymns, and snuggling into Omie’s shoulder during the sermon, but the impact of the day, of the event stirs within me.
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away
Where His glory forever I’ll share (from The Old Rugged Cross)
So I end this post with tears streaming down my face. Tears of sorrow giving way to tears of gratitude and hope. Hope in knowing that ‘Sunday’s coming’!