Rise + Rebuild
Well, here I am in the final week of this HOPE series. If you haven't had the chance to read the other weeks, I invite you to do so. I linked each week above.
I love that this post series culminates on Easter Sunday. A day of resurrection. As a Christian, I cling to the hope of Easter. My son Ethan lives in Heaven, and so Easter is a reminder to me that death doesn't have the final word, destruction is not the definitive answer and that God hasn't given up on us. It also reminds me that Ethan and I will share eternity together. While I don't exactly know what that looks like, I believe it is true.
If you go into any church today, the focus is the empty tomb, the rising, and the hope that we can have because of resurrection. But I fear we too quickly gloss over the truth that there is no rising without suffering, sadness, disappointment, doubt, failure, and loneliness. If we want to tell the story of the resurrection, we also must tell the story of what it took to get there.
But we don't like that part of the story. So we work to get through it as quickly as possible. We hate the pain. We love the rebuild. We hate the destruction. We preach the rising. We'd rather not talk about the descent.
Just this week, on Wednesday afternoon, the day went from sunny to dark rather quickly, then to rain. As it poured rain, the sun came out, and I ran out to my porch looking for a rainbow. There had to be one. While I didn't find one, then, sure enough, one of my neighbors texted me with the most beautiful picture of a rainbow hovering over our neighborhood. Beautiful, expansive, and complete. Just like resurrection.
Nature teaches us best. After a massive storm, a wild night of torrential wind and rains, there is a beautiful sunrise. Sometimes, the crazier the storm, the more glorious the sky. And that mirrors my experience of life.
If hopeful people rise and rebuild, then hopeful people have also experienced pain and disappointment. They have allowed themselves to swim to the depths, dive to the bottom of their doubts and find out how deep they actually are. They name their pain. They allow for the anger, the questions, and the disbelief. In my opinion, this is the hallmark of hopeful people. We don't wrestle with something we don't want to learn from. If we cared less, we'd relent to what's before us.
But the human spirit is rather powerful, and even in the darkest moments, we often have this little voice in our heads and hearts, or a friend that calls or an article we read that gives us a nudge to continue. And we take one step in the direction of resurrection.
I'm a hopeful person, not because I look through rose-colored glasses, but because I've swum to the depths of my doubts and found a way out again. History tells me if I've done it once, I can do it again. I'm a hopeful person because I have wrestled long and hard enough with disbelief that now I have relented to a belief that sustains me. I'm a hopeful person because I'm hellbent on being around for the sunrise. I know the night will not consume me.
Erik and I took the kids on a walk after the rainstorm on Wednesday. We talked about the news of the day, the economy, and our own jobs. We often joke that we've pretty much lived in constant crisis for the last 15 years and so the present state of affairs is no big deal. And while that's a bit of an exaggeration, there's a lot of truth there. We've rebuilt our lives many times (and we'll do it again). And while it's not an easy process and it often feels like the building will never be complete, it's the most soul growing, wisdom gracing, humbling process I know.
And so today, on this Easter Sunday, we are reminded of the rising. Easter reminds us death does not have the final word. The coronavirus doesn't have the final word. The downturn in the economy doesn't have the final word. Jesus' rising came after tremendous pain and darkness. The beautiful part is he was willing to walk through it and showed us we can do the same. He went there because he knew, I believe, that humanity would need this reminder time and again, that they are not alone. That they can go to the depths and taste the bitterness of death and rise again. The rising may not be glamorous or make the news or look shiny. Yet each of us is invited to it and has the power and grace to rise again.
We're invited to take one piece of wood, one brick, one part of our business or a relationship, one piece of our hearts or our health, and start to rebuild. One step at a time. One piece at a time.
Hopeful people are hearty. They go to the depths, they do the hard work, and they rise again.
When we use crises and challenging times as an opportunity to grow, we create muscle memory that allows us to weather whatever comes in our lives. The only way is through. We hold onto hope, and we also make good, sometimes hard and inconvenient, decisions. We hold onto hope, unattached to a specific outcome, but attached to a belief in our resilient human spirits, the power we get because we love each other and our faith in a God whose perspective far outweighs any we have. We find strength in doing our part, helping our neighbor, and caring for our families. It doesn't mean we aren't scared. It does mean we are not alone.
My life tells me that I can go from not just believing in my mind that things will be okay, but knowing in my heart, they will be. Easter reminds me it's true. Hope grounded in trust. Hope can be our reflex. I believe it's alive all around us.
Happy Easter!
