In a couple of days it will be Easter. The most hopeful of holidays. It feels as though spring has truly arrived. No matter what your faith,
or how deep your faith,
or whether or not you have called a faith your own,
taking a day to make note of the existence of hope
is a good day.
It’s so easy to dwell on complications and disappointments. Why is it that heartache and confusion is a default setting for most of us?
Most of us try to find some sense of home during a holiday. That sense of belonging. That sense of feeling completely accepted for all your foibles and weaknesses and scars. To be in a place where you feel safe and content. A tangible place, be it a church or a house or a room or a park where you’re with those with whom you can let down your guard and take off your mask.
Relaxed and open and simply happy.
Or a personal place where you feel complete and at peace with who you are or who you’re trying to become. A “home” where you can just “be”
and wrap yourself in the hope that is Easter.
The hope that is beginning to show itself in the melting of snow, the tentative emergence of spring flowers, the gentle, steady increase in the warmth of the sun.
And it seems as though Death, no matter how literally or metaphorically you want to view it,
can be overcome.