A glance out the window tells me this day doesn’t feel lively, or lovely. Gray, monochromatic sky. Sheets of frozen ice on everything. The day feels dull, listless, lifeless.
Good Friday, at first glance, isn’t about being alive. It’s about death, disappointment, disillusionment. But from heaven’s perspective, and from our retrospective, the day was good. It is the day where death made way for life.
My boys didn’t seem too phased by the darkness and grayness this morning. (Or too phased by the time they woke up in the night, or the inappropriate hour that they decided to stay wide awake this morning.) They built a couch-cushion pirate ship and went about the important business of play, practically the epitome of being alive. They are alive. I am alive. And it is good.
I’m amazed at their energy. All the time. I don’t think an Italian espresso could give me that much energy. Ever.
I love that morning always brings life for them. Peppy play production, questions at a startling rate, excitement over a new day. Thank God for children whose aliveness can’t be eclipsed, and thank God that his work is turning death into life.