I sat here this morning trying to envision what Jesus’ followers must have felt like the morning after they watched his execution. While I cannot attest to its biblical accuracy, I can only attest to this being what I picture in my mind.
It was the morning after.
People were waking, lying in bed, wondering if the day before had been a nightmare.
As they began to stir, the reality of it all began to sink in. How could this be?
How could he save us if he could not save himself?
The morning after, the world had lost its color, the sky gray and heavy as were the hearts of everyone who had been there.
It was a day they would never forget; it was a day from which they never thought they could recover.
And so they sat, lost, bewildered, hopeless.
How could they feel any other way after seeing the one man who had come to save them nailed to a cross and die?
Little could they have known joy was coming, a joy they had never felt before, a miraculous joy they could have never imagined.
a breath as powerful as the first one he took in a manger.
How grateful are we to know that we do?
Just a Crazy Girl