Today I attended the funeral of the 10th person I’ve known personally in my life who has succumbed to depression through suicide. It was a lovely funeral, if such a thing is even possible, full of laughter, memories, tears, sorrow, and hope.
The worst moment for me was also the best. Which is often how things work in this life. I was standing in front of a pew, right beside the aisle where they brought her casket by to the front of the chapel, with her family walking behind. Her little boy was in his grandma’s arms, looking back and forth between his grandma, his father and pointing to the casket. Just as they passed me he turned to his father, and said “my mommy is in there?” with a question in his voice. It was the worst for all the heartbreaking reasons: a beautiful life ended too soon, a precious boy who may never remember his mother, a mother and father faced with burying a daughter they love. It was the best because it captured the essence of what this life is: the questions, the uncertainty, the love of family, the buffer that love and those people can be between ourselves and the pain inevitable with mortality, and the eternal truth that though that black casket contained the body of little Atlas’s mother, it can NEVER hold her undying spirit.
Tomorrow is Easter. It’s a celebration of hope and renewal as old as time. For Christians, the celebration of the return of the sun and new life coincides with the return of the Son of God from death and the promise of life beyond the limits of mortality.
For the past several days I’ve been reading various articles and posts from people sharing their experiences with and testimonies of Jesus Christ.
All day I’ve been thinking of the second day. The Saturday between Christ’s crucifixion and His resurrection. The agony that His family and disciples endured watching His trial, scourging, and death was over and the promises he’d made about a kingdom not of this world must have seemed very far away. The pain of getting on with life in the aftermath of death was just beginning. There were broken hearts that needed mending, as well as the meals that needed fixing, and children that needed love and care. Life was demanding their attention while they were struggling to hold onto faith and hope.
The second day was the day Christ sought out the souls who sought salvation from death and comforted them with the hope provided by His atonement on their behalf.
The second day was the day Christ’s followers found their faith tested. The day His words of hope had to become truth within their hearts.
Day two, was the “messy middle” where the work of salvation looked mostly like work and less like salvation to His very mortal followers.
On the long drive home from Utah to Clover Valley I thought of these things and I remembered an idea that Brené Brown shared about Day Two of any creative work.
In her book “Rising Strong” she wrote:
“Day two…is when you’re “in the dark”—the door has closed behind you. You’re too far in to turn around and not close enough to the end to see the light… It is “the point of no return”—an aviation term coined by pilots for the point in a flight when they have too little fuel left to return to the originating airfield. It’s strangely universal, going all the way back to Julius Caesar’s famous “Iacta alea est”—“The die is cast”—spoken in 49 BC as he and his troops made the river crossing that started a war. Whether it’s ancient battle strategy or the creative process, at some point you’re in, it’s dark, and there’s no turning back…Day two means we are moving into the shame and worthiness part of the curriculum, and people are feeling raw. The shine of a new undertaking and the sparkle of possibility have dulled, leaving behind a dense fog of uncertainty. People are tired.. Storm occupies the middle space. It’s not only a dark and vulnerable time, but also one that’s often turbulent. People find all kinds of creative ways to resist the dark, including taking issue with each other. What I think sucks the most about day two is…it’s a nonnegotiable part of the process. Experience and success don’t give you easy passage through the middle space of struggle. They only grant you a little grace, a grace that whispers, ‘This is part of the process. Stay the course.’… The middle is messy, but it’s also where the magic happens.”
Jesus Christ is a God for our lifetime of second days. He is a God that loves us just as we are, and works alongside us, offering spiritual comfort and guidance, in the messy middle of creating a life for ourselves and our families. He is a God who stays with us in our darkest days. He is a God who won’t leave us even when we pass the point of no return. He wants us to succeed and He knows, because He too endured His second day between death and resurrection, that the only way to get past the mess is to keep moving through it. To keep loving our people, serving where we can, and comforting one another through all of it.
Today was a Day Two kind of day. I felt the weight of sorrow and the comfort of hope. It was a day to be human and to be grateful for salvation. It was gloriously messy and real. And through it all I felt sustained and comforted by a Savior who has been through such a day as this. One who knows the compassion and enduring peace and love that waits on the morning of the third day.
I don’t know the details of what your second day looks like right now, but I know you’re not alone in it. No matter what you’re facing, no matter where you’ve been, what you’ve done, what you feel, or how you’ve struggled, God loves you and is there for you. If you’re tired, lonely, or in need of a friend please reach out. I’m in the middle of a second day also, and we can share the path together.
Remember: “This is part of the process. Stay the course…. The middle is messy, but it’s also where the magic happens.”
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