Bath time with my little guy, Scooter.
I wrote this about three years ago. I always like to go back and read it and remind myself of the reality of Good Friday:
Good Friday was not too “good” for me at all. I spent Friday afternoon playing softball on an intramural softball team. Why I am playing softball? I don’t know, but I am out there nonetheless. So, I am playing in the field and someone hits a fly ball to me and I run under it to catch it. Not only did the ball go over my head, but I stepped in a hole in the grass and severely twisted my ankle. That bad boy was hurtin’. Mind you, I’ve already broken my ankle several times, so the feeling was not welcome. I got home and limped around my apartment all day Friday doing nothing. I was feeling really blah. I hoped to wake up on Saturday rejuvenated, but when I woke up, there was much of the same feeling. My ankle was still killing me and I really didn’t want to go anywhere. I tried to do some homework for class, but I just felt tired all over. It felt like I had taken some kind of tranquilizer.
To top it off, I learned that a colleague of mine had recently died of lung cancer. He was 29 years old and graduated with me. There seemed to be so much pain and death surrounding me. Then a thought came to me. Could I be experiencing the same feelings that the disciples felt on Friday and Saturday of Holy Week? I thought about it. They had been walking with this Man for three and a half years. Now all of a sudden He was gone. They had left all to follow Him. They had nowhere else to go. He had been crucified and placed in a tomb. They saw no hope.