My Grandmother died on Good Friday the year I turned ten. I remember the drive across the barren Mojave Desert from Los Angeles to Phoenix. I remember how quiet my mom was and the sadness that lay heavy in the air as we walked into my grandparents home where her family was gathered together. I remember sitting at the kitchen table the next morning in the home where we stayed and being asked to fill brightly colored plastic eggs with jellybeans; I hate jellybeans. My mom wasn’t around that morning; I wondered where she was and what she was doing. My grandmother was dead and I was surrounded by preparations for celebrating Easter.
Death and Resurrection were tied together too closely for me at a young age. That Easter lives in my memory in Technicolor, like a well-filmed movie. The jump from holding the loss and gravity of my grandmother’s unexpected death to running around the yard in my Easter dress hunting for eggs and eating coconut bunny cake was too much for my tender young heart to hold.
In one fashion or another that scene repeated itself in the years ahead. Death seemed to always be met with the need to embrace “resurrection” too quickly. The phrase, “It’s Friday but Sunday is coming” rings in my head every Good Friday.
A place was formed inside of me that resisted grief. I had learned to jump over grief, or to use the cross as a means of walking over the chasm, the valley of the shadow of death, declaring boldly that I was on the other side.
The problem was that all the grief that was tied to the death and loss in my life slowly grew into pretty powerful anger and rage. It was lying inside of me, an ocean of raw emotions that I worked to keep pushed down.
I lost my first baby at 24, a miscarriage early in the pregnancy. My husband cried and I was numb. Anger came rising up inside of me. I used it to shut down the grief. I had no idea how to enter the ache I felt, I just wanted it to stop. I tried to think of the positive things about losing my baby. (That statement alone is a tragic commentary on my heart.) I decided I would go for a new job that paid more and that would be really good for us. I took a running start to leap across the chasm of death.
Six weeks later I discovered I was pregnant again. I remember the day the phone call came from the doctor’s office. The test that was supposed to confirm that the pregnancy hormone from the miscarried baby was out of my blood stream showed instead a six-week-old pregnancy. They had no explanation for what seemed impossible. I threw the phone across the room.
Death and Life were colliding into one another, leaving me completely undone inside. That ocean inside of me was churning, the current of grief was rolling deep on the floor of it and the waves felt like they would take me under. But, I couldn’t surrender. I wouldn’t surrender.
My refusal to surrender left me with only my fear and anger as I waited to lose that baby too. Each day for the first three months waiting for what I just knew was coming. As the fourth month started I slowly and cautiously allowed my heart to connect to the life growing inside of me, feeling some excitement and joy.
I would have four more miscarriages and four more healthy pregnancies. Death and life, loss and celebration, colliding with one another in my body over and over again.
I have come to understand that I hold death and life viscerally, I feel them deep inside; ache, grief, anticipation, goodness and celebrating often colliding and washing into one another. It can feel overwhelming, that ocean of emotions, sometimes feeling stormy and frightening.
It is the place where I have come to know Jesus most intimately.
In October my son sent me a song. I downloaded it to the playlist I walk to and headed out on a brisk fall morning towards the trail I love. As I walked the song began to play and that visceral place inside of me was touched. It was a holy, sacred moment as I felt Jesus speaking to me in the words of the song. He was calling to me and I understood that the water was going to be deep again, the current of grief forceful. I walked and held my hands up in surrender. Not knowing what was coming, but knowing I didn’t want to resist Him. The ocean that once felt terrifying and ominous has slowly become a place where I know the presence of my Savior best.
Today, death and resurrection are colliding, the cross and the empty tomb. Will you allow yourself to feel it? All of it?
I am feeling it. I am out on the water. He is with me. There’s room for you if you want to join us.
 
Tracy Johnson is a lover of stories and a reluctant dreamer, living by faith that “Hope deferred makes the heart sick but when dreams come true there is a life and joy” (Pro. 13:12). Married for 26 years, she is mother to five kids. After nearly a half century of life, she’s feeling like she may know who she is. Founder of Seized by Hope Ministries, she writes here.
 
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Thank you, my friend…such beauty and hope written here.
It it good to feel the hope and to know that it is being heard. Thank you for hearing me.
Deep water here and REAL. How else do we know it in Jesus if we can’t experience it, life and death, in our humanity. Just reading your post helps me enter into the gravity of these 3 days and the liturgies surrounding them, at home and at Church. Keep writing, Tracy.
Deep water, yes. Your gentle encouragement and kindness are life giving Michelle. Thank you for journeying with me in my liturgical living this year.
Tracy, no words other than thank you for sharing this part of your heart on this day.
You are welcome Julie. I know there are quiet places where our hearts meet one another and I love that.
Tracy, thank you. A perfect reflection this Good Friday. Haunting and I too slip into anger when death happens. Your honesty stopped me cold. Wow. Thank you again.
Thank you for naming the haunting Becky. It is there and it feels comforting to know that you felt it with me.
Oh Tracy. It’s so good to hear your voice here.
I connect with this on so many levels. I have never given my kids a technicolor Easter, nor do I usually even use the word. I just can’t connect the sugar and finery to the quiet grief of crucifixion followed by the awe of miraculous resurrection.
And I too have miscarried four times, all following my fortieth birthday and the wonderous births of my two children. I never felt the grief, for I was in an awful marriage with so much pain to manage that it took all I had to get food on the table.
And now, as a result of my time in Chicago,
I am just beginning to sound the depths of a the pain of a lifetime of injury and neglect so that I might become more of who I am beyond the grief.
And to remind myself that “Troubles keep us in continuous exercise and reminders of providence (as waves in a storm at sea)” This is the meaning of the symbol of waves I used in my Coat of Arms for my final project. For I too have discovered that, despite “not knowing what (is) coming, but knowing I (don’t) want to resist Him.”
I’m coming to grips with what you so beautiful stated: “The ocean that once felt terrifying and ominous has slowly become a place where I know the presence of my Savior best.”
And that even here in the oceanless desert.
Thanks for sharing your journey and welcoming others in.
I am so glad that your life is now safer and that the space has opened up for your heart to feel and explore the depths of your ocean more. Blessings on you as you continue the journey.
As I sit here today, on Good Friday, and grieve for my neighbor that I was just informed had died last night; I find your story has spoken to me. I love how the Holy Spirit speaks to us in so many different ways. I listened to the Hillsong song and had a profound experience with Jesus too. Thanks for sharing.
Gayle, I am so sorry for the loss you were met with today. Grateful to know that God used my words and the music that has touched my heart to meet you in that grief.
Wow, you have put words to a profound truth. I also meet Jesus in the confluence of life and death and am always amazed at this mystery. Thank you for the gift of your words today.
Amazed at this mystery…me too Claudia.
“Today, death and resurrection are colliding, the cross and the empty tomb. Will you allow yourself to feel it? All of it?” I love your questions that invite us to experience Christ in the unlikeliest of places, in our deep grief and pain. Thank you for sharing those painful places and how Jesus is holding you there. Thank you for inviting me to experience Christ in my story. I love you, friend.
You are so welcome my friend. Sending you Easter blessings.
Tracy, Thank you so much for your words today. The timing is amazing but then why am I shocked at God’s timing:) Having just lost my brother and grieving deeply I have been able to experience meeting Jesus in a very powerful way through the depths of my emotion.. Having that process short circuited as you described is such a loss and one that I have experienced earlier in my life.Your words “I feel them deep inside; ache, grief, anticipation, goodness and celebrating often colliding and washing into one another. It can feel overwhelming, that ocean of emotions, sometimes feeling stormy and frightening.” resonates in so many ways.Again I amazed that in preparation for the upcoming journey that our assignment of reading Matthew 14:22-32 is such a great reminder that Jesus has it all under control, will I grab his hand and truely trust or will I choose to doubt and sink. I love that. I like your challenge to allow ourselves to feel all of the cross and tomb and what that entails. Thank you.
Cindy, I ache with you for the loss of your brother and how it is to be holding that this weekend. I pray you feel Jesus’ hand holding yours tightly.
O, Tracy! This is stunning. What a beautiful illustration of death colliding with life.
Thank you Tina.