The resurrection is hope.
Hope that the broken can be whole.
Hope that decimation is not the final chapter.
The resurrection is confidence.
My mind knows He can, but my heart doesn’t always know He will.
The resurrection is my assurance that the promises He has made to me bear the weight of His love – His active, working, persistent love.
I hold onto the guarantees that the resurrection has made to me.
That the ashes will bring forth beauty.
That my mourning will turn to joy.
That He will not leave well enough alone.
That He will not rest till I have been fully embraced by Love.
The resurrection whispers in the deathly quiet moments that I cannot, will not be left alone.
The resurrection screams above the fiercest battle that this is not forever.
This is not the end.
The resurrection is mine.
It is personal.
The power that raised Jesus holds me together.
It is for me.
I am not lost in the faceless masses.
I am not one of the many.
I did not accidentally get swept up in the flow.
I did not slip through the cracks.
He loves me on purpose.
He loves me without condition.
He loves me with a power big enough to conquer death.
He loves me more than I am unable to love Him.