I think about her weeping at the empty tomb. Because haven't we all been there? Have we not all, at one point or another, been so consumed by unimaginable sorrow, that all we see is nothing? And so I think about her a lot. I picture her on her knees, face wet with tears, crying out, "Where is my God?"

And what gets me is this. HE WAS THERE.
He was right there.
But she was blinded by a grief so large that it wiped away all hope.
It removed Him from the picture.
Angels could not even convince her that something amazing was happening.

Not until He called her by name did she notice Him.

If only she had taken that one step further-one more step into the tomb-one more step into the nothingness-one more step into the hurt and the doubt; just one more step, and she would have seen and known.
I can see myself next to her, you know.
Begging to understand, "Where is my God?"

Because I have whispered that before, and not too long ago. I have asked in despair, "Where did you go?"  I have called out and heard nothing. No doubt, I have sat by the tomb and pushed aside angels while grasping for signs that have always been there.

And it is right here, in this place, that we are moved.
We are invited not to sit by the tomb, but rather to enter into it.
And it is scary.
And it feels lonely. And honestly, I don't know if I can.
But it is where He calls us to go.

[tweet "We are invited not to sit by the tomb but rather to enter into it. By @LauraMaryPhelps"]

Just one more step towards the tomb.

Where our stones are forever moved.
Where our blinded eyes are opened.
Where we see that the nothingness we feared entering is actually the everything we long for.

Copyright 2017 Laura M. Phelps