The Sorrow and Silence of Saturday

Thoughts on grief, sorrow, and waiting for the hope of Easter

Mar 30, 2024

Thoughts about sorrow, hope, and the day between Good Friday and Easter
Questions for you to consider
A prayer, or two

(Trigger warning: grief and loss of a child)

I stood in the middle of the store as a deep sense of satisfaction settled over me: That's the one—that's her Easter dress.

Three generations of girls gathered at the American Girl store in Chicago celebrating my mom's milestone birthday. It was a Saturday full of storytelling and laughter as we shared a fanciful meal filled with teacups and finger food. Imagination and giggles abounded as we gazed at display after display of dolls, clothes, and doll-sized salons—a perfect girly kind of day.

I'd been hunting for an Easter dress for my youngest daughter. She was five and still willing to wear the clothes I picked out for her. Her older teenage sister? Not quite so willing. Covered in purple flowers, her favorite color, the hope of spring was woven throughout the dress's fabric even as snow still covered the ground outside. Maybe I had succumbed to the retailer's marketing genius or was caught up in the magic of a little girl's dream store. Still, the longer I looked, the easier it became to picture my beautiful little girl twirling about in it Easter morning.

Amongst the busyness and chatter, I purchased the dress and its matching doll-sized companion without my littlest noticing. A few more hours of adventure passed until we tucked everyone inside the van and turned toward home. My little one declared it "the bestest day ever" as she drifted off to sleep.

Growing up, I often wondered about the significance of Good Friday and Easter. When I was little, I knew Easter was special, if only for the pretty dresses and decorated eggs. As I grew, I learned that Jesus died on Good Friday and rose again on Easter morning. Sometimes, it felt more like a grand story than a personal experience of wonder and joy. I began to long to embrace the promise Easter held. Little did I know how dear that promise would become.

An earlier Easter (I think? I mean, check out my dress)

A few days after "the bestest day ever" stormed in the worst day. Fire destroyed our home and ended my youngest daughter's life. Death crashed in, stared me right in the eye, and taunted me with despair. Instead of planning a day to color Easter eggs, I planned my daughter's funeral. The very dress I chose for her to wear on Easter morning became her burial clothing.

I felt death's sting to the core of my soul and tasted the bitterness of Good Friday anew that year through loss, brokenness, and hopelessness. The pain was real and deep and consuming. But as I pressed into the sorrow, I also realized there lay a tenderness within. The finality of Friday didn't last forever. A new day dawned, and with its arrival came the silence of Saturday.

Personally, I'm not fond of silence. With numerous kids and pets running around, my house had always been a lively one. But when my little girl died, deafening silence barged in, along with its companions of fear, uncertainty, and sorrow. I imagine much like the people felt after Jesus died.

I thought about that long-ago day, the day the world went silent. Hope for a conquering king lay buried alongside Jesus's body in the tomb. The disciples scattered, despair set in, and the waiting began. Would death have the final say?

I wondered if the disciples sat in the silence and remembered the stories Jesus told and the things he had done. Perhaps they remembered the miracles he performed, the lives he transformed, and the dead he had raised. For even on that long-ago Saturday, as his body lay silent in a tomb, his ministry had not ended. God was still at work.

What if God, in fact, did his greatest work when silence screamed loudest?

Could unheard hallelujahs resound in the silence as God's plan unfolded? Hopeful hallelujahs. Expectant hallelujahs. Was it possible that His presence is more tenderly known and keenly felt in the silence as the sounds of this world cease?

"And after the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was the sound of a gentle whisper." 1 Kings 19:12, NLT

The silence of Saturday birthed a waiting and longing deep in my mama's heart. God's mercy whispered to me in the darkest moments through the truth of the resurrection of his Son, Jesus. He met me in my sorrow and began to change my loss to gain. A promised glory slowly replaced my hopelessness, glory and strength for today, and a precious hope for tomorrow. He reminded me that while I might wait a thousand Saturdays, the silence will end one day, Easter will come, and Jesus will return.

In the stillness, I realized that while I may not get to see my little girl here on earth, her soul is very much alive (Matthew 22:32). One day, we will be reunited, never to be separated again. Why? Because of Jesus.

Jesus, the One who took on the sins of the world, the One who bore our shame, the One who willingly suffered and died in our place, the One who was buried but brought to life again, the One who conquered death once and for all.

"This vision is for a future time. It describes the end, and it will be fulfilled. It seems slow in coming; wait patiently, for it will surely take place. It will not be delayed." Habakkuk 2:3, NLT

So, as I sit in the silence of Saturday and wait, I continue to hear God's gentle whisper, wooing me near. In the silence of Saturday, I press into the depth of love he has for me, even to the point of death. In the silence of Saturday, I offer my own hallelujahs as I wait for the promise of Easter and the precious sight of my sweet girl dancing before the risen King.1

For you to ponder

Have you thought about the day between Good Friday and Easter? If so, what do you think?
Does silence encourage or discourage you? Why’s that?
Do you need to sit in silence and listen for God’s whisper of hope? If so, maybe do that, right now. Sit here, quietly, and wait on Him.

A prayer

Lord, there are many reading these words right now that separately need to hear Your whisper of hope in the silence of this day. For those carrying grief and broken hearts, be near (Psalm 34:18). For those sitting in worry and uncertainty at an unknown future, be near (John 16:33). For those sitting alone and lonely, be near (Isaiah 41:10). For those standing firm in Your truth, be near (2 Peter 1:10-12).

Thank you for Your love that is so much wider and deeper and expansive than we can imagine (Ephesians 3:18). Help us all to rest in it today (Matthew 11:28). For no matter what comes our way, we choose to believe that You are good, and Your love endures forever and ever (1 Chronicles 16:34). Amen