A month of (Easter) Sundays

"But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

Treasuring things and pondering them in my heart is difficult for me. I'm a sharer. But as I reflected on my personal experiences with Easter yesterday, I realized that there is no way to share fully what I was experiencing without seeming to dishonor some people, or telling portions of other people's stories, which I have no right to do. Thus I will make this as brief and general as possible.

For as long as I can remember, I usually spend part of holidays or special dates looking back to what I was doing at the same time the year before, or the year before that, and sometimes I try to think back as far as I can just to see how my memory holds up.

Yesterday, I went back four years. Four years' of Easter Sundays.

Easter Sunday 2010: I stood onstage after church, watching people chat with friends, hug their family members, and I was intensely sad. Lonely. I knew something had to change. I craved that. That year, I'd written part of the drama that we used in that weekend's services. The first half was pretty much my life, as it was. The second half was my fantasy about how God could turn it around. He'd done it before, and I was confident that He'd do it again... in exactly the same way. And, yes, it'd be work, but eventually it'd be a tidy end to a messy story.

Of course, that's not what happened.

Easter Sunday 2011: I was separated, living in my RV, sitting through a painful church service, looking forward to a gathering at a friend's house, where there would be lots of fun and food and kids and noise, and I wouldn't have to think.

Easter Sunday 2012: I was almost a year out from my divorce. I had my first out-of-home job in a decade. I was a couple of weeks away from deciding to move to Austin. I felt jaded about the way reality plays out. I had pretty much checked out of the things that had brought me any kind of joy before. I was coasting, and that was on a good day.

Easter Sunday 2013: It was the day before my wedding. I was operating on little sleep due to my back, and having been up most of the night freaking out from pain and the mental fatigue that comes with sleep deprivation. James' brother and sister-in-law were here. We played Battlestar Galactica at my small group's Easter gathering. What a difference one little year made.

Easter Sunday 2014: Looked a lot like last year's, but without James' family being here. And zero back pain! What a difference ANOTHER year made.

Yesterday during church, I sat in the back of the auditorium, watching from behind the computer, trying to figure out why ProPresenter 5 hates me. I worshiped the same God and the same risen Jesus I'd worshiped four years earlier, but everything looked different. Different church family. Different friends. Different location. Different marriage. Different kid, even though she's technically the same kid (pre-teen stuff, you know). Completely different identity.

I didn't want a new identity. I wanted the majority of the life I loved, only tweaked. That wasn't what happened, both through the work of God and my own (good and poor) decisions.

Actually, yesterday I thought a lot about David, as in the King of Israel from the Old Testament. We have a lot in common. David was passionate to the point of absurdity. When he was excited, he wasn't just atwitter, he was "take off your clothes and leap and dance in your undies before God" excited. When he was grieved, he wasn't just sad, he was "you're insulting your troops with your selfish mourning; they saved your life, you ingrate" grieved. When he was attracted, he wasn't just passing-glance admiring; he was "send for the woman and have my way with her" attracted. Even though it was wrong. Even though she wasn't his to summon.

And besides the passion, here's where I think we're similar: When he got into trouble, he felt like he could fix it. He could manipulate, he could arrange things, he could act like a crazy person to throw off those whose attention he wanted to divert. Both of us could remember more often that turning things over to The Fixer is the better choice, but when you're in the habit of controlling, it's very difficult.

In the end, his saving grace and mine is believing in and loving a God who knows our hearts. David was what we, in the modern vernacular, would call a "hot mess." But when Jesus' dying moment was upon him, whom did he quote?  His ancestor David.

So, what have I learned over the past four years? God doesn't always show up like you expect him to, but he always shows up. In the meantime, be patient. You might think you have this, but odds are you don't. He is definitely prodigal with the second and third and fourth chances.

Also, I think I belong in the back of the auditorium from here on out. I learned that visible service sometimes leads to a feedback loop that feels a lot like a relationship with God, but is really just good, productive feelings which are enthusiastically encouraged and affirmed by others... also, those people start to feel like they know you, when they don't, and they expect things of you that I, personally, as a broken person, cannot possibly deliver.

And, finally, I find myself in the ridiculous position of being happier and more at peace than ever after a series of missteps and screw-ups and outrageous grace. I thank God that he knows my heart, and he knows my stories, and he loves me with all of it... and that he sent me a family who does the same.

Ultimately, Easter, the resurrection narrative, is all about hope for eternity. But it's also about hope for today. And tomorrow. And two weeks from Friday. The icing on this cake is something I appreciate completely.