Good Friday

Notes on the Women of the Resurrection

TW: This post mentions miscarriage, please take care of yourself as you consider reading this piece.

I’ve been trying to find a way to start this post. For weeks, I knew I wanted to write something for Holy Week, but the words felt heavy. There’s too much to say, and yet nothing feels enough.

Cue the stacks of paper and notebooks with drafts and drafts of words. As I sipped tea two days ago, I noticed the calendar on our fridge. This year, Easter Sunday falls on April 20. I immediately took a breath and paused; everything in my body paused for a second.

I can sense the weight of grief as if it were April 20 of 2023, the weight of grief and the unexplainable grace that carried me through a dark season.

I’m no stranger to grief. My older brother died when I was 15, grief has always been a part of my story. At one point, you stop fighting and decide to let it in, you train your brain to function on autopilot.

However, when grief comes from the inside of your being, it changes who you are.

My husband and I said goodbye to our first daughter on April 20, 2023. We walked into the hospital at 5 am, and I changed into a green gown. I remember the anesthesiologist sipping coffee while looking at his watch. My surgeon asked if we wanted to get fingerprints and whether the hospital would take care of her remains, or if we wanted to have a say on it.

In the weeks before that day, I was captivated by the women of the resurrection in a way I’d never been before. God prepared my heart and mind in ways I can’t explain.

“It was the day of Preparation, and the Sabbath was beginning. The women who had come with him from Galilee followed and saw the tomb and how his body was laid.” Luke 23:55 (ESV)

I kept thinking about these women at the tomb of Jesus, they chose to be in a place that broke them.

I would have run in the opposite direction.

I know it because I spent years running away from grief. Until April 20, 2023, God took me by the hand and said, “We’re going to stand in front of that thing that keeps haunting you, so you can realize that with Me there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

It was 3 am, and I sat in our living room, trying not to touch my belly. I didn’t want to remind myself that my baby girl’s body was lifeless.

“Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath, they rested according to the commandment.” Luke 23:56 (ESV)

I read that verse and told God I was jealous of these women, because they had the strength to be obedient and follow the Sabbath commandment.

I felt the Holy Spirit say, “You are a woman of the resurrection, because you get to choose rest.”

It was an invitation, one that I remember daily.

How do you choose rest when the pain is real, how do you let go when the dream feels so close?

Again, it’s an invitation, it’s the narrow path, it’s an act of obedience.

Friend, we are women of the resurrection.

Because of Jesus, we stand in front of the thing that looks like death, and we get to choose rest.

Go rest, the miracle won’t miss you—it was written for you.

Talk soon,

Stella