Today is Good Friday, a sacred day in the Christian calendar and one that holds special significance for me and my family.
It was on Good Friday 17 years ago that my older brother Frank was injured in a motorbike accident that left him with paraplegia, unable to ever walk again. And it was on Good Friday, 15 years ago, that my youngest brother Peter ended his life after a long battle with mental illness. After Peter’s death, Frank joked that perhaps we should rename it Bad Friday.
Of course, we haven’t. Not because it doesn’t hold painful memories, but because at the heart of Good Friday—and the holy Easter season—is the most eternal message of hope. Hope that however large our loss, our grief will ease. Hope that no matter how raw our heart, it will heal—and that our life, while never the same, can be remade whole.
My family late 70s—pre the arrival of my sister Cath!
Of course, amid dark times, despair can knock hard on our door, tempting us to fall into self-pity, to blame, to rage at life, or cave to despair.
Why this? Why me? Why now? It’s not fair!
Nope, life is not fair. It’s why the times that wrench the hardest on your heart require you to sit with your sadness and nurse your aching heart—embracing the full spectrum of your humanity and letting go of expectations of how your life should be. Because amid the ashes of shattered dreams and broken expectations lie the seeds of new beginnings–
To put down deeper roots into the soil of our lives.
To blossom in new ways.
To grow into new dimensions of our own humanity,
And become present to the sacred that flows along the deeper stream of life.
It is no small task to surrender our well-laid plans and trust that every struggle and disappointment, in every hardship and heartache, lies a silent invitation to live more deeply and love more bravely.
Yet it is perhaps the ultimate act of courage to keep our hearts wide open the full spectrum of human emotions, however raw they make us feel.
As I wrote about in The Courage Gap while reflecting on my mums decline with dementia (p 86):
Attempting to cherry-pick the emotions we feel not only cuts us off from our full humanity but confines us to living in the middle octave of life where we risk arriving at life’s end with an unlived life still inside of us. We humans aren’t wired to embrace the low notes—those uncomfortable and painful emotions that trigger our deepest vulnerability. We’re wired for the exact opposite: to protect ourselves from pain. Yet the avoidance of suffering is a form of suffering.
We may not share the same faith, but whatever you believe, on this Good Friday, I hope you’ll be mindful of the reason for this Easter season and the message of the cross—to retain hope amid your heartache and keep faith despite your fear. Indeed, hope is risk that must be run.
Life is precious, it’s fragile and it’s finite.
So loosen your grip on how you think it ‘should’ be,
And stay open to what might yet become. When all is said and done, hope is a risk that must be run.
Sometimes the storms we think are ruining our path are really just revealing it.
Happy Easter and Live bravely!
Margie
