We attended a small church in Kailua and have never loved any Lent or Easter as much as I did with this community.
I’ve never been to a church before or after that had more meaningful Holy Week services. Each year they put up a burned and beat up cross where the Christmas tree typically stood. The cross was truly an old rugged cross, a reminder of the season and all that Jesus would ultimately do for us.
On Easter morning the cross was covered in chicken wire and we were all invited to bring a flower from our gardens or we could even buy them. Before the service, we all attached our fresh or even paper flowers to the cross, a visual explosion of color representing new birth and joy.
Here’s a picture of me next to the cross the last Easter before the wreck. It’s hard looking at this beautiful cross and remembering what it was like to not have a headache, to not have so much extra weight from all of the medications, and to not be living where it’s hard to find flowers on Easter morning unless I pay for them.
But this picture also gives me hope for my eternal salvation and that I won’t have a headache. I have to hope because my faith is all about hope and joy and what I believe to be the rest of the story.