Content warning: miscarriage
Resurrection is messy. In my evangelical Christian upbringing, I learned that Easter is a time to celebrate, but I never heard anyone talk about the complexity of learning to hope again after death. This never occurred to me until I experienced death and resurrection within my own body.
A liminal space exists in which the lines between life and death are blurry, scary, and confusing. When Jesus appeared to the disciples, their initial reaction to his resurrected body was terror. Was he dead or alive or caught in some strange in-between place? If he was alive, was that supposed to suddenly erase the trauma they had endured when they witnessed his torture and death just days earlier? How do you celebrate life while your body carries the fresh scars of the death that preceded resurrection?
Early in my first pregnancy, I remember the intense anxiety of waiting for a week between appointments to find out if I had miscarried. I stood in the hospital parking lot with my husband when we got the call notifying us that the pregnancy was ending. As I grieved the loss of a life that had barely begun, we discovered days later that our baby was in fact alive and well. Now she is my 10 year old reminder that sometimes, miracles happen…
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