We talk about Good Friday—the suffering, the sacrifice, the cross.
We celebrate Easter—the victory, the empty tomb, the miracle.
But what about the day in between?
The silent day after death.
The day when nothing seems to move.
The day when heaven feels quiet, and grief is loud.
I know of a day after. The day after my Sydney died.
I wish I could tell you exactly what happened that day, but I can’t.
Everything was a blur.
Like I was floating outside of my own life.
Like I was watching someone else’s story unfold.
It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel possible … survivable. Like being in a fog so thick, you can’t see forward, and you can’t quite grasp what’s behind you either.
You just … exist. That was my day after.
Today, I found myself thinking about Mary. The day after her son died. She had watched Him suffer as he was beaten and carried to the cross. She saw the blood and watched His last breath. Her son.
And now … silence. No resurrection yet. No visible victory. Just the unbearable weight of what she had witnessed. And yet—she knew. She knew who He was. She knew the promise. She knew the obedience.
Still, her mama’s heart had to be shattered.
That tension. I know that tension, because I lived it. I know what it is to walk through something so horrific and deeply wrong—losing a child—and at the very same time, hold onto a truth that brings peace.
My daughter is not lost.
To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. 2 Corinthians 5:8
She is in heaven. With Jesus. Surrounded by angels. Whole. Restored. Alive in ways I cannot yet fully comprehend.
How can both things be true at once? How can sorrow and peace sit in the same heart? How can pain and joy coexist? And yet they do.
That is the mystery of this in-between place.
The place where we ache, but believe. Where we mourn but trust. Where we feel the crushing weight of loss, yet the steady whisper of eternity.
Today, the Holy Spirit reminded me of an acronym He gave me once while I was prayer journaling
HOPE. Not just a word we say or something we reach for. But something defined:
H — His
O — Obedience
P — Promised
E — Eternity
Jesus’ obedience through unimaginable suffering was not the end of the story.
He humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross! Philippians 2:8
It was the fulfillment of a promise. The promise that the grave would not hold and death would not win.The promise that eternity was secured for all who receive salvation. For Mary. For you and me. For my sweet Sydney.
Because I live, you also will live. John 14:19
Saturday didn’t look like victory. But Sunday was coming.
My daughter is not gone. She lives because of Mary’s son. And one day—because of HOPE—
I will see her again.
And so we will be with the Lord forever. 1 Thessalonians 4:17
