There has been a reticence to look at Ash Wednesday for the last 23 years, at all. It represented the only real absolute hope that I could look to. I saw it as a mark of the fact that my boy didn't rise. I would surely go to the grave and he was not coming back to me. What is after, is faith; but death, is sure. This Ash Wednesday, I am rejoicing that my children are around me and I do believe in the Resurrection. The dust on my forehead is not the end, but the beginning. I am remembering the blindness of deep grief and the comfort that God doesn't give up on the unbelieving.
I do believe that my Redeemer lives and that He shall stand in the latter day upon the earth.
I am celebrating the silence of hope!
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