Holy Week just ended. And if I’m honest, I’m still holding my breath. The emotional swing between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday is not for the faint of heart. One moment you’re standing at the foot of the cross, heartbroken and confused, and the next, you're trying to comprehend an empty tomb, wondering if joy could ever really rise from that much sorrow.
This year, I couldn’t stop thinking about the women in Mark 16:1. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome. They weren’t just supporting characters in the resurrection story; they were the ones who showed up. After the brutal crucifixion. After the sky went dark. After hope seemed buried beneath a stone. When the dust of despair still lingered in the air, these women packed spices and headed to the tomb.
And that wrecked me.
