Good Friday

For a long time, Good Friday didn't mean anything more than the end of Lent to me.

Whatever trivial self sacrifice I had committed to in Sunday School was over.  Bring on the chocolate and fast food.  I knew that it was a day to remember Jesus dying on the cross, but the significance just didn't resonate with me.

I get it now.

I mean, I get it as much as I can this side of Heaven.  The sacrifice made to redeem me.  Someone who didn't deserve redemption.  I get a pit in my stomach thinking of Good Friday.  It must have been so awful.  Oh, but the joy of knowing Sunday is coming.  The tomb is empty, y'all.


My family has been saved from a lot.  

Each of us carrying our own battle wounds, regrets from past choices.  My babies were nearly forgotten, abandoned, lost.  There's been sickness and disease and broken hearts and through it all, He carried us through.  We found each other.  Redeemed.  The impossibleness of it is not lost on me.  I see it and I'm thankful.

We spent Good Friday morning at the Franciscan Renewal Center in Scottsdale.

It's one of the most peaceful and beautiful places I've been.  There are nuns in habits walking the grounds and gardens where people are scattered, deep in meditation.  I watched my rowdy, Southern babies chat with the nuns and explore the Prayer Labyrinth and thought, yup, I want to live here. 

I took the cooler temps and 15 minute rain shower as a sign that I could survive the Summer heat here.

Do you know how good a desert rain smells?  So good.  All the colors are instantly brighter after the plants get a little drink.  I love it here so, so much.

And then this happened:

Those kids slay me.  So stinking cute!