83. Peace

“I want to go to church on Sunday.”

It’s weird to hear these words spoken by Mom. She’s been doing better, and not just with the whole not-drinking thing. It’s like she’s started to warm up and have more life in her, just like the spring outside. I don’t know exactly where she is personally with God, but then again, I’m not exactly sure where I’m at. It’s a little like putting your feet in the water but staring out at the vast ocean, knowing there’s a million miles left to go.

“Okay, sure.”

“I just thought—since Sunday is Easter. Maybe we should go.”

I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

“Do you still go to the New Beginnings Church?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No, not exactly.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve gone to Springhill Baptist a few times with Kelsey.”

“Okay.”

Mom tells me to plan it and make sure I look up the right times. It doesn’t dawn on me until after I head for school that this might be against the rules, that the evil three might not like this. But I’ll just tell them that it’s part of my mom wanting something, and me going with the flow.

But deep down, if I’m to be honest, I really want to go.

I think it’ll be good for Mom. And yeah, for me, too.

It’s the second Sunday in April, and it’s warm outside with clear skies and the promise of a wonderful day. Mom looks pretty in a blue and yellow dress that I’ve never seen her wear. She tells me that she bought it recently with the Ann Taylor gift card I gave her on her birthday. I actually wear one of Uncle Robert’s ties along with khakis and a button-down shirt. It feels good to do this, to arrive at the small church and see a very surprised Kelsey along with her family before sitting down.

It feels good because it’s normal. It’s what other people do on Sundays.

But I think it also feels good because this is where we should be.

When the middle-aged balding preacher comes out and greets everybody, I find myself thankful that he doesn’t have highlighted hair and funky glasses. He’s got a nice Southern accent and a belly that looks like he enjoys Southern food.

“Jesus has risen!” he says in a way that doesn’t sound phony and doesn’t feel like he’s going to ask for money in the next breath.

We sing some songs and we pray and there’s a nice little portion of the service for kids. But it’s not until the preacher is almost finished that I suddenly become aware of something.

This whole thing. Easter and what it means.

I’ve heard it before. Dad sure made it a point that I heard it again and again after he found faith. This whole thing of Jesus rising from the dead, of the tomb being empty and all His desperate followers suddenly seeing the light again.

I feel a chill going through me when I hear the preacher talk about those people. How terrified they were. How lonely and abandoned they felt. How isolated.

How very Solitary.

This man they had believed in had died. And He didn’t die in some accidental way, but in an awful, brutal way in front of their very eyes.

Some of those closest to Him even denied they ever knew Him. Peter, the apostle Peter, cursed and swore he didn’t know Jesus.

Evil had won, right? The darkness suffocated the light, right?

Yet this day arrives, and the tomb is empty.

An angel tells the two Marys one simple thing. A simple thing that gives me goose bumps and makes me almost get teary-eyed.

“Don’t be afraid!”

Okay, maybe it does get me teary-eyed. The preacher says that the women were very frightened but filled with great joy.

He tells of Mary Magdalene crying and being asked who she’s crying about. Mary just thinks that it’s a gardener asking her, since she’s full of doubt and questions.

But then she finally opens her eyes to see.

It makes me think and wonder.

Who have I talked to before without fully seeing?

All these things that have happened in Solitary. To me and to others.

I’ve spent so much time running around trying to figure things out, and then trying to handle things on my own, and then trying to run away from everything. All while I could have just slowed down and opened my eyes to see.

Opened my eyes and heard the words “Peace be with you.”

That’s a phrase I’ve heard a bunch, but man—when I think of it now, it really sounds like something.

Peace.

There’s only one who can give you that.

I think of Uncle Robert and his anger.

Then I think of my father and his regret.

Both men have made their choices. But only one seems to have this peace that is talked about.

I believe this. I really honestly believe that the tomb was empty and these conversations happened. And that this peace is within my grasp.

As the preacher prays the final prayer and asks God to bless all of us, I pray my own little prayer silently.

Help me to see when You’re there helping me out even if I’m just too stupid or scared not to know. And help me to find peace. However I can, Jesus.