Easter, along with Good Friday, have taken on a new meaning since losing my sister. Suddenly the story of Jesus' sacrifice, his suffering and his miraculous resurrection are more relevant to me. I find now that I have a greater understanding for what took place and why it took place. And I find my own cry paralleling that of Jesus.

That night in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus was facing the close approaching reality of death. What an overwhelming reality to be contemplating on. And in his stress, in the blood sweat pouring out from him, the anxiety and pressure he was experiencing, he was alone. In the pitch black darkness of the garden, Jesus was fearful, weak, and overcome by hopelessness and loneliness, and in this all, his friends had forgotten him.

I cannot pretend to imagine the pain and torture, the suffocation, the dragging out of a life that occurred on the hill of Golgotha the place of "the skull." In Isaiah 52:24 Jesus' appearance on the cross is described. It says, "There were many that were appalled by him--his appearance was so disfigured beyond that of any human being and marred beyond any human likeness." By the time Jesus got nailed to the cross and they were done with torturing him, Jesus didn't even look human. Can anyone question the idea that Jesus, our Christ, has known suffering?

And in his suffering, he was alone. And in his suffering, he questioned God, calling out in a loud, desperate voice, "Eli, Eli, leme sabachthani?" ("My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"). There are so many times in my grief I have felt the absence of God, that I have felt friendless, felt utterly and completely alone. I too have voiced my own cries to God. Yet despite all these horrors, of brutality and isolation that Jesus went through, there was a promise of hope that lingered.

Death was not final. It was not the end. As the sun rose in the morning on the third day, history was made, and death was defeated. With Jesus' life and resurrection came the promise of new life, and the promise of eternal life. Death would no longer have the last and final word.

For me, this promise has made all the difference in my journey of grief, for I know that I will see Emilee again. I know that in all the nights I have shed tears, prayed and cried out to God, I was blindsided by the overwhelming reality of death, of the experience of feeling the finality of my loss. Easter is the time that reminds me to cling to this promise of hope, onto the light on the other side of this dark tunnel of grief. It is this day that I will choose to remember the promise given to those who grieve: "To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair" Isaiah 61:3.

That third day, God took Jesus' crown of thorns and replaced it with a crown of jewels. And he does the same for us. For all of us whether grieving, struggling, questioning, crying, running, doubting, or living, he wants to take our crown of thorns and give us a crown of jewels. A crown that marks us as children of God, children who belong to his eternal Kingdom.