“Can you guys come visit us for Easter Break?”
It had been another rough year of battling my unrelenting chronic illness. But I had been feeling better recently, and this invitation to visit my brother and his family at Virginia Beach felt like a timely gift.
My husband didn’t hesitate, “Let’s do it.”
Four days before we left, my oldest son came down with the dreaded stomach bug.
“It’s okay!” We told ourselves. “We should still be able to go and have a good time.”
When the day of our departure rolled around, we were all happy, healthy, and excited for what felt like a long-overdue family adventure.
Or so we thought.
Not five minutes after arriving at our condo, my youngest vomited all over the sidewalk.
Still, our optimism didn’t wane. “He’ll bounce back quickly. We’ll wash our hands and pray no one else gets sick. We can still have a good time.”
But someone else did get sick.
Me.
After battling chronic illnesses that have mostly kept me bedbound for nearly 3 years, and losing several vacations to my debilitating symptoms, I found myself yet again, stuck in a dark bedroom with the ocean I so desperately wanted to sit next to, so close, yet so, so far away.
Because of my chronic illness, I don’t bounce back quickly from viruses. They take a lot out of me, and it can take me weeks to recover. My vacation had ended before it began.
My husband was the last man to succumb to the virus. By God’s grace, he managed to get us all home safely before his GI troubles began. Because of this, we didn’t get to celebrate the resurrection with our church family on Easter morning.
If you’ve been around for a little while, you’ll know that this same disappointing story has played out in our family for our last three Christmases. I’m not entirely sure my children know that holidays are supposed to be happy times.
Several days later, I was texting my friend, Kristen, about the incident.
“It wasn’t quite the dreamy beach vacation we were hoping for. But it’s OK!” I said in a desperate attempt to be optimistic. “Christ still rose from the dead. I’m just hoping next year will be different.”
She replied, “Oh Katie, that’s such a bummer! I know that seems small in the grand scheme of things, but it’s really sad to me!”
Her words comforted and convicted me.
I had been trying since returning home from our trip to put a positive spin on the experience, to look for the good, to find the silver lining.
But sometimes, we need to just let sad things be sad.
This was a sad Easter break. It was disappointing. It was discouraging. And quite frankly, after all our family has been through the past several years, it felt unfair.
I have no lesson to share at the end of this experience. I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know what God is trying to teach me or show me through this.
I wish I could say I clung to God in his Word and prayer during those long days, that I was optimistic and joyful in the face of these disheartening circumstances.
But I didn’t. And I wasn’t. I was too sick to think about much of anything.
I wish I could give you a list of silver linings that I found. But I don’t have one. I didn’t look for them. I don’t think God requires me to.
I imagine this is, to a lesser degree, similar to how the disciples felt on that silent Saturday in between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday over 2000 years ago. Disappointed. Discouraged. Defeated. Incapable of finding any good.
What I do know is that God cannot only handle my grief over this ruined vacation, but he also sympathizes with my sadness over it (Heb. 4:15). He is not frustrated with my struggle to see his goodness and purpose in the midst of these trials. He was there with me in that dark bedroom mere feet from the ocean, holding me close, weeping with me, even when I couldn’t feel it.
What I do know is that Jesus died on Good Friday to be resurrected on Easter Sunday to redeem, not only my sinful heart, but the moments of goodness and joy that have been stolen from me in this sinful and broken world. I know that because Jesus reversed death, he will one day reverse this miserable Easter break, and I will be all the better for it.
But if I can’t see that right now, if I can’t feel the joy that is coming. That’s ok. It’s ok to grieve what is broken, to feel misery over what is truly miserable. Not only is it ok, I would argue it’s an essential part of navigating this broken world with godly wisdom (Ecc. 7:2-4).
So for now, I will look back on this time and think, yes, that was sad. I never want to experience that again. I can’t see anything good in it, and I don’t understand why it happened.
But I still trust that God is good. And I know that he will work this wretched, miserable Easter vacation for my good, even though, at the moment, there doesn't appear to be anything good about it.
And for now, knowing that is enough.
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