According to the calendar and my math skills, there are 15 days left until Easter Sunday. These days, Easter for most people means bunny rabbits and candy. But for those whose hope is not in this world, Easter means something else entirely.

Easter is a celebration of a miraculous historical event of Jesus defeating death and coming out of that tomb on a Sunday morning. Easter points to a day when all those who have hoped in Christ and in the power of His resurrection will also be raised up and see creation restores and hope made sight.

But until then we wait. We wait as those disciples waited after the tragic events of Good Friday. We wait, unsure of what to make of current events and all the chaos in the world. We also wait in a way different than those disciples because we know how their story turned out. We can read the stories in the gospels in through the lens of the resurrection and see what Jesus meant when He spoke of dying and being raised again. Those disciples didn’t have that luxury yet. They were still grieving and trying to figure out Jesus’ last words to them.

Waiting with uncertainty is uncomfortable. Not knowing what to expect makes the seconds turn to minutes, the minutes turn to hours, and the hours to days. But waiting with hope is better. It’s like watching a basketball game where you already know the final score and can endure when your team goes into a stretch where they fall behind. Waiting with hope is waiting with certainty.

As we approach another Easter, may we learn how to wait in hope, to wait in certainty, and to wait with expectancy.

Those of you with pets know how amazing it is that something so small can take up such a large part of your heart. Even though she’s been gone for nearly five years, I still miss my little Lucy and her comforting presence.

I’ve never thought of Peanut as a replacement for Lucy. There’s no replacing a cat like Lucy, both in terms of her loyalty and devotion as well as her feistiness and sometime grumpiness. Peanut doesn’t have a single mean bone in her entire feline body. She’s the epitome of gentle and calm. Yet I still miss that ol’ Lucy sometimes. It doesn’t make sense.

Grief doesn’t have to make sense. Even grief for pets. I’m here to tell you that it’s okay to be sad for those furry companions that you’ve lost and still miss. It’s okay to cry for them. I know I cried over that silly Lucy more than once.

At some point, you can still be sad but also be grateful for the time you had. You can miss that special pet but smile at the memories. And the best way to celebrate the life of a good pet is to find another — not to take the place of the one you lost but to be a place for all the love to go.

Technically, I don’t really have a bucket list since I’ve never actually committed anything in writing either by hand or by typing. I’m not really sure what I would put on an actual bucket list, but I do think I could come up with a dandy bucket list for people I want to see in concert.

Today, I came closer to checking one off of that list. I broke down and bought a ticket to see Tommy Emmanuel at the CMA Theater inside the Country Music Hall of Fame. It’s one of my favorite venues and the artist is one of the greatest living acoustic guitar players — if not THE greatest. If you’re not familiar with his abilities or output, I’d recommend going to Youtube and searching for any of the videos of him in concert. And then be prepared to pick the lower half of your jaw off the ground after. He’s that good.

That’s the good news. The bad news (if you want to call it that) is that the concert isn’t until September 24, or almost 6 full months away. Then again, it gives me something to look forward to down the road. So yay for music and yay for concerts.

I know it’s going to be a good day when I get the daily Wordle in three tries. I’d like to that I have a magical way with words, but more often, it ends up being a lucky guess.

On this one, I literally entered the first word I could think of that fit within the letters I already had. I honestly wasn’t expecting to get all the letters — one or two would have been nice. But it is a good feeling to see all the letters turning green. That never gets old.

I’m still hoping to get it in two tries. Maybe one day I’ll be fortunate enough to get it on the first try. Then I might just go out and buy a lottery ticket.

I don’t pretend to understand how grief works, but I do think I’m beginning to understand that grief is a normal process that looks different in each person. My way of grieving may not look like yours, but it is in no way lesser or greater. The part I love is that for those who have placed their hope in Christ, we do not grieve without hope or purpose. We know that Jesus redeems grief and that death no longer has the final word. But even knowing the end of the story and how He would soon raise Lazarus from the grave, He still grieved.

Grief and lament are a part of this life in a beautiful but broken world. But so is joy. And we can fully enter into a season of grief without exiting the sphere of joy. Both can coexist.

So I learned a thing recently that took a bit of the wind out of my proverbial sails. I was informed that my beloved Jeep will not be an antique at 25 years. According to what I was able to find through very reliable sources a.k.a Google, a car is not considered antique until it is at least 45 years old.

The good news is that my car is over 20 years old, making it a classic. Unfortunately, I was not aware of this when my car actually passed that milestone, so I was unable to celebrate appropriately or even cheer quietly to myself in my car when the momentous event happened.

The good news is that my car may be old (if not antique), but it still runs and gets me to all the places I want to go every day. I think it still looks good and I still have fun driving it. I have less fun these days filling it up at gas stations, but I’m thankful that I have the means.

Plus, my red Jeep has become my unofficial trademark. People associate me more and more with my car, which is fine by me. And one day, when my speedometer ever gets fixed, I will hit 400,000 miles and then I can celebrate.

I think this prayer expresses the desire of my heart as we approach Easter season. May it be your prayer as well:

“O Lord, this holy season of Lent is passing quickly. I entered into it with fear, but also with great expectations. I hoped for a great breakthrough, a powerful conversion, a real change of heart; I wanted Easter to be a day so full of light that not even a trace of darkness would be left in my soul.

But I know that you do not come to your people with thunder and lightning. Even St. Paul and St. Francis journeyed through much darkness before they could see your light. Let me be thankful for your gentle way. I know you are at work. I know you will not leave me alone. I know you are quickening me for Easter – but in a way fitting to my own history and my own temperament.

I pray that these last three weeks, in which you invite me to enter more fully into the mystery of your passion, will bring me a greater desire to follow you on the way that you create for me and to accept the cross that you give to me. Let me die to the desire to choose my own way and select my own desire. You do not want to make me a hero but a servant who loves you.

Be with me tomorrow and in the days to come, and let me experience your gentle presence. Amen” (Henri Nouwen, A Cry for Mercy: Prayers from the Genesee ).

“It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on. This isn’t the first time I have warned you, you know. If you use your freedom this way, you will not inherit God’s kingdom. But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely” (Galatians 5:19-23, The Message).

If you’ve lived long enough, you probably know by now that God’s ways are always the best ways.

“A person who cares nothing for praise or blame knows great inward peace….Praise does not make you holier than you are, nor blame more wicked. You are exactly what you are, and cannot ever be any better or worse than that, in the eyes of God. Attend to what is really within you, then, and you will not care what others say of you. People look at externals, but God looks at the heart. They weigh actions; God knows your intent….To feel no need of human support and assurance is a mark of inward confidence – of those who truly walk with God in their hearts” (Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ).

Ain’t that the truth. When you are free from the opinions of others and only care what God thinks about you, then you are truly free indeed. Then you no longer have to feel like you always need to defend or explain yourself or your actions. You no longer get upset when someone contradicts you. You no longer feel attacked when someone criticizes you.

To be sure, you don’t need to stand under abuse or abusive talk. You don’t have to stay in relationships where the other makes you feel small and trivial. But when you know your worth, then it ultimately doesn’t matter what anyone else says.

Those who are truly wise don’t mind being corrected. They always find a grain of truth in everything that is said to them, something that they can take away and take to heart. They know that who they are is not dependent on what others say but on what God has already said. They are the ones truly at peace.

This is very much a typical picture of Peanut. She’s usually reclined in a comfortable spot, covered by a blanket of some sort. She’s either getting ready to nap, napping, or just waking up from a nap. She leads a tough life.

Ahhh, the rewards of being small and cute. If you’re a cat, you get to do whatever you want whenever you want. All you do all day is eat and sleep. Plus people actually like you more if you are a bit on the plump side. And you never ever have to wake up early and drive a long way to work. I see no downside to any of that.

The only problem is that cats try to act tough and be thought of as ferocious, but it’s hard to scare people when you’re 10 pounds and fluffy. It’s hard to be intimidating when people keep picking you up and calling you nicknames like “Lil’ Kitty” and “Cutie Pie.” But then there are the naps and snacks, so I think I could put up with a lot for free food.