Ouch

Today feels like Good Friday. I always feel vaguely crappy on Good Friday.

I don't write that for effect, either; I really do. Do you?

I mean, it's not such a "good" day, is it? It basically stinks. Good for humanity, and the best thing ever to happen for me, I know, but still... Still.... Ouch. (Have I posted yet about Miles asking me, on Palm Sunday, "But WHY did Jesus have to die?" He's four, and even he knows something is wrong, wrong in the world when Jesus has to die.)

Anyway, I have this habit of remembering, on Good Friday, that I am one of the reasons Jesus accepted and endured a very bad time, right about this time, so many years ago. And I tend to walk around all day, somber and awed and relieved and all manner of good things but also... feeling vaguely crappy.

And, sure, the deeper emotions of the Easter event always lift me up by Sunday. We believers in Christ are called to rejoice, you know. But first comes this Good Friday feeling... inescapable, every year. I guess that's just the sort of ("doctrine of suffering," as someone I know would say) Christian I am. Really, I should view the feeling as useful this year, since my penchant for penitence should make my current bout of self-pity pale by comparison. And yes, it does. In my head. In my heart, however, I just feel bad for Jesus and sad for myself. Vaguely crappy all around.

I am having a hard day, friends. A sad, hard day. And the real Good Friday is a full 24 hours of contemplation, just around the corner.

(Sigh.) Thank goodness for Sunday!