I attempted to write this candid play by play from the garden where Jesus was buried and miraculously resurrected, but for all the unbelievable, life-cracking truth in it all, I flicked the creative IV drip and it just wasn't happenin'. 

The prepared aloes and the scents of myrrh, the rock that rolled away, the strips of lonely linen, barren and forgotten after He rose.

All of the details are so beautiful, so attesting of His glory.

Jesus Christ was raised on earth, then lifted back into heaven and seated with honour in His rightful place at the right hand of God the Father. 

But what I actually never understood or truly took hold of about Easter, before this year really, was what we were given after His absence, the Holy Spirit.

I always thought He was this mysterious wind, this unknowable character that seemed super spooky. The words Holy Spirit would only rattle about in my head visuals of this distant, third place, dark corner deity who got the least amount of airtime.

But if I jogged a line from that moment in history to this one, to this day, it sparks with life because of His presence with us, in us.

In me. 

The story didn't end after death and three days and ascension, but God's presence remained on the earth through His Spirit.

He remained so that in this day, in this city, I could wake and walk in what Jesus gave us in the aftermath of the cross, the fury of breathe that is the Holy Spirit alive in me, abiding in me.

His presence working over my dry bones and sunken scar tissue, over walls of cracked cement and busted light fixtures, to turn it all back to Him.

He is the prodding and the pedal and the push that invigorates myself towards the Trinity.

He rummages for the salvageable and shows me where to shovel what's decomposing.

He keeps me company in the quiet, unbroken morning, reminding me of our rhythm. 

He uncovers, in the truest timing, knowledge and truth, the climbing holes for my hands.

He spills His anointing over my head, soaking me entirely.

I wouldn't have had Him if Golgotha hadn't had Jesus, if our sin wouldn't have been bore upon Him.

I wouldn't have this promise, "I am with you always, even to the end of the age." from Matthew 28:20, if death wasn't triumphed over.

So in the wake of weeping, we still have Him, His Spirit, in this life and for eternity.

Xo.