Day 3: In The Wait: Holy Saturday

When my son’s international adoption became roadblocked with bureaucratic red tape, my husband and I were losing hope. Fast.

We had already met his home country’s detailed and specific requirements, ensuring the process was legal and ethical. But our consulate representative informed us in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t worth it – and that we should take this child back to the orphanage and head home.

Our hearts dropped. I burst into tears and maybe shouted some choice words.

How could this be?

There was nothing we could do but pray. And wait.

I wonder how defeated and depleted those who loved and knew Jesus must have felt after witnessing his brutal death. I can only imagine how the women who prepared Jesus for burial felt as they wept and gently, gingerly cared for his broken body.

Holy Saturday is an important (but easily forgotten) day in the Christian calendar that falls between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. It is a day of quiet reflection and preparation as we remember when His body lay in the tomb.

I think of Holy Saturday as an invitation to quietly linger in the mystery of God’s grace in our lives as we await the celebration of Christ’s resurrection. By God’s grace, our waiting during my son’s adoption process turned to celebration. A tiny sliver of hope for a brighter tomorrow was just enough to get us through a dark time. A miracle was coming – but we didn’t know it yet.

As we anticipate Easter, reflect on a time when you felt hopeless. What happened? Looking back, how did you experience God’s presence in your season of grief or waiting? If you are in a season of waiting in your parenting right now, remember that even when things seem bleak and you can’t see a way out, you are not – and have never been – alone.

Hope is on the horizon – can you feel it?

Breath Prayer:

Inhale: In all my waiting

Exhale: You are still near

Scripture: Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24; Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

Prayer:

O Lord, we rest in our humanity

And give thanks for the family

You have given us

Today we remember Your burial

And sit in the mystery.

We marvel at how You made a way

When all seemed lost.

We pray for our children, Lord.

On this day we once again

Reflect on our humanity—

On the frailty of life,

On the mystery of Your love,

On the great mutuality of

Journeying through life together.

Take this simple prayer

As we pray for our children.

May they hold space for sorrow

As well as hope.

May they hold space for pain

As well as healing.

Lord, may they know You

And seek You.

Lord, may they know Your time

Is not our time,

And in the fears of

What now? and How can we go on?

May they know You are near.

O Lord, may our children

Begin to fathom a love

Not bound by earth’s constraints

Of time and space.

May they feel Your presence

In the waiting.

May their lives on this planet

Be surrounded by those who love

them.

May they sense You in the unknowing.

May they know Your love

Traverses all things.

Help us hold on to the promise

That You are good,

That You are who You say You are,

Even when we can’t see You,

Even when we don’t know

What tomorrow brings.

(To Light Their Way, 156)