From a Word from Becky, my monthly newsletter to my readers
Dear friends,
Happy Easter! Our Church celebrates Easter with all its beautiful symbolism of new life: white fabric flows, trumpets blast, lights shine bright with hope. I don’t know about you, but it is very rare that my experience of Resurrection or new life looks, sounds, or feels like this.
Resurrection often happens in the quiet. It unfolds in the ordinary. The Resurrection often grows within us, slowly, steadily and without loudly making its presence known.
One of the most profound moments of the Resurrection for me happened sitting on the couch in my pajamas on a weekday night. Chris and I sat next to each other in silence, both exhausted from the days of walking our kids through grief, tending to our own, and attempting to maintain life’s other responsibilities. Our middle daughter, Abby, came around the corner. I prepared myself for another tearful conversation. She entered the living room, and I watched hesitantly to see what she needed.
As she approached, I saw and heard something so exquisite it took my breath away. Her smile. A glimmer of light in her eyes. She laughed. She began to tell us a story from her day. She radiated with joy. I soaked in the beauty of this daughter of ours. I felt awe-struck. I fought tears back as she laughed again. She finished telling us her story and then headed up to her room.
Chris and I looked at each other in stunned silence. Right there in our living room was the sound and sight of the Resurrection. Our daughter’s laugh had returned after months of it being stolen by grief. Resurrection happened in the ordinary, while sitting in pajamas at the end of an exhausting day.
I savor this moment still. It reminds me of how softly the Resurrection can appear in our lives. It echoes the way the disciples came to understand the Risen Christ was in their presence. Mary Magdelene experiences it in the early morning at the tomb. Peter, when he returns fishing. The disciples understand while gathered in a locked room. Other disciples understand as they walked the road to Emmaus.
Like the disciples, I was consumed by loss and grief and struggling to believe there could ever be another way. At some point, I was almost convinced hope was lost for good. Then that beautiful breathtaking sound of Abby’s laugh entered my ears and our home again and helped me cling to the possibility that new life would come not only for Abby, but for all of us.
New life has come. It comes in the sound of my children’s laughter that occurs on a frequent basis again. It comes in the ability to think clearly again after years of intense grief brain fog. It comes in the growing ability to trust the new life that is unfolding around me. It comes by being able to write words to you again.
I pray that this moment where Abby’s laugh returned offers you an ounce of hope to believe that new life will come for you, too. It will come in the quiet of the night, in the silence, in the ordinary. Maybe it will sound like a trumpet blasting or perhaps just the treasured sound of a loved one’s laugh that in its own way proclaims hope that blasts away darkness.
This Easter I invite all of us to pay attention within the ordinary of our lives. Are there small signs of the Resurrection emerging? Are there sounds that proclaim the presence of the Risen Christ?
May this Easter season help us all believe in the hope of new life the way the return of Abby’s laugh did for me. Let us continue to pray for Pope Francis and our Church as well. Know of my prayers for each of you!
Peace,
Becky
Photo by Solen Feyissa on Unsplash
Becky Eldredge
April 24, 2025