If Friday is devastation and pain, sorrow and confusion.

If Sunday is happiness and smiles, joy and promises-kept.

Saturday is questioning. Wondering. Searching and coming up empty.

Saturday is where I live.

I’d be willing to bet that you live in the Saturday, too.

That time of waiting. Wanting. Longing. And most of all, the time of






Friday we’re so overcome with the grief that it hasn’t all sunk in. But by Saturday hope is gone. Maybe we expected a miracle right after the devastation. Maybe they stood there waiting, minutes after He took His last breath, watching for Him to open His eyes and once again begin talking.

But He didn’t. Not then.

And they walked away, grief-filled with heavy hearts, all promises broken, every last hope gone.

I imagine they turned their heads every few steps as they walked away…thinking, what if? What if it’s just a few minutes more and then everything will be alright?

What if I misread the emails and texts, and imaged the whole thing?

What if the tests come back negative and it was all in my head?

What if the threat of being fired is just that, a threat?

It will all be alright.


But I imagine as they woke up the next morning with Him still dead, the weight in their chest only dug deeper and crushed any remaining hope.

It’s too late now.

My health is shot, it’s too late now.

They cheated on me. I can never trust again, it’s too late now.

I’m getting too old to safely have children, it’s too late now.

All hope dashed. Any last shred of…maybe…what if…just a few more minutes…


And at that point I believe the questioning set in. All the “whys” and “where were yous” and tears of yet another lie being told, another promise being broken.

I imagine they asked each other “what do we do now?” and “where do we go from here?”

They didn’t know Sunday was coming. They could only see the here and now: Saturday. Questions. Broken Promises.

That’s how I live. I see the here. I see the now. I see empty, broken shattered pieces of a heart spread bare lying on the floor, bleeding out.

And then I realize…

that’s my heart.

Broken and shattered. Bruised and empty. Torn from the love-lost and the dreams-unfulfilled and all the empty memories of plans laid out that disappeared and vanished.

Interesting, isn’t it, that His body was broken and bruised for me, for us, in ways that even we can’t imagine the pain?

I live the questions. I live the wondering why and God, how could you?! How could your plan be so evil and wrong? It’s all wrong, God. If I just could have had my way, God. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME???

The grief from Friday is slowly fading and in it’s place is a wrestling match of anger, frustration, and bitterness between me and God. Because my plan was better.

And then Sunday comes and I see that He knew all along.

His plan was right the whole way through.

Through the broken marriage.

Through the lost job.

Through the baby that dies too young.

Though your best friend leaving you in the dust.

Through a brain tumor.

He knew all along, and He knew best.

It never makes it easy. The journey is still just as hard, and the hurting painful deep sobs still just as real. But there is a place to rest your head, a Daddy to call to, cry to, weep to, yell to. A Daddy to simply hold you and wipe away the tears, take the yelling and fists pounded against His chest, and whisper back “wait for tomorrow. I loved you yesterday, I love you the same today, wait for tomorrow.”

Oh my God He will not delay, my refuge and strength always. I will not fear, His promise is true. My God will come through always. -Kristian Stanfill “Always”

Saturday isn’t easy. I’ve lived it for two years. I know many of you would raise your hand and say “Yes. That’s me. I live the Saturday.”

So I have one question for you. A simple question that doesn’t have the simplest of answers.

What do you do when you don’t know when, or how, Sunday could possibly come?

What do you do when Sunday might NEVER come on this side of Heaven?

It is a question I have wrestled with. I believe I will never have those friendships back. Love-lost for good. Love-lost until Heaven.

It sounds an eternity away. How am I to survive, afraid of lovenot believing in love, for the rest of my human life?

There is no easy answer. No easy button to push, no letter falling from the sky telling of how much longer I must wait.

Just simply that I wait.

Sunday is coming.