The Morning Is Coming
Yesterday, I found myself saying something out loud that I think I’ve been feeling for a while:
Sometimes life feels like too much.
Not just busy.
Not just hard.
Heavy.
The kind of heavy that makes you seriously wonder how long you can keep carrying it.
I even found myself confessing a dream I've had about escaping, disappearing to a remote island with my husband, far away from responsibility, pressure and noise. Just peace. Just rest.
As I tried to explain it to my family, I cycled through words like anxiety, sadness, fear, stress….
each one touching part of it, but not the whole.
The closest I could get, the word that seemed to hold it all, was hopelessness.
The last month or so has brought some unexpected and deeply difficult things into our home, the kind that don’t have neat explanations and don’t resolve quickly.
So naturally, that weight has found its way into our conversations.
And then, somewhere in the middle of all of it, something small happened.
My daughter made those traditional Easter meringue cookies with the kids, the ones that walk through the story of the crucifixion and resurrection. You “beat” the pecans, add vinegar, eggs, salt (everything is symbolic) seal them in the oven overnight, and in the morning they’re hollow, symbolizing the empty tomb.
Except.… they did not turn out right.
And she tried twice.
Just a blobby, sticky mess.
It honestly felt like the perfect metaphor.
Because sometimes you follow the steps.
You do everything right.
You seal it up. You wait. You hope.
And in the morning….
it still looks like a mess.
But I told her, “Just drop them on the pan anyway. Trust it. They’ll still turn out fine.”
And as I said it, I realized I wasn’t just talking about cookies.
The Night Before the Morning
I started thinking about that night.... the real one.
The night before the Resurrection.
Everything looked lost.
Everything looked broken.
Everything looked like it had failed.
The Savior was gone.
And with Him, everything they had believed about what was supposed to happen.
Hope didn’t just feel distant, it felt misplaced.
Like they had trusted in something that hadn’t come to pass.
The future looked sealed in a tomb.
If I had sat in that moment, I don’t think I would have said,
“Just wait, morning is coming”
I would have said,
“It is over.”
And I don’t think I would have been alone in that.
And yet.… it wasn’t over!
Why Dost Thou Weep?
As evening settled on Easter Eve, I listened to a song that felt like it had been written for exactly the place my heart was in. The words washed over me and stayed there:
Why dost thou weep?
What is thy longing?
Why art thou cast down and turned from the light?
Lift up your eyes
Look for the morning
Wait, for the darkness is only the night
It felt like a conversation between heaven and the weary parts of my soul, a reminder whispered into the ache: don’t give up in the dark. The morning is already on its way!
The Depth of the Night
There is a truth we don’t always want to face:
Sometimes the night is long.
Sometimes it isn’t just inconvenience or discomfort, it is tribulation.
Real, stretching, soul-searching difficulty that presses against every part of you.
And the Lord does not pretend otherwise:
If you are called to pass through tribulation, if you are in perils among false brethren, if you are in perils among robbers, if you are in perils by land or by sea, if you are accused with all manner of false accusations…. if the very jaws of hell shall gape open her mouth wide after you, know, my son, that all these things shall give you experience and shall be for your good. The Son of Man has descended below them all. Are you greater than He?
, T&C 139:8
That question sits differently when you’re in the middle of it.
It's not a rebuke, but an anchor.
He knows this road.
Not in theory.
Not from a distance.
He has walked it deeper than any of us ever will.
You Are Not Alone
That realization changes everything.
Because it means this:
There is no darkness you are in that He doesn't understand.
No weight you're carrying that He hasn't already borne.
No moment where you are truly alone in it.
Even when it feels like the heavens are brass.
Even when it feels like you'll never receive an answer.
Even when nothing seems to change.
He is there, walking it with you, sustaining you in ways you won’t always see until later.
The Morning Is Coming
Yesterday I sat surrounded by family, children, grandchildren, little giggles filling the room, little hands helping in the kitchen, life unfolding in all its messy, beautiful fullness.
And I realized something:
I have so much to be grateful for.
Even in the middle of the hard.
Even in the middle of the questions.
Even in the middle of things that still feel unresolved.
Because the story is not finished in the night.
It never is.
The message of Easter is not that the night wasn’t real.
It’s that it wasn’t the end.
So if you are in a place where things feel broken.…
If you are carrying more than you feel able to hold….
If your “cookies” didn’t turn out the way you hoped….
Lift up your eyes.
Look for the morning.
Wait.
Because the darkness is only the night.
And the morning is coming.
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