Have you ever experienced a devestating loss and then watched the rest of the world just keep on going? Have you ever wanted to scream at people to wake up and take notice of your pain? Have you ever stood by the grave of broken promises and broken dreams? Have you tried to pick up the pieces of a shattered life?

That is what makes today holy.

Honestly, for many of us this day between Good Friday and Easter is just a day that we pass through without much thought. At a church I once worked at, we would hold services every day of Holy Week, except today. Today–Saturday–was just another day on our calendar. A time to do laundry, to dye some eggs, to get a workout in, to run some errands, to purchase the Easter ham. It was just another day. In doing so, we distract ourselves from feeling the excruciating pain today brings.

There is no scripture lesson to read today.

But today is a holy day.

Today is the day to cry out to God over the failed dreams of life. To weep over the college rejection letter. To weep over the broken marriage. To weep over the struggle of infertility. To weep over the relapse. To weep over the empty house. To weep over the cold pillow in the bed next to you. To weep under the cloud of depression. To weep over the dreamed future that met the crushing reality. To weep over the inconsolable longing deep within that has been never satisfied.

With two melanomas and four surgies, I have probably undergone 20+ biopsies in my life. You would think, by now, I would master the process of waiting for the pathology reports. But every time, the in-between time is the worst. Your brain runs to all the possible scenarios; your fears creep up on you. However, you know better. You try to play it stoicly. You keep your coffee meetings, while anxiously glancing at your phone waiting for the doctor’s call. You plod through the day; you go through the motions. Rather than letting the pain seep in, you make yourself numb.

For Mary Magdalene and the women at the tomb, for Peter and the other disciples, today was a day of excruciating loss. I always wonder what they did today. Did they wipe away their tears and go home? Did they force themselves to go to the Synagogue for the Sabbath? Did they wonder if they had just wasted the past three years of their lives. Did they wait patiently? Did they weep over the death of a friend? Did they weep over the death of His promises.

Don’t miss that today is a holy day.

Today is the Holy Day for those of us whose lives have not gone as we planned.

Where have you felt the sting of death? Have you numbed yourself to it?