At The End of The Day

I have been struggling with what to say all day.  How to say it.  Because I cannot go through Easter without at least saying, even to the internet, “He is Risen,” and waiting for “He is Risen, Indeed.”  But how to broach the subject.  I’m teetering on the edge of talking too much about my faith on my blog.  An edge that some would argue doesn’t exist.  Because it’s my blog and I can talk about what I want to talk about and if they don’t like it they can leave.

But I don’t want people to leave.  I know that I have very few followers and I’m accepting of that.  I know that blogging for me is more of a personal pursuit than a professional one right now, but I want to be able to cross that bridge someday and I don’t want a reputation of forcing religion on people when that transition happens.  I don’t force anyone to listen to me, but at the same time I cannot ignore a huge part of who I am because it’s inconvenient for my online persona.
Today I went to church.  This is nothing new for me.  I go to church every week.  But today was special.  Because today was a celebration of what God has done for us in sending His Son.  It’s a question of life or death that we get to choose to be either all-encompassing or non-existent.  There is no in-between however much society wants there to be one.
The passage that the sermon I heard this morning was based on (Mark 16:1-8) ends with Mary, Mary and Salome — a group of women who were followers of Jesus — fleeing the empty tomb in fear and not telling anyone about what happened because they were afraid.  The man they saw who told them Jesus had risen gave them direct orders to tell everyone, but they were so afraid they said nothing.  I don’t want to be that.  I am confident in my God and my faith, but at the end of the day I am still afraid to speak out.
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