I overslept the next day and missed a class. Lacey hadn’t bothered to wake me. Guess I deserved that. Hopefully we could both cool off and be friends again by the time I came back.
I walked numbly through the rest of my classes and through the motions of packing that afternoon. I let Phoebe do most of the talking on the drive to the airport. I thought I’d be able to let loose and cry once I was in the solitude of anonymity on the plane, but tears wouldn’t come. What was wrong with me?
When I landed, tears finally flowed at the sight of my family. Mom, Daddy, Kirsten and Ruthie had all come to pick me up. We went to dinner and cried and laughed as we shared our favorite anecdotes about Oma. The memorial service was a beautiful celebration of Oma’s life. It was the day before Easter, and the senior pastor at Blessed Redeemer made our resurrection hope the theme of his eulogy.
I couldn’t help but think of Ian. He had celebrated Passover back in Ohio. He’d explained the pagan roots of Easter to me. Were we offending God by celebrating on the wrong day, in the wrong way? Could we even be lost, unsaved because we weren’t worshiping God the right way? Maybe we were just fooling ourselves with this talk of resurrection hope.
All I knew is that I wanted to see my Oma again. Surely someone like her had to be in heaven with Jesus. I prayed God would show me the right way to believe and live so I could get there too.