Lent 2025 Day 40: Holy Saturday – The Waiting Between

“...I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?”

— Mary Oliver

Because it’s Satur-whatever-day, I’ve been reflecting. Not day drinking—okay, maybe a 9am mimosa counts, but it’s a holy weekend so let’s call it a sacred libation.

I remember awhile back, I was at my friend's place fixing their busted kitchen faucet because, well, if I didn’t, water was going to explode from the top handle like a scene out of a bad sitcom. And, I probably wouldn’t have been there to witness it, unfortunately. However, I knew the chaos was imminent. And I hate letting something be broken when it can be easily fixed.

But not everything can be easily fixed.

We live in a culture of planned obsolescence. Phones. Furniture. Relationships. People. Toss it when it’s worn out. Replace it when it gets complicated. Upgrade when it doesn’t serve you anymore. One friend once said to me, “Everything has an expiration date, Vangie.” That stuck with me. Milk has an expiration. Friendships, relationships, even this version of yourself—all eventually change, decay, transform, or dissolve.

One of the core tenets of Buddhism teaches that everything is impermanent. Transient. Inconstant. Or in one of my favorite underused words—evanescent. We forget how fleeting it all is. Until suddenly… we don’t.

Holy Saturday is this weird in-between day. The day after death but before resurrection. Jesus is in the tomb. Nobody knows what’s coming. That space between grief and hope? It’s uncomfortable. And yet… so familiar.

Maybe right now, we’re all in some kind of Holy Saturday. Mourning what’s lost. Questioning what’s next. Not knowing if the next chapter will even arrive. But we wait. We breathe. We keep going.

If what you’re doing right now brings you peace—do that. If it doesn’t, then ask yourself why. What’s keeping you from joy? What’s stopping you from becoming the best, truest version of yourself?

Mary Oliver asked, “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

I hope your answer is something bold. Something beautiful. Something unapologetically you.

Because here’s what I know: You are not broken. You are not behind. You are not too late. You are enough—right now, as you are. I see you. I love you.

The light in me sees, embraces, and amplifies the light in you.

Lenten Reflection: The Pause Between Death and Rebirth

“The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” – Lamentations 3:25–26 (NRSV)

Holy Saturday is a hinge. It asks us to sit with uncertainty, to resist the rush toward resolution. In this quiet middle space, we mourn, we rest, we listen. And in that stillness, something begins to stir.

🔹 What have I buried that is still asking to be resurrected?

🔹 What hope have I dared not name yet still quietly carry?

🔹 What version of myself am I ready to lay down—and what new self might rise?

You’ve made it 40 days. You’ve reflected. You’ve shown up. You’ve told the truth. And now?

Rest. Let the tomb stay shut a little longer. Let the silence speak.

Resurrection is coming. And you? You’re already being made new.

Namaste.

Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.

📖 More reflections at: flanneldiaries.com

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