He Rose… And I Rose With Him

There are seasons no one sees

where the breaking is silent,

where the cross is carried within, and the weight is not wood,but memory…

betrayal…

endurance.

I have walked through such a season.

A long Passion

where truth stood alone,

where love was tested,

and where I learned

that not every wound is meant to be understood…only surrendered.

But I do not call my suffering holy. I do not place it beside His. For what He carried 

was never His to deserve.

And yet…

He bore it.

Fully.

Without turning away.

And when He rose

it was not only from the grave,

but from everything

that tried to define Him by His suffering.

That is where I found my way back.

Not in the pain

but in the rising.

Not in what was done to me

but in what could no longer hold me.

Because resurrection is not loud. It does not argue.

It does not prove.

It simply stands

unchanged,

unshaken,

undefeated.

He rose in glory.

I rise in grace.

And in that difference,

I find my strength

not to compare,

but to believe.

That what was broken in me

did not end me.

Because He rose…

and I rose with Him.