It’s Wednesday of Holy Week, and while I’ve thought much about the fact that I’ll be attending church on Sunday, the rest of the week has been slipping by. Until today.

The thought crossed my mind earlier to abandon social media for the remainder of the week since people are beginning to chatter about their Holy Week plans. Choir rehearsals. Maundy Thursday services. Good Friday services. Easter with the family.

I’m passing the days of this week by trying to keep up with my kids’ ballgames, cheer and softball practices, and music lesson.

I keep forgetting it’s Holy Week. And, honestly, I’d rather forget.

There are no choir rehearsals this year. No services to attend.

Oh, of course, I could pop in to a church and attend a mid-week service somewhere; but, I won’t.

I finally requested to be removed from communication from the church where we are still members. The tears came unexpectedly as I sent the email. I’m not quite sure why.

Maybe I’m feeling a bit nostalgic…or just longing for something that feels a bit like home. If I were still attending, I’d be in choir rehearsal this evening, and singing in the Thursday evening/Friday noon Remembrance services. And to be quite blunt, I always hated those services. The darkness, the silence and the somber mood of the music always bothered me.

However, I’ve become quite familiar with darkness, silence and somber moods over the last eight months. Ironically, those are the times when God has spoken loudest and most clearly: You are loved.

Grace never misses an opportunity.

Even this week, as I try to push Holy Week from my mind and focus on the tasks at hand, grace shows up: in a friend’s prayer; in unexpected emails, messages and phone calls; in the music of Mozart, Bach and Handel.

As I choke back the tears that threaten to fall, I find comfort in knowing that grace breaks in to the hard days…the sad days…the dark days…the silent days…the dying days.

Grace to drink the bitter cup.