It was Easter Sunday and my birthday. After the exhaustion of house cleaning, hosting various people in my apartment, preparations for celebrations, and little down time, on Easter morning I had it. I was supposed to be getting dressed, putting on make-up (so I’d look decent in those holiday photos), and otherwise getting ready. But there I still wearing my pajamas in a crumbled heap on my bed moaning, “I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it” over and over again.
Sarah, my best friend and roomie, walked into my room, surveyed the pathetic scene, and told me to get up. I told her that was simply out of the question. I threw my covers over my head and told her that I was going to stay in bed all day. She told me that I couldn’t because it was Easter and it was my birthday–and how often do those occur on the same day? I conceded that it had never happened before, but still refused to budge. I told her that I was tired, anxious, depressed, and unable to feel any emotion beyond catharsis. I couldn’t feign happiness today and I didn’t have the joy of the Lord despite His resurrection. It was true–I was living Good Friday over and over again. I told her as much.
Sarah replied, “Look, all these people came here to see you and celebrate with you. You can’t stay in bed all day.” I told her that I could stay in bed all day…and in fact, that’s what I intended to do. I’m so melodramatic.
She sighed and then quietly said something that would change my life. Not because it was very deep or profound, but because it was so honest. She said, “Sometimes you’ve got to get out of bed and show up. You just have to show up.”
“What if I cry or ruin everyone else’s day?” I asked with a whimper.
“Who cares? That’s their problem. If all you can do is show up, so what? At least you showed up,” she said.
I considered that for a moment, then said slowly, “You know that would be a great title for a chapter in the book I’ll write.” With that, I got out of bed, got dressed, and went on with my day, which was good, happy, and exhausting.
I got out of bed and showed up. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
Empty tombs and empty beds–gotta love Easter Sunday.