But the thought of it also fills me with fear.
‘I want to show you I can look after your son’. But for most of our married life I have done precisely the opposite.
I want to say: ‘you can trust me with him. I’m no longer crazy’.
But whilst I’ve returned to normal: it’s normal Me. Which is still messed-up in hundreds of ways that aren’t anorexic.
I want to make it better.
I want to rewind to our wedding day and the speeches and the clinking glasses and the confidence and the hope. I want to take the bride aside and whisper, ‘Love him. Don’t do this. Don’t go back’.
I want to take what’s been and crush it and start anew.
But how many home-cooked meals does it take to make up for years of eating alone? How many hugs pierce a circle of ribs? How many sorries before you know you’re done?
I want to be forgiven. But I can’t make up for my own mistakes.
I want to hear ‘You’re my daughter and I love you’. But no matter how many times my husband, or his mum or my mum say it, it’s never enough.
I want to make it better. But I can’t.
Which is why tomorrow means Everything. Because not only does Jesus die – and with Him, the old me, with all she longs to undo. Jesus is also resurrected. Which means a fresh start – for me and all who come to Him.
The God who redeems the past.
The Saviour who pays for my mistakes.
The Lord who is enough – for all our needs, for all our sins, for all our regrets.