Scribed In Light

We talk about Friday.
We celebrate Sunday.

But Saturday…
Saturday is where most of us live.

The pause.
The breath held.
The moment where nothing makes sense yet.

I imagine that day wasn’t peaceful.
I imagine it was a quiet wrestling.

Faith on one side.
Fear on the other.

He was gone.
They had seen it.
They had felt it.

And yet… they had heard the promise.

So what do you do in that space?

Do you question?
Do you doubt?
Do you feel ashamed for even questioning?
Do you whisper, I believe… I think I believe… I want to believe?

I imagine they breathed through it.
I imagine many were on bended knee.
I imagine they encouraged one another.
I imagine their emotions fought their faith… and their faith fought back.

I imagine they were also destitute.
Horrified. Traumatized.
Trying to make sense of a tragic ending.

I imagine, too, that this is when mockery may have crept in.
Whispers from the crowd.
Questions meant to wound.
Doubts spoken out loud.

“Where is your hope now?”
“Where is your promise?”
“Where is the one you followed?”

Because open mockery can be discouraging.
It can make you question what you’re already wrestling to hold onto.
It can make faith feel fragile.
It can make you want to retreat… to shrink… to stay silent.

And yet…
that’s often when faith must stand the strongest.

When voices surround you.
When doubt presses in.
When it feels like everyone to the right and left is questioning what you believe.

To remain true.
To keep your focus forward.
To hold onto hope… even when it’s unpopular.

And in that moment…
their belief wasn’t just wrestling inside them —
it was being tested from the outside as well.

They didn’t yet have the balance of Sunday.
They didn’t yet have the understanding of the rise.

All they had was what they had witnessed…
the brutality…
the finality…
the loss.

Filled with pain.
Filled with anguish.
Filled with questions.

Saturday wasn’t just quiet.
It was heavy.

And yet… even there…
they were held.

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What happens between hope… and fulfillment?
What happens between the promise… and seeing it revealed?

That’s where faith is formed.

Because if there had been no Saturday…
no pause…
no breath held…

There would have been no need to hang on to hope.
No need to wrestle with doubt.
No need to believe before seeing.

He wasn’t there to see anymore.
He wasn’t there to hear anymore.
He wasn’t there to reach out and touch.

And yet… they still had the promise.

So they waited.
They breathed.
They held onto hope.

And in doing so…
they lived out what faith looks like.

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” — Hebrews 11:1

Sometimes… that’s all we’re left with.

Not the sight.
Not the hearing.
Not the touch.

Just faith.

Blind faith…
that something will come from our hope.
that something will rise from our belief.

And it’s stronger than we realize.

---

There’s something that happens when you lose sight.

When you can no longer see what you’re reaching for…
you start to question.
You start to falter.

Your other senses strain harder.
Your mind searches for reassurance.
Your heart looks for something to hold onto.

To have lost sight of Him…
to have lost His voice and guidance…
His calm assurance…

To no longer sit with Him,
talk with Him,
walk with Him,
follow Him…

And then… to leap blindly…

That’s a far greater task than most realize.

Because faith is one thing when you can see.
Faith is another when the path is unclear…
and you must step forward anyway.

---

It’s like sourdough.

We mix the starter.
We add the ingredients.
And eventually… we bake the loaf.

But what really determines the bread…
is the middle.

The stretching.
The folding.
The resting.
The tension created.
The strengthening within.

Rush it… and you get something dense.
Honor the middle… and it expands, develops, opens. It bakes into an artisan beauty.

I’ve seen a lot of loaves.
I’ve tasted a lot of sourdough.

They’re not all the same.

Some… you can tell time was invested.
Care was taken.
The middle was honored.

And they leave their mark.

Maybe a seasoned person of faith is like that.
Formed… not just by beginnings and endings…
but by everything that happened in between.

---

It reminded me of our family gathering.

Watching them pull into the driveway…
my heart filled.

Watching them leave…
my heart tugged again.

Very different emotions.
Both strong.
Both deep.

But the beauty…
was in the middle.

The cousins playing.
The laughter.
The deep conversations.
The quiet bonding below the surface.

A richness that can only be found… while tucked within the warm comforts of home.

We don’t get that often.
Our family is spread far apart.

And that shared middle…
that connection…
that time together…

That’s what sustains us.

That is what holds us together through the trenches.

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So a lot develops in that Saturday.
A lot develops in that pause.
A lot develops in the middle.

More than we even realize.

Because it’s there…
in the waiting…
in the wrestling…
in the quiet choosing to believe…

That something deeper is being formed.

Strength.
Trust.
Character.

Not what we proclaim…
but the truth of who we are.

And it all comes from the middle.
It all comes from the pause.

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And maybe this is especially important for us today.

We live in a society built on reaction.

Push a button… and something happens.
Click a link… and something appears.
Flip a switch… and the result is immediate.

Everything is fast.
Everything is instant.

So we rush.
We rush through our days.
We rush through our seasons.
We rush through our pauses.

And because of that…
we don’t always grasp how important the wait is.

We don’t always see how much develops in the middle.
How weighty, meaningful things are being formed.
How growth quietly takes root in the pause.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

Not everything meaningful happens instantly.

Some of the strongest parts of us…
are built slowly…
in the spaces we’re tempted to rush through.

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So maybe this Easter…
we don’t just celebrate Sunday.

Maybe we honor Saturday.

The pause.
The breath held.
The quiet wrestling.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

Because sometimes…
that’s where we are held the most.

A time to pause, and just be held.

A season of rest, self-reflection, and rejuvenation.

And maybe the middle…
isn’t something to rush through…

but something to grow through.

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With a gentle hug and a soft nudge forward…
May we slow down enough to notice the purpose in our pauses,
find strength in our Saturdays,
and allow the middle to shape us
into a kinder, wiser, more grounded version of ourselves.

Take a breath…
hold it…
and trust that even here…
you are being held…
you are being formed.

Sending encouragement through all the pauses along your journey of life…and hope— that your Easter holiday be a blessed one.

Hugs,

Tina N. Campbell
Scribed in Light