Finding Easter in the In-betweens

A couple weeks ago, we took Sam’s in-laws out to the Olympic Peninsula.

You know how it is when people come to visit from far away—you want to show them this place. Not just the postcard version, but the real thing. The moss. The water. The quiet that somehow feels older than you.

We stood out at Ruby Beach with the waves rolling in, those massive rocks rising up out of the water like they’ve always been there—and always will be.

And then we made our way into the Hoh Rain Forest.

If you’ve ever been there, you know… it doesn’t feel like you’re visiting. It feels like you’re the one being received.

Everything is green. Everything is still. And somewhere along the way, we taught them a new word:

Sasquatch.

Now… they didn’t just learn the word. They loved it.

From that point on, every trail, every turn, every shadow in the trees—

we were looking for Sasquatch.

And I started to notice something.

Not just about them.

About us.

How often we go looking for something big. Something dramatic. Something unmistakable.

Something we can point to and say—

“There it is.”

Proof.

Clarity.

Certainty.

We want Easter to be like that too.

A moment we can clearly identify.

A stone rolled away.

A risen Jesus standing right in front of us, unmistakable, undeniable.

But that’s not how the story begins.

It begins in a garden.

In tears.

In confusion.

In a space that feels a lot like standing out on a narrow stretch of land—

with water on both sides.

Not where you were.

Not yet where you’re going.

Just… in between.

And maybe that’s where some of us find ourselves this year.

Between what was…

and what could be.

Between a version of life we knew…

and one we’re not quite sure how to step into.

Between grief…

and something like hope.

Easter doesn’t rush that space.

It meets us there.

Not always in the ways we expect.

Not always in ways we can name right away.

Sometimes… we’re looking right at it—

and we don’t yet see it.

But something is already happening.

Something is already calling our name.