Tears for my friend

It's hard to concentrate too much this week. I'm writing with tears on my face.
 I keep thinking about Jesus dying.

 And how his friends, who said they loved him, fell asleep when he asked them to pray with him.

I get sleepy praying, too.

I keep picturing Jesus, when they came to arrest him. Honestly, I think I want him to run away. Or destroy all the soldiers with fire from Heaven.

I imagine Jesus accepting a kiss from his friend who betrayed him. A friend who said he loved him, and betrayed him with a kiss.

I think I might be that friend.
And now I'm crying harder.

Tomorrow is Good Friday. I grew up in the Catholic Church (yay, Pope Francis!) and I vividly remember Good Fridays when my sisters and I were little and we were taught to be silent from 12-3 PM. This is the time frame when Jesus was dying on the cross, and we were taught that it was a not a time  to be light-hear
ted and playful, but to be somber and and to mourn.

You'd think this would be a difficult task for a group of five giggly sisters, but I remember taking it seriously. I'm sure I never broke the silence when any certain sister tried to make me laugh. (cough..Stacie....cough.)

This year, I am especially feeling the import of Holy Week. The heaviness of it.
 I'm not sure why, but I'm not taking it in stride as just another week and tomorrow just another Friday.
Are you mourning, too?
 I am feeling the emotional upheaval of Jesus suffering and Jesus dying. For my sake and for your sake.
He did not deserve that.
I do deserve it, but he took it instead of me or you. And my heart is so troubled in me that I keep breaking down in tears.
Jesus,who I talk to everyday and who is my friend.
Jesus, who I love.
Being betrayed.
Being beaten, being whipped.
Being mocked.
Being tortuously killed.
Being forsaken by his Abba. 
Being buried in the ground.
Right now, I don't want to get up off the ground.
I can't wait for Sunday.