I planted peas today. It seemed like the right kind of thing to do on this day of waiting. Good Friday is done but Easter morning has not yet dawned. We know what will happen tomorrow but on the first Holy Saturday, they did not. For them, it was all over, with only a crushing grief left. For me, this day is often one of preparation, getting ready for worship in the morning, cooking, doing the laundry so all will be in order for tomorrow. I’ve done all that today, but I have also tried to hold on to some of the waiting, the suspended hope, the not-knowing. And the peas are part of that. They are buried in the ground, little yellow shriveled things, out of sight. And now I wait for them to sprout, for new life to emerge. I wait for this tiny resurrection – even as I wait to celebrate the Great Resurrection in the morning.