When I was a child I wondered why today was called "Good" Friday. To me, Jesus' death was sad, unfair, and horrible. My mind couldn't comprehend why killing Jesus, whom I loved, was a good thing. I don't know if I ever cried while reading or being read the story, but I remember distinctly one time when I was thinking about His death and I began to sob uncontrollably. I think I was maybe 8, but that detail is a little blurry. I was in the kitchen, and I doubled over by the cupboards and let out all my grief and confusion through my tears. My brother and sister were at a loss: why was I crying when He rose 3 days later? It's not like I didn't know what happened. But my parents understood, and they let me cry. I think that's why I understood why it's called "Good" Friday. Something clicked, and I sobbed not just for what Jesus went through, but because He did it for me. I understood that even though Easter is a day of great rejoicing, thanksgiving, and praise, Good Friday is just as miraculous.
excerpt from my journal entry on March 25, 2005
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