We talk a lot about Friday—the cross, the suffering, the weight of it all.
And we celebrate Sunday—the miracle, the resurrection, the joy.

But what about Saturday?

That quiet, in-between space. The day after the heartbreak but before the breakthrough. There—in the waiting room of hope, grief, and wondering—the silence is loud. The outcome is unclear. And all you can do is wait.

Saturday is quiet. Heavy. Still. It’s the in-between we often overlook—because let’s be real: sitting in the middle is never comfortable.

And I get it. I’ve lived through more “Saturdays” than I can count.

When my marriage was unraveling, I begged God for clarity, for reconciliation, for peace. And for a long time, all I heard was… nothing. Then came the separation. The ache of waiting. The slow, heart-wrenching shift from maybe to final. Chiiiillllleeeeee, listen…that was a Saturday season if I’ve ever known one.

Now, years later, I’m walking through a new kind of waiting. I desire to be married again. I desire Godly partnership. And though I’ve prayed (oh, have I prayed), it hasn’t happened… yet.

Yeaaaaaaaaa….waiting is HARD.

There’s no pretty way to wrap it up.
It stretches your faith and exposes every impatient corner of your heart.

But I’ve come to believe something important: Saturday is where many of us live.

Regardless of the situation, we’re all standing in the middle—between what was and what will be, between loss and restoration, prayers and answers, ashes and beauty.

And even in the ache, I’ve learned this truth:
God is just as present in the pause as He is in the breakthrough. Because He is the Alpha and the Omega—our beginning and our end—He’s just as present in the middle.

He’s not waiting at the finish line, cheering us on from a distance. He’s sitting with us in the tension, the stillness, the questions.

The middle doesn’t scare Him. He’s not in a rush. He’s not thrown off by the silence. He’s fully present, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

Psalm 46:10 finds me often, usually right when I’m on the verge of growing weary:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

It doesn’t say understand everything.
It doesn’t say hustle your way to the answer.
It says Be still.

And stillness, I’m learning, is a holy kind of trust. It’s not passive. It’s surrender. It’s saying, “God, I don’t see the way forward, but I know You’re already ahead of me.”

Saturday seasons are where trust grows roots.
They’re the sacred space between what we prayed for and what has yet to unfold.

That’s the hope of Holy Saturday. That even in the not-yet, God is still at work.
That even when the tomb is sealed and the world seems quiet, resurrection is already on its way.

So if you’re there right now, in your own version of Saturday, I want you to know:
You’re not alone.
This middle part of your story—it matters.
It’s where faith is formed, where the whispers of hope begin to stir again.

It may feel like nothing’s happening, but friend, God is still writing.

And the good news?
It won’t stay Saturday forever.
Resurrection is coming.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,