It’s Friday. The most special Friday of the year. But also the hardest, most emotional, beautiful and unreachable. Normally I would spend this day at school and then go to church in the evening. I even spend it once walking the Camino to Santiago de Compostella. Tonight I sat in a green garden somewhere in Kampala and the image of broken flowers came to me.

I wrote about being alone this week. I used the image of a single flower that just dropped down from the sky while I walked from the kitchen to my own little house. I saw it fall and being caught by a big green leaf. It fell, but it didn’t crash.

But some many of these flowers fall down on the path and are trampled by the people walking by. Rejected and swept away the next morning. So after I came home from the simple service with bread, wine, songs and scripture, I picked up a few of these flowers and just held them in my hand. Slowly the deep understanding of Good Friday touched me heart again.

Jesus says: “I gave my life. I was rejected, trampled upon, swept away and forgotten. So you can bear fruit and live life everlasting.”