According to my young idealistic twenty-something-year-old self-assessment, I was positive that the most challenging aspect of raising my two, twelve-months apart boys was getting them through the first years of their lives, protectively shielding their little eggshell heads, driven by the anguished sense that death could swoop them away at any moment.

Witnessing is telling the truth about your first-hand experience. It’s sharing intertwined small vignettes of authenticity, like a pearl necklace. Each bead of truth on its own might not be of great import but laced together, becomes a credible story to tell. Usually, the storytelling starts with a question asked, then the one who has witnessed the answers is inspired to share his/her experience. The pearls of answered questions ping one right after the other in the strength of their veritable purity.

I needed a straight up, talk to me face to face, direct, kitchen table conversation with God. An ask, an opportunity, a request, a plea has landed in my lap this last week that has the potential to turn my safely choreographed routine-driven life upside down. Bear with me as I back peddle.

Before we can rejoice in the Easter resurrection, we need to take a long look at betrayal, an experience that isn’t unique to the Apostle Peter, but an encounter through which we all have lived. How many times have you been wounded by a person or entity’s words or actions that felt like betrayal? Often this betrayal comes from a most cherished source, so it hurts exponentially more.