On the third day, He rose again.

One heart entangled in a chaotic stupor of trivial errors. Breathing every moment made for uncertainty.

Violent unbelief scares off a young man's dream. In a famine of sleep and loss of speech, the warm kiss of nature suddenly turns to a bloody wrath of the wind. Blank walls raised from miniature lies, when the ones you ate with on the same table becomes stranger as a foe. There you find the soil with utmost worth.

God's beautiful grace made sure that the skies cover this earth, for in moments that there's no more right left to see on all sides, you look up to the sky as tears remain in your face and will never fall down to the ground, until you feel it transform to a tiny river gushing forth from your weary eyes down to your pale face.

True, pain can make you numb. But life is never painless, take heart it is never joyless also. Enveloped emotions are rarely fruitful.

Losing hope is easy, just let go of your conscience and its a done deal. The good thing about hope is although you thought you lost it all, it chose to remain inside of you and would surely make a comeback not for your own glory but for your worth by virtue of a wooden cross. “Apart from me you can do nothing” such kind words from the lover of your soul.

You screwed up this life, big time, there's no turning the spotlight to you again, you had it all, the applause of your peers is but a silent stare. Everyone wonders how so much mud ended up on your face without anyone noticing. No one to point a finger to, even the mirror might turn its back on you. Where do you go?

Some people jumped to their death. Some took a bath with their own blood. Some smiled. Some knelt down. Some did the same thing, even worse. Some defended themselves. Some wrote blogs. But the solid truth is, most of them died. The remaining ones are yet to die.

Death, so tragic yet sweet. Ferocious yet silent. Death has his own time, but never on yours, it would never knock on your door to warn you and make you pack your bags. It doesn't come with a return address in case you still want to live an extra day. It's there, it sure is.

If there is one thing about death that mortals should learn to live with is that – IT IS NOT FINAL!

There is a second verse to your life song, there is a victory proclamation to your life service, there is a coat of comfort to your yoke-swollen shoulders, there is “well done” note to the servant from the Master. But let us not forget, there is also a fiery fire to blaze a life lived in the dark.

There is no safer time than now to read those words again “On the third day, He rose again”. Praise Him for the blood. Nothing else could make you whole again. No one else to lift your head again, None can compare to how He loved you. Not for who you are, but because of what He's done, not because of what you've done, but because of who He is.