Resetting After 691 Days

Because faith wasn't ever meant to be measured by our success. We learn this heading into Holy Week -- faith isn't about proving our devotion, but about rediscovering God's.

There is a Japanese proverb:

“Fall down seven times, stand up eight.”

I think Japanese proverbs are highly underutilized when it comes to offering general wisdom and insight for living.

I thought of this proverb this past week as I reflected on the fact that four days ago I broke my 691-day Bible reading streak. That’s over two years wiped away in one day. If you’ve experienced something like this, you know that it’s a little bit demoralizing and that it can make you feel a bit like a failure.

Anyway, I like the Japanese proverb, too, because over the past two months I’ve dealt with Long Covid, pneumonia, extreme exhaustion, and Influenza B. I’ve fallen way more than seven times!

But today I get back up again, and finally — finally — I am feeling back to my old self.

And four days ago I broke my 691-day Bible reading streak, but today I am building back. Day 4. Starting over. Still here.

Building toward Holy Week

Now that I am back to feeling more like myself, I also remember that Holy Week is just two weeks away.

Holy Week is pretty fantastic in my opinion. It’s the time of year when time slows and there’s a feeling of dread, melancholy, antsiness, and excitement all rolled up into a week. It’s heavy and hopeful, slow and sacred, full of contradictions and grace.

But what it reveals more than anything else is the character of Jesus.

To understand that, we need to step back into the bigger story. Lent, the 40 days leading up to Easter, is modeled after Jesus’ time in the wilderness — where he fasted, was tempted, and faced silence and solitude (Matthew 4:1–11). It’s a time for us to prepare — to strip away distractions, reflect, and make space for the heartbreak and beauty of Holy Week.

(Sidenote: I have come quite far over the past year in this regard! See my post on The Color Purple from last year at this time.)

Here’s the snapshot of Holy Week:

On Palm Sunday (Matthew 21:1–11), Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on a donkey — not a warhorse or a chariot, but a humble, borrowed donkey. The crowd cheers, “Hosanna!” and lays down palm branches, not realizing the kind of King he truly is: not a conqueror, but a servant. Not a tyrant, but a suffering Messiah.

On Monday (Mark 11:12–19), Jesus returns to the temple and flips the tables of the money changers. It’s a jarring moment — a King not of violence, but of holy disruption. He calls out injustice in the very heart of religious life, declaring,

“My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations.” (Mark 11:17)

On Tuesday (Matthew 21–23), Jesus spends the day teaching in the temple. He tells parables that expose the hypocrisy of the religious elite, warns against spiritual pride, and reminds his followers that the greatest among them must be a servant. His words are sharp, compassionate, and unflinching.

On Wednesday (Matthew 26:6–16), the storm begins to gather. While Jesus is anointed with oil by a woman whose love and devotion will never be forgotten, Judas quietly meets with the chief priests to betray him. The contrast is stark — extravagant love on one side, betrayal brewing on the other.

By Maundy Thursday, things grow quieter, more intimate. Jesus gathers his disciples for a final meal (John 13). He breaks bread and pours wine — symbols of his body and blood — and offers them even to the one who will betray him. He kneels and washes their feet, including Judas’s. His love is not selective. His grace doesn’t flinch.

Then comes Good Friday (Luke 23). Jesus is arrested, beaten, mocked, crucified. His followers scatter. Peter denies him. The crowds turn. And yet, Jesus — bloodied and broken — utters these words:

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

In the face of brutal injustice, he chooses mercy.

On Holy Saturday, everything goes quiet. It is the day of waiting, of unanswered questions. A day of grief. And even here, Jesus descends into death — not to escape, but to be present with us in the silence. He doesn’t abandon us, not even in death.

And then, Easter Sunday (Matthew 28) comes. Not with fanfare or wrath, but with angels, tears, and an empty tomb. Jesus rises — not to punish those who failed him, but to restore them. To Mary in the garden, to the disciples behind locked doors, to Thomas who needed proof—he comes back with peace.

Jesus, Not the Streak

What strikes me in all of this is that Holy Week isn’t a highlight reel of faithfulness — it’s a week filled with failure.

The disciples, these same friends who had walked with Jesus for three years, who had heard his teachings and seen his miracles — they fall apart at the very moment things start to unravel.

In Gethsemane, Jesus is sweating blood, pleading with the Father, his soul “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Mark 14:34). He turns to his friends — his inner circle — and finds them asleep. Not once. Not twice.

Three times.

Three times!

Peter, who swore he’d never leave him — “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you!” (Mark 14:31) — crumbles when confronted by a servant girl in the courtyard. “I don’t know him,” he says. And again. And again. The rooster crows, and he weeps bitterly.

Thomas, after the resurrection, hears the news that Jesus is alive but can’t bring himself to believe it.

“Unless I see the nail marks... I will not believe.” (John 20:25)

The others abandon Jesus entirely, hiding behind locked doors in fear and shame. Not one of them held their streak.

In full transparency, thinking about all of their failures makes me feel way better about my own faux pas!

They are big, fat failures — and Jesus still shows up!

And he doesn’t come back with a list of who let him down or with a long lecture about loyalty. He doesn’t throw up his hands and say, “Forget it, I’ll find new disciples who actually get it!”

Instead, he walks right into the middle of their fear and declares,“Peace be with you!”

He lets Thomas reach out and touch his wounds — not to scold him for doubting, but to meet him in it. He builds a fire on the shore and cooks breakfast for Peter even though Peter likely thought he was unworthy to be fed by Jesus.

Jesus isn’t interested in perfect records. He’s not counting missed days or broken promises. Even though I am still recovering from feeling like a loser, Jesus never did — and still doesn’t — judge me because my Bible reading record reset to zero.

This is great news for you and me as we head into Holy Week! (Why is it good news for you, you ask? Because, I’m sorry to say, but you will mess up at some point, too!)

An Attempt to Sum This Up

So yes, I broke my Bible reading streak. But I’m still here. Still showing up. I hope you are, too!

“Fall down seven times, stand up eight.”

Holy Week is coming, friends! Get back up and get moving! His grace is all we need.

Let me end with a nice reminder from St. Therese of Lisieux, a 19th-century French nun:

"Do you realize that Jesus is there in the tabernacle expressly for you — for you alone? He burns with the desire to come into your heart."

So here’s to Day One — let’s begin again.

Much love,

💜 Laurie