I find a sort of Resurrection eclipse every year.

Some years the flashlight that I take into the cave of my remorse is the "Stations of the Cross".
I have little difficulty remembering the sacrifice of Christ, any other time of the year except Easter. What an irony of that!
My God is so merciful to be patient with my peculiar season of unbelief coinciding with the celebration of the Resurrection by the Church. Some years, I want to miss church altogether, on that day. I feel like going up to the once a year Saints and telling them off. It is the "butinsky, West Indian" woman in my soul that gives vent in this season. Castigating sinners for their one use of the means of grace is a worse shame. My angry grief puts a hand on my mouth.
The Holy Spirit has reproved me, so gently, through the birth of my nephew, Stoney: The most recent grandbaby. 8 years after my baby Ezra was born. I have had a hard time prying myself out of my path of grief. Occasionally, one of these situations will come up, where I cannot find my bearings, in the celebration that my sins are forgiven as a result of the resurrection.
My baby's death on Easter Sunday, seems to dredge up the very putridest of sores in my soul. Every year, there is some cleaning of the wound that has become a habit.

This year,there is a greater season of hard thoughts of God. I must silence my words of unbelief and thank God! My salvation is not in question, but God's mercy, seems compromised to my soul. I trust the eternal payment for my sins, but there is a blinder, that questions the goodness of God to me, personally.

I usually shed this dead skin some time after Easter, in the meantime; I miss a wonderful opportunity to love God and enjoy His Resurrection celebration.

My sins, Oh the bliss of this glorious thought.
My sins, not in part, but the whole. Is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more!
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, Oh my soul!

I lay my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God;
He bears them all and frees us
From the accursed load.
I bring my guilt to Jesus,
To wash my crimson stains
White in His blood most precious,
Till not a spot remains.

I lay my wants on Jesus,
All fulness dwells in Him;
He heals all my diseases,
He doth my soul redeem.
I lay my griefs on Jesus,
My burdens and my cares;
He from them all releases,
He all my sorrow shares.

I rest my soul on Jesus,
This weary soul of mine;
His right hand me embraces,
I on His breast recline.
I love the name of Jesus,
Immanuel, Christ, the Lord;
Like fragrance on the breezes
His Name abroad is poured.

I long to be like Jesus,
Meek, loving, lowly, mild;
I long to be like Jesus,
The Father's Holy Child.
I long to be with Jesus,
Amid the heav'nly throng,
To sing with saints His praises,
To learn the angels' song.

The Explanation of the basics of Christ's work reminds me and takes me back to basics.Unbelief cries "why me?" The Stations take me to the place where I say-WHY HIM? HE FIRST LOVED ME?