(Editor’s note: As we enter Holy Week, we’re holding space for the parts of the story that feel unresolved — the places where loss lingers and hope is hard to see. These reflections by our CSA staff invite us to pay attention to what God may be doing in the middle of it, not just after it.)
A couple of weeks ago, I attended the funeral of my dear friend Othell Miller. To say that his death was a shock is an understatement. Even writing that sentence still gives me chills.
I’m still baffled that one of my peers — someone I used to laugh with, joke with, dream with, cry with, praise with, fry fish with, and break bread with — could be taken from this earth at such a young age. After all, he was the same age as me. Moments like this force me to face a harsh reality: I’m not as young as I feel in my head, and my days are not as long as I assume.
One thing said during Othell’s funeral has stayed with me. The pastor shared that Othell “died empty,” unlike many people who go to the grave full. What he meant was that many of us leave this life carrying unrealized hopes and unfulfilled dreams. But Othell lived fully, and then poured that life back out into others.
He was an educator, an artist, a worshiper, a cyclist, a poet, a minister — and probably many more things I didn’t even know about. I left the service asking myself: Am I living a life where I am emptying myself, where I am fulfilling the purpose I’ve been called to each day?
I like to think I live in a similar way — that I follow my dreams and try to live life fully. But there are moments when those dreams feel deferred, when daily life brings disruption, distraction, and disappointment instead.
Realizing a dream is supposed to bring growth, rebirth, and fulfillment — a kind of resurrection. But what happens when the steps to get there feel lonely and uncertain?
I’m feeling that disruption in this season of my life. I recently moved across the country, and I’m grieving what was before. I’m grieving morning walks to my neighborhood bakery. I’m grieving my adjustable mattress. I’m grieving afternoon drives along the Pacific Coast Highway. I’m grieving the certainty of where my mail will go. And now, I’m grieving the loss of my friend.
In these moments, resurrection sometimes shows up in small ways — in memories that make me smile, in sunshine and warmth after the rain. But I’ll be honest: some days, those things aren’t enough.
Still, they are reminders. Reminders that alongside grief and hardship, there is also gratitude for the chance to pursue a full life, and for the grace to pour it out.
Avril Z. Speaks is an award-winning filmmaker, producer, and showrunner whose work spans narrative film, documentary, and television. With an MFA in Film Directing from Columbia University and a background in African American Studies and film from the University of Maryland and Howard University, Avril brings both academic rigor and creative vision to her storytelling. She has produced acclaimed projects such as Jinn (SXSW Special Jury Recognition, distributed by MGM/Orion Classics), African America (a South African film now on Netflix), and Dotty & Soul. Her work often explores themes of race, gender, and spirituality, and she is deeply committed to telling stories that foster connection, reflection, and change. She serves as Senior Program Director for the Storytellers Collective.
