this is what we choose to celebrate, that Jesus is alive. that he died, that he rose, that he lives. it is not the easiest concept to grasp, even as someone who has loved for a long time. and it has proven faith testing to explain to a child the reasons why there needed to be a death in the first place. we talk a lot about sin in this family, about badness in our hearts, fits, temper tantrums, unforgiveness, unkindness...there can be a lot of that here. we talk about the sacrifice that was made because we are sinful by nature. and we rejoice because Jesus is alive. there are also prayers that Jesus would have a good night sleep in our hearts and proclamations that he is our hero.
so because of these things, we celebrate. we celebrate with family and friends. we celebrate that he came as a baby with the cross looming over him, that with every step he took and every word he spoke, he demanded our faithfulness because it was for us that he died. and this is love. pure love. not the love that we so easily speak of, but love that would see his death.
and we hunt for eggs, why, because i see no harm in play, but it is not the only way we celebrate. we rejoice with song, songs that make me cry as i can hear my dad singing them beside me as a child. i cry for the magnitude of the day. for the unloveliness in my own heart.
and at the end of the day, we pray, we offer what meager thanks we have. how can one really say thank you for a life that should have been our own. how can we even begin to understand. so quietly i say thank you and i pray that the Lord would know the bigness that i mean to offer. that his death would mean life for all his people.
