Easter 2015

Well, here we are. It’s Easter. It’s actually Easter, fifteen years into the twenty-first century. I am thirty-four years old and I just made some crap-tastic baskets for 3 kids who will snarf all that cheap candy before I can even say “first, breakfast!” And everyone will scramble into their best wrinkled polos or maxi skirts and there will be at least one screaming fight but we will make it to Sunday school mostly on time with grumbly smiles cause Jesus saves, y’all.

I don’t love the chaos of any holiday–or any given Sunday morning for that matter, especially the ones where my children are all jacked up on chocolate eggs.

But the hope that Easter brings and the promise that it fulfills makes this day my favorite above all other days.

You guys see all those people on Twitter who aren’t into reppin Christ on the daily but they’ve been nonstop pushing Jesus since Good Friday? Don’t roll your eyes at these yahoos! See them from another angle: we all get caught up in life’s messiness–but Easter is the season of hope and of new life. Without the cross WE WOULD HAVE NO HOPE. And, when stopping to contemplate said hope, tweeters get excited and share the Gospel, which is never a bad thing, amirite?

We all need to stop doing and running and worrying and anxietying all the time, and just be still and know. Easter is a perfect time for reflection.

Can you imagine a life without hope? If no matter how hard you studied, you knew you weren’t going to pass that test? No matter how much you busted your butt at work, you’d never even be considered for a promotion? No matter howany miles you ran or how many pounds you lifted, you’re still a fat ass in last place?

Can you imagine a life with no hope? Where we could work and strive and struggle to follow rules and pray prayers and it would all amount to nothing at all? Our biggest sacrifices and our greatest works and our best behavior are like filthy rags next to God’s holiness. We can’t even.

Our awesome God knew in all his infinite wisdom that we would, time and time again, fall short.

Enter the son of God. Now, Christmas is nice, but it’s just a little glimmer of light compared to the burning brilliance that is Jesus being very much not dead three days after He willingly have His life so that I–a weasly sinner–would maybe choose to follow Him.

That happened.

In all my wanderings and my questionings and my business and carelessness and selfishness, despite the many times of my life when I took off in a blatant full-out sprint from Him, HE KNEW ME AND LOVED ME STILL, enough to take my place and die  in a seriously painful and humiliating way.

On days where I’m feeling not-so-worth-much, this is a fact that can make the difference between an anguished, heavily-burdened soul and a strong, smiling, servant’s heart.

A wise Beth Moore once tweeted: “Jesus doesn’t just tolerate you. He doesn’t put you on probation to see how you pan out.”

This is good news, and not just for starving people in Africa or homeless vets in cities or orphans or cancer patients. This is good news for middle-aged businessmen tied up in conference calls and expense reports; for moms at Target losing their crap in the dressing room over jeans that don’t fit;  for ladies in tennis skirts eating chicken salad for lunch at fancy cafés; for old boys driving around in convertibles by day and chilling in their leather recliners by night; for thirty-four-year-old duck owners who may or may not spend a significant amount of time at night sitting on the floor of their rooms with their cheeks pressed up to cold windows just trying to get a handle on breathing and functioning; Jesus does not just tolerate us, (“oh you petty, spoiled Americans and all your ‘problems’. Quitcher whining! You’re educated and well-fed, you don’t need me.”) Jesus loves us all so unconditionally, to the point of sacrificing Himself for everything we could ever think of doing wrong.

Wherever you are in your life, wherever you are in the world, you were designed and created to love and to be loved by something way greater than yourself and I’m here to tell you, YOU ARE SO LOVED AND CARED FOR AND WORTH IT. That’s a promise we can always count on and a hope we can always cling to, and a love we can always celebrate or at least tweet about.


About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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