On what was possibly the least traditional Easter Sunday of my life, we moved plants around and dug beds until every muscle was sore, and then finished the day with Chinese food.
Sometimes it's good to break from routine.
The tradition is not the celebration and I was reminded of this early Sunday morning as I stared into the wide eyes of a five year old who asked me to connect the bunnies and eggs with Jesus on the cross.
And I could not. But I looked out at the crowd, more this Sunday than usual, and told them that because Jesus died for us, we celebrate. Our celebrations may look like baked ham and biscuits, or egg hunts and candy, or bunnies and chicks. Or they may look like dirty fingernails and wheelbarrows full of dirt and riding home from dinner with the windows down and the music turned up, holding hands.
And while Steve took the older ones and offered the cracker and the juice, I gathered the youngest ones around and I told them about the freedom. The freedom from sin that we all have now and the new life that is ours in Him.
Later, I searched for signs of life in the yard. I looked hard for bits of new life, poking up from the earth, seemingly back from the dead. It still amazes me how they always come back.
It still amazes me how He came back, for me.
I thought about it all day and, in the end, it made total sense- life is the celebration. Sunshine and spring rolls or hymns and ham- it's a heart full of freedom that makes a happy Easter.
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