The Day Easter Became Real To Me

Every spring right before Easter, my grandmother (my father’s mother) used to say, “This is too pretty.” She’d close her eyes, refusing to look at yellow bells.

And dogwoods.

I’d beg her to please peek at the colors.

She wouldn’t do it. Maybe she had her own version of spring and wanted to keep it that way.

I’ve done the same thing about Easter–not with my eyes but with my heart. I get this uncomfortable feeling. Easter’s so deep and wide, it’s hard to think about.

Because Easter means a lot more than pretty pastels. 

Easter means The Cross.

What Jesus did for me. 

And I can’t pay Him back. Or even the score. 

My attempts to be good are like filthy rags. 

I can’t save myself.

Only by His death am I saved. 

He died for me. 

I’m tearing up right now remembering the day Easter became real to me. When the first person in my family died in 1983, I was afraid to look inside the casket. When I finally did, I saw my father’s 48-year-old freckled fingers, his bald head from radiation and chemo, and one emotion came over me.

I wasn’t expecting it.

Peace. 

This is not who my father is.  

This is an empty shell. An earthsuit. 

Daddy’s not here.

That July night, I stood in my back yard behind the house where I grew up.

I saw the most glorious sight I’d ever seen, as if God created new colors just for me. With my eyes wide open, I experienced a glimpse of His Power.

Because Jesus had been raised from the dead,

So had Daddy. 

Because He overcame death and sin,

We are free.

That’s what Easter means. 

This song expresses it beautifully. If you can’t see the video below, click here It’s so worth listening to!

Have you experienced Easter moments when heaven came to earth?

Love,

Julie

sunset *from Christian Photos. Net