Gratitude From Easter Sunday

Easter

It’s Easter and the sun is bright in Kentucky.  It is the first warm day we have had in a while.  I rush around in the early morning, cinnamon rolls and ham and deviled eggs on the table, mimosas bubbling, baskets full of toys and chocolate for the children.  The time is never slow enough on Sundays.  I have hair to braid, sashes to tie, earrings, bows, tights.  Where is the other shoe?  Then there is the little man in his spring plaid, watching me throw on makeup with a skeptical eye.  I gather my babies together for a picture on the couch, while my husband rushes around, clearing the table in between photos.  Nobody will be still.  “Smile at the camera!”  I say about 50 times and give up, laughing.  We load the children in the car and rush back in the house to find the baskets and candy filled eggs.  I notice a spot on my dress. Oh well, the baby will be on my lap.  We are finally off, maybe we can make it on time today.

I glance at my beauties in the back seat. Thank You, Lord, for these people You have given me to spend my days with.  Thank You that You are with us, through these busy days and quieter ones that will eventually come, through the days of rejoicing and the days of struggle.  There is no trouble that can come our way that You have not overcome. You guide us with your counsel, and afterward You will take us into glory.  That’s the whole story.  You have given us the greatest gift: life now and life after death.  I am so often tempted to worry.  Why?! There are no days without You! There are no trials that You will not guide us through!  You are life.  There are no battles that we will fight alone, not even death.  Thank You for this Easter, for this resurrection day.

I reach over and grab my husband’s hand.  Thank You, Lord, for him.  Three times you have breathed life into our lives, through my broken body.  A man at church asks if this will be our last baby.  I smile.  Every day I wonder how we were so lucky to have any at all!  I count the number I have, not the number I imagine.  You have been good and You have been generous.

I stand on a hillside of fresh grass while a cute girl in pink gathers plastic eggs beside me.  We celebrate a Man who walked out of a grave.  A gruesome death spun a cute tradition.  You are life, You are new life.  How many mothers wept over their slaughtered sons in the year of Herod when You were born?  And now Your Spirit has spread across the world and I can spend today wiping chocolate from fat faces. This blessing, because You have risen.  This life, because You are alive.