I laid out Lorabelle's outfit for Easter this afternoon. I just can't wait to see her in these sweet clothes.
But you know.... it's not about the clothes.
It's about the life given for those so unworthy. It's about the rolling back of that stone to empty tomb. It's about hands raised high in praise to the Father. It's about resurrection. Life saving, life giving, totally undeserved resurrection.
The other day, I was thinking about how much I love my daughter and adore everything she does. I tell her about a thousand times a day how cute and beautiful and awesome and adorable and sweet and wonderful she is. She's dressed up, she's cute... she's naked, even cuter. Her hair is sticking up... adorable. Her fake cough- the cutest. Her ma ma and da da's amaze me. Her smiles, oh her smiles.... And it hit me, this is how my Heavenly Father feels about ME. He adores me. He tells me a thousand times a day that He loves me. He wakes me up each morning with a beautiful sunrise and puts me to bed with breathtaking sunsets.
Romans 8: 15 The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”
He has taken me in as his daughter and asks me to call to Him... Abba, Father. And He reminds me daily, how wonderful it is to be a child of the King.
My heart has been heavy all day, heavy with the gravity of the sacrifice. Heavy for the suffering endured for me. Heavy with blood spilled to wash away my sins. Heavy with a mother's hurt for watching her Son breathe his last.
Since holding my own son as he passed away, the Crucifixion has taken on a whole other dimension of sadness to me. Thinking about Mary watching her Son, not quickly slipping away as Hank, but being beaten, tortured, spit on, mocked, pleading for mercy for His accusers...... well that's just almost too much to bear. I imagine Mary standing there, each injury, each insult, a knife to her own heart. And when it's over, I imagine her very much wanting to be placed in that tomb with Him, her heart so heavy with grief. And as we break bread on Sunday and I think about His body broken for me, I will be a mess. I'll be fighting tears as we take the cup, the blood that represents grace beyond what I can comprehend. Because for the life of me..... I don't deserve it. And then, I will lift my voice in praise to the Father whose mercies never end.
Luke 24: 1-8
Jesus Has Risen
On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. 5 In
their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but
the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: 7 ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” 8 Then they remembered his words.
