This past week marked two great events in history: Easter of course, and the other, my mom’s birthday. God did something brilliant. And my mom knew it.
Just now, I stood looking out the window, squinting into the sun. After shaking the hair from my face as the wind from the open windows blew it gently into my eyes, I saw something amazing. There’s a tree across the street that has been staring towards our window all winter long, just like a corpse hopelessly seems to stare without seeing. Since we moved in, this tree, naked and lifeless, has stood there protesting against the gray sky as if quietly waiting. Today, as I look out, the tree is dancing. It’s branches are swaying to the music of the wind. Covered in a snow of white blossoms amidst a sea of new green leaves, it’s dancing. And as it does, it’s sending petals on the wind down the street. It seems to be sharing its beauty with the whole of Victoria Road as petals glide down the gutters and cover the ground around it.
Why do I celebrate Easter? Nope, not for the Cadbury eggs...(but that doesn’t mean I don’t take full advantage of them as they sit next to the cash register each spring). I celebrate Easter because more than 2,000 years ago my God, as flesh, took my place. As cause demands effect and as sin demands justice, Jesus accepts the worst death imaginable as punishment for the hurt and wrong I’ve done. Then, if that wasn’t enough, (and no, it wasn’t enough) Jesus defeated death! He shook off his mummy wrap and left his tomb. And if that wasn’t enough, (that’s right we’re still going here) my God did this so that I may have this same life that He now lives. A life that never dies! His living body ascended to heaven, but he sent his spirit to live within me. He offered and I accepted. I celebrate because He lives. He lives in me.
I (Jesus) came that you may have life and have it abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. (John 10:10-11)
Why do I celebrate my mom’s birthday? Because my mommy taught me this historic story. She didn’t teach it to me with just words, but with her life. Sometimes when she would talk about Jesus it sounded so corny and silly to me, but she had something, she lived and breathed something...I couldn’t put my finger on it...but I knew that it was something undeniably different and very much real. My mother had the abundant life that Jesus spoke about. She shared it with everyone she knew. It overflowed out of her. You could say that she introduced me to Jesus and I was very shy for a while and unsure of Him, but I couldn’t deny that He was absolutely real. She spoke to me about Him and I had to squint and push my hair out of my eyes. I could feel Him as she danced through life dropping petals even at the hardest of times.
This tree outside our front window reminded me of the life that Jesus gave me when I asked Him for it. It hangs on me like millions of pure white flower petals. It is whispered with every beat of my heart, and it dances with each windy breath. I must let the petals fall. There is an abundance for a reason. It comes from the giver of life Himself. Full life without end. I must share it too.
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