Sunday's Coming

As I type, it is 10:27 at night. (The blog clock is off.) SM and the kids are gathered around the kitchen table, dying eggs. Some of the eggs are cracked; the only cups we could find are narrow and the eggs keep dropping back in the dye when someone tries to lift them out. No one's quite sure what color the dye is because the cups are dark plastic and are masking the true colors. And yet my three fuzzheads are having a ball. Cracked eggs? Who cares? Not sure what color you're about to use? Life's an adventure; dive in. And so forth. I've been up in the bedroom on the massage mat because my back feels like I've been dragged behind a team of wild horses. I also missed the egg hunt this morning. I've done so much to get everyone ready for Easter and, dadgummit, I'm missing it! But now I'm downstairs and I've at least heard the laughter and the fun. They have also promised to leave me one egg to dye for my very own, and while I appreciate the offer I'm pretty sure they're going to forget me in the excitement (eggcitement?). : ) That's OK. As long as I get to listen in.

We have gone to the mall and walked the length of it twice in 24 hours; I've shopped for everything from ham to curtain rods, and yes, I've been to the dreaded Wal-Mart on a holiday weekend. I've cooked; I've delivered stuff to a family; I've vacuumed the first floor of the house to within an inch of my life; I've shopped for Easter outfits and tried on 1, 435 outfits and shoes. I am pooped. This is why my back hurts so much.

The kids just told me that there's one egg left and it's all mine. How sweet. They did remember. I will dye it a brilliant deep teal green.

Something really thrilling happened this past week. Sam accepted Christ. He's been asking questions lately about Jesus, Heaven, etc., and while I answered them I thought, "Gee, what a perfect opening to share the Gospel with Sam" but come on, the kid's only 4. Almost 5. That's just so young. How can such a little kid understand that kind of a decision? Well, the same way all of us understand it: to the best of our abilities, and of our own free will. I didn't lead Sam so much as showed him how to do it when he said he wanted to. We were coming back from preschool, and he asked some more questions about Jesus. Mainly, he wanted to know where Jesus was, and why he couldn't see Him. So we talked about that for a few minutes. I've always heard that your kids will let you know when they want to accept Jesus, and not to try to push it before that time comes. So I answer his questions when he asks them, and that's it. But today he took it further. After we talked, he was quiet for a moment. And then I heard this sad, quiet little voice from the back seat: "Mom, I miss Jesus. I want Him in my heart."

Well. What could I do? I pulled over into a parking lot and led Sam in the prayer of salvation. I reworded it down to his level, but for once in his life he didn't fidget, fuss, giggle, or lose focus. I was really amazed at how serious he was about it. He meant every word of it. His world is so little, but what's there, he gave completely up to Jesus and it was very sweet. I tried not to cry because, you know, he IS a boy and mushy stuff just irritates him, but when he burst into "Jesus Loves Me" I cracked a little. Then he sang, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" but with the words "poop" and "pee" sprinkled liberally throughout. While I was still laughing at that he suddenly stopped and said, "Thanks, Mom." And that's when I really lost it.

SM and I were talking this weekend about how this Easter weekend is so different from the first one, when Jesus died and rose again. Friday night, after Jesus died, his disciples would have scattered and gone into hiding. There would be horror, shock, grief, terror after the crucifixion. Are the Romans going to come get us? Are the Jewish leaders going to come get us? Should we leave town? Are our families in danger? How will we live? Were Jesus' words just metaphors or is all that stuff really going to come true? How can it possibly come true? In contrast, our Friday night was spent buying a new washer and dryer and looking at dresses in the mall. My biggest concern this weekend was not for my life but for the last pair of 9 1/2 wide shoes in Columbia that would match whatever Easter outfit I picked out. I guess it's the same sense of commercialism that plagues most holidays. Do I have enough Easter grass? Enough candy? We didn't have vinegar for the egg dye and SM had to run out late tonight to get some. Are we ready for Sunday? Well, I guess it depends on your perspective. The baskets are ready. The outfits are ready. Baths and showers have been taken, and little munchkins are in bed. The ham's already been cooked. OK, we broke into the Easter cake tonight. It was really good, and we didn't feel guilty about it for one second. So in that respect, yes, we're ready. But as for the other perspective...are we really ready for Sunday? For the surprise the women at the tomb received? I guarantee they weren't ready for that. Are we ready to be shaken to the core to realize that the resurrection was not a metaphor and that the impossible had been made possible? I for one am ready to give thanks that of all the people for whom this is good news, my son is now one of them. He was the last of my family whose future was uncertain; we've all accepted Christ. Granted, as a little kid, if he had died he would still go to heaven, but when he grew up and was fully accountable, what would he choose? I've prayed since he was born, "God, please save my son." And God touched Sam's heart so that he answered that call. Sam was born at Easter, and now he's been saved at Easter. He is safe. I am so thankful. So thankful. I have no fear of death now, not for me nor any of my family. I am ready for Easter.