The house is all spruced up for spring and Easter. Colorful eggs—the size an ostrich would lay—are nestled in a wooden bowl here and a planter there. We even have an Easter wreath, and I never knew such a thing existed. But when that sunlight rolls over the frosty hill and lights up the living room each morning, it brings with it the feeling of a new beginning.
I’ve sat still over the past few early mornings with a cup o’ joe at my kitchen table, waiting for the sun to rise as I struggle to offer up my burdens and give to God my sensible folly that always returns in times of trouble. I focus too hard on the trouble, and grumble about how to fix it, rather than, like a child, asking for and joyfully receiving the Grace to surrender them and persevere.
I stared out of my kitchen window, wondering at the spring frost scattered like ash across the hills. As I stoked the coals in the wood stove, I recalled the beauty patiently waiting to return. I have seen it break free time and again, in days of mourning and days of joy, through the times of brokenness and times of holy integration.
My wonder gave way to memories of running through my childhood neighborhood during springs and summers until the streetlights came on and my mom would stand in the doorway of our little, square house, whistling for me to come home for dinner. The streets, homes, and olive and orange trees never changed. They remained a comfortable constant to explore day in and day out.
Skinned up knees, bruised elbows, and sometimes a bruised ego when I would lose some game to the bigger kids next door were the usual fare for the day, and a loving mother to listen to me, love me, and bandage me up when needed. Around every corner there was a silly new adventure to be had, a new view of my little world found at the tops of every tree I climbed. I’d never try to puzzle out why I fell off my bike or out of a tree; they were just stumbling blocks, my steppingstones into adolescence and adulthood.
What troubles are there in the embrace of the risen Christ? Bruised egos, broken hearts, and battered souls heal and find rest in the arms of the Great Physician. We are running the race marked out for us by our loving God, and we never do so alone.
What a beautifully comforting gift it is knowing that the race has been marked by the very One who is helping me run it. What can I say to my God who sets the sun and triggers the seasons—all for me to enjoy? Who am I to grumble when I stumble over blocks in my way? What a silly little man I am to forget that He has already won this race for me, that He waits for me to accept His continuous offer of nature-perfecting Grace along the track.
There is a frivolity when indulging in Christ that I forget about when I focus on myself. There is a childlike joy in discovering that there is always something new to learn, a new adventure to be had, and all in the comforting arms of our God who loves me.
So, as the Son rises this Easter, the sun along with Him, and the light fills my living room and bounces off the taffy candy dish, I’m reminded that He gives beauty for ashes and that His Grace cannot be depleted. This life is one incredible adventure where the victory of the Son reigns, turning each stumbling block that we bring to Him into a steppingstone toward a brighter future.
Photo by Jordan Wozniak on Unsplash
