~:: Easter ::~

I am restless.  There are so many things I want to write down. So many shots I want to share. On the Sabbath, I tend to want to write things of a spiritual nature, but today I am so tempted to show off Andy and Scoots in our first second-generation bit of egg hunting.

I can’t.  Not today.

Today, I am so filled with  – where are the words for this? Amazement. Tears. This will not connect with some people I love, I know. It will sound—superstitious, maybe? Like chasing fantasies. But for the others, the ones who have felt this same thing, this inexplicable, heart-breaking gratitude I will only be saying what they already know.

That there is a God. That our lives have meaning – now and past now. That we are capable of miracles, small and large.  And that we do them every day on some level. That this whole thing: breathing, earth, spring, the stars, the exact and delicate balance of gravity and the same of radiation from the sun – the elegant lines of our fellow creatures, the inexpressible nature of love – that all of these things are gifts.

And the Son of God, knowing that we would fail a million times in our lives, fall short, turn the world to mirrors, grab the last cookie, eat that one square of chocolate that turns into three – and worse – that he would take the chance of participating in birth and childhood and love.

And death.  Of the most amazing and horrible kind: at the hands of the ones you love.

I waste too many words.  He was about thirty two. Ginna is thirty two. It’s nothing, thirty two years. If you read Cori’s piece, that’s how I feel. That anyone would love me so much, he would die – so that he understood (what a word that is) this experience he set us completely.  So that he could make up for the flaws, the difference, the desperate emptiness we protect so severely.

But more, that he has done this for people who are precious to me. It’s a gift I couldn’t give them, that love, that safety.

So for me, this is a day of horror and gratitude. Now I’ve got to go lead the hymns that will make me cry. I don’t understand any of this, really – it’s something way past what I can conceive of. Because I’m just little.  But I know when I’m loved. And I’m so grateful.

To the living God, to Jesus the Christ, I say it. I say thank you.