Easter

Surprised by the giddy dancing butterflies in my stomach as we hide eggs in our neighbor's living room, knowing the kids were all downstairs waiting in the basement. We let them in. They run around. I want Abe to find them all. I tell myself to chill out. The joy is too much. The kids sit amongst the spoils of their hunt, eating chocolate and skittles and posing for photos all wearing their ring pops. I snuggle on a big chair with the two little boys to watch Finding Nemo while the big girls give make-overs to the willing adults.

That was Saturday.

We dress in our Sunday clothes. Abe opens his Easter basket, experiences the fun of a pez dispenser and eats chocolate before breakfast. We drive to a shabbily lovely church near the river. We come late so end up on the front row. I listen to the music but don't sing along. The African American woman sitting behind me shouts "A to the men!" at her favorite parts of the sermon. I smile every time. The half-white, half-black pastor preaches his guts out.

These words are sung and I'm fighting back sobs:

No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
'Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand

No power of hell, no scheme of man, can ever pluck me from His hand. Oh, how I love Jesus. I do. I really do.

Abe tells us, in utmost seriousness, on our walk to the car what he learned in church that morning, "Jesus loves me. He got hurt. There was a roller*. He's still hurt. He not get better." At some point a discussion of the resurrection is in our future. Since his uncle's car wreck a week ago, Abe has been very concerned with anyone getting hurt.

From life's first cry to final breath Jesus commands my destiny. I usually don't live like I believe it. I'm working on that one.
*I think he's talking about the stone that served as a door to the grave, the one that was rolled away.