Sunday, I rose early. Easter was long past and there was little to prepare. My family was still asleep as I nudged the coffee pot awake and straightened the kitchen while it began to brew.
I love the quiet. Warm mug in hand, I sat in the living room watching the sun rise over the trees all around. The orange-pink light gave a glow to all the world, making it seem brand-new, alive again, awake.
In that still small space, I saw it. Life abundant reminded me again that what was true on Easter is no less true today. The excitement and egg hunts and big ham dinners may be past and done. But none of that is Easter, and none of it gives hope, and none of it matters at all.
What matters is a Savior risen. What matters is that He spoke truth. What matters is that all that was fully impossible became real and accessible in the blink of an eye. And Easter does not contain that truth. No, it reminds us of that truth.
Opening the linen cabinet, I gently pulled out the tablecloth we had used Easter morn. I found the centerpiece, dusted it off, lit floating candles and looked. Our Easter table set again to help us know that the very story we celebrated then is no less true today.
As my family came down for breakfast, we sat, hands folded, and prayed. Somehow we need to remember. We need to remember deep in our souls that our Savior is still risen and still working wonders and still sits with us today. There is no past tense and no looking back because he walks with us through what is coming and holds all of it close today.
No, it was not Easter. But as we passed around warm muffins, opened them and ate, I could not help but remember. His body broken for me. For you. Still.
What if we remembered each Sabbath that Jesus is risen still? What if we allowed Easter to extend beyond its calendar bounds and flow freely into the weeks and months ahead? Perhaps the hope we seek and fight for would become the essence of where we live. Perhaps the truth he suffered to give us would become actions of grace and love. And then, His gift to us would matter in our ordinary lives.
Yes, the Resurrection was a wonder, but it is a wonder still.