How Quickly We Forget

Last night we went to an Easter play with Darlene and a few of her friends.

Not a fuzzy, bunny play, but a reenactment of the real Easter.

I was a tiny bit nervous about how my No TV Watching 3 Year Old would handle the graphic parts, but when I looked over at her she was watching with as much amazement and saddness in her eyes as I was.

And I was a wee bit proud when she recognized the verses and parts of the story we've gone over in our lessons.

But it wasn't easy to watch.

I am 100% guilty of glamorizing what Jesus did for me on the Cross.

"Oh, Jesus was so kind to die for my sins."

Like it was easy.

He did not just "die for my sins."

He was beat, whipped, spat on, broken, nailed, peirced.

Teased, mocked, degraded.

And at anytime he could have called angels to make it all stop.

He could have quit and left me to deal with my own mess.

But he didn't.

And that's worth more then a whispered prayer before we eat.

It's worth more then an hour a week sitting at church.

He gave up His life.

Painfully.

And who am I that I should give anything less back to him.

And if His was painful to give up, mine should be too.

It shouldn't be easy. It shouldn't come natural.

As I sat there last night watching events unfold that altered my life forever I was humbled and ashamed.

I am, in no shape or fashion, worthy of what He did.

My precious 3 year old, who is innocent and pure, is not worthy of what He did.

But He did. And I feel charged to remember it daily. Hourly. By the second.

And although Jesus' death on the Cross was awful and I sometimes neglect to remember the severity of it, I am also guilty of forgetting the victory that came 3 days later.

As Josie would say, "He got up!"

The tomb is empty. He is risen.

And that is worth remembering.

Happy Resurrection Day and let's try not to forget this year.