Thursday, April 9, 2009

Easter Thoughts

When I was a child, Easter was a happy holiday full of multicolored pastel dresses, ribbons and bows, and decorative eggs. We'd gather after church at my grandmother's house just down the lane with all those aunts, uncles, and cousins who I only saw once or twice a year. There'd be plates of baked ham, tender green beans, 7-layer salad, and an abundance of other delicious foods. You ate until you popped and then it was...whisk...outdoors for the big Easter egg hunt.

Ah, memories...

family 10=EDIT

As I have gotten older, the customs have changed. Some Easters my family hasn't gotten together at all. When my daughter was small, we'd go outdoors, just the 3 of us, and hide eggs underneath the palm trees and tropical plants. She enjoyed it just the same.

Easter is all of those childhood things. I have no problems with bunny rabbits, baby chicks, or chocolate candy. But at the heart of this holiday, I must step back and remember He who died for me. He who rose again. I challenge you to take a few minutes this Sunday to do the same.



Isaiah 53:2-6
Ronald Knox Version

He will watch this servant of his appear among us,
unregarded as brushwood shoot,
as a plant in waterless soil;
no stateliness here, no majesty, no beauty
as we gaze upon him, to win our hearts.

Nay, here is one despised,
left out of all human reckoning;
bowed with misery,
and no stranger to weakness;
how should we recognize that face?
How should we take any account of him, a man so despised?

Our weakness and it was he who carried the weight of it,
our miseries, and it was he who bore them.
A leper, so we thought of him,
a man God had smitten and brought low;
and all the while it was for our sins he was wounded,
it was guilt of ours crushed him down;
on him the punishment fell that brought us peace,
by his bruises we were healed.

Strayed sheep all of us, each following his own path;
and God laid on his shoulders our guilt,
the guilt of us all.

Behind the Petals

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Suzanne Williams Photography
Florida, USA

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

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