My son came down with strep throat this week. He's on day three of a fever, has a biting sore throat, and hates the antibiotics with a fervor. I have been tending him, catering to his needs, trying to be the shocks to his grumpiness while trying to help his body get well. I'm worn down to a place where I feel I have nothing good left to give my children. And today is Good Friday.
In my adulthood Easter has grown to occupy a sacred place in my soul. I've come to cherish the Lenten season as divine opportunity to prepare my heart and mind for Easter worship and celebration. I make efforts to center my family on the Easter season, reminding them that this holy day is not about candy and eggs and bunnies, but rather about the pinnacle of Christianity. Of course we still do Easter egg baskets and egg hunts; we also watch the Bible videos that account Easter week and talk about what our Redeemer offers and why He offers it.
This year I haven't been as intentional as I had hoped. I didn't get to go through A Christ-Centered Easter with my children or prepare a Passover dinner. Instead I've been juggling doctor appointments, bad anxiety days, a broken car and needed car replacement, and a strep-throat diagnosis for my five-year-old.
I feel crippled as I approach Easter this year for a million small reasons and a couple bigger ones. I feel overwhelmed and inadequate and uncertain about so many things. And maybe that crippling is exactly how we need to come into Easter sometimes. Some years are for family activities and weekly lessons and thoughtful, intentional Easter weeks. And some years it's enough that you come to Easter with your broken heart, knowing that your Savior will make you whole.
