Why I Love Easter Morning

The new day dawns, and I sleep right through it. Right through the break the light brings to the dark. Right through 6am’s call to arise and celebrate the new life this day remembers.

It’s Easter morning.

I know this in my heart, but my body, slow to wake, procrastinates the alert, wants to lay in the cushy bed with lovely pillows and the perfect amount of covers a bit longer. The memories are what actually wake me up. Those Southern California Easter Sonrise services of my childhood when we’d wake up in the dark and worship God as He whispered the sun up to its place for the day. We’d lay in our sleeping bags on the grass in the park, and we would worship the Almighty God Who had spoken His Son up to life anew that very first Easter morning. That first Easter weekend, when everything changed.

I remember fondly the Easter mornings of my younger years and wonder why it feels different now, as a grown-up. I don’t want to lose the excited new that Easter morning means. New life in its entirety. Because Jesus is risen, everything is different.

So I get out of bed and find a sweatshirt for the cold house. We start the day with traditions. Traditions to remember that we live new life. Find the Easter baskets, filled with treats. Make some pains chocolates (which we eat every. single. holiday. morning. period. Because we lived in Paris, and we love chocolate and bread). Then we start something new because today is so special. Because I want my kids to get how special it really is.

We make Resurrection Rolls, with crescent rolls and marshmallows and cinnamon and sugar.

We color eggs and make memories to commemorate the special.

We celebrate life today in the new. Life that Jesus Christ made possible. Life that changes how we live in every possible way.

Happy Easter, my dear friends. Happy New Life.