This Easter weekend was a whirlwind of activity for the Rodgers family. We had two different sets of company staying with us Thursday through Monday, one set being a family with four children under the age of eight (Lord, bless them)! There were multiple Easter egg hunts to attend, dinners to cook, a visit from the Easter bunny to prepare for, dresses to press and matching shoes to be located, and not to mention a Greek passage to translate.
(I would also like to add that I attempted the popular Resurrection Rolls. A recipe of buttery crescent rolls and sugary marshmallows with a spiritual application in that when the rolls are baked the marshmallow disappears and it represents the empty tomb/resurrection of Jesus. Well, I must not have wrapped the rolls properly around the marshmallows and “Jesus’ body” ended up oozing out and being a sticky mess in the bottom of the pan and the spiritual principle was completely lost on the kids. It was an epic Pinterest fail to say the least.)
Normally I enjoy a jam-packed schedule, but this weekend I found myself a little overwhelmed and disappointed that I only thought of our risen Lord maybe once or twice during the whole hoopla.
Suddenly the weekend was over and I was sitting in my New Testament class on Monday with a dazed look on my face while the professor asked a deep theological question pertaining to the book of 1st or 2nd Corinthians…I really can’t remember which one. When no one answered, he looked around the room and asked us, “What’s wrong? Y’all have an Easter hangover?”
Now there was a question that I could answer.
“Yes, Prof, I do have an Easter hangover. A major one. And my five-year old has a belly ache because she ate too many dyed boiled eggs, and I thought it was our turn for snack week at school, so I ran to the Neighborhood Wal-Mart on my break and bought Cheetos in mass quantities only to find out it’s our turn next week, and I’m pretty sure I managed to get four hours of sleep last night in between being woken up twice in the night, and I’m refusing to think of the state of my home at the present moment or the mountain of laundry that needs attention. I’m sorry. What was the theological question again?”
But, thankfully, as this week progresses and the sugar high subsides, the pounding in my head becomes less prominent. I take deep breaths and realize that none of this matters. What does matter is that our home was used as a blessing to others, we had plenty of food to eat and friends to share it with, and the name of Jesus was spoken freely and reverently throughout the weekend.
So as I sit here today in my backyard, gazing at the beautiful azaleas beginning to bloom, enjoying a hot sip of coffee in the peace and quiet, I am humbled and thankful for the life that God has given me. And even though my faith is far from perfect, I am reminded that my walk with the Lord is not limited to one Easter weekend out of the year. No, I live a privileged life. I get to walk with the Lord daily and His mercies are new every morning.
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”