Easter

Today is Easter. A day of joy, of celebration, of singing trumpet-filled songs about victory over death and the like.

But I don’t feel too much like celebrating. My mom is still dying and I’m too exhausted to be all joyful.

So today during church (first time at church in two months. Score!) I was trying to figure out why Easter, why the resurrection of Jesus is still good news, is still relevant, even as I rebel against the celebration and the joy (but not the candy) that the day provides. How can Easter be meaningful, even to me?

I realized that the resurrection, the fact that Jesus lives, permeates my entire understanding of death. The promise of new life, of a new heaven and a new earth without tears, death, suffering, crying or pain (Revelation 21:1 – 5) is what keeps me sane. The belief that my mother is going somewhere better, somewhere where she’ll be whole and free again is what allows me to say goodbye, to tell her that she can let go whenever she wants to.

Now I don’t know for sure where my mom is going after death. I have no knowledge of who goes to heaven or hell, or what they look like, or if they even exist. But I hope that when she dies she gets to hang out with her mom, her sister, and my dad’s parents. I hope that she’ll watch over me, and look down on me here on earth. And I hope that someday I’ll get to see her again, wherever she is.

So that’s what Easter means for me. That’s what Jesus living again means for me. It means life after death. It means peace instead of pain. And even if I’m wrong it brings me comfort, so I’m going to keep believing.

I'm also going to keep Peep jousting. Mom's pink peep killed Dad's yellow peep first, so she's the winner