A tragic miracle

This morning I told my son why today is so important. In the telling of it, I realized that no matter how old I get, I’ll never stop crying over Jesus.

The Easter Bunny is hard for me. Yes, I went out and bought the stupid baskets and disposable toys, not to mention a small hoard of chocolate, but the entire time I felt like the whole thing is such a joke. Of all the holidays to ruin, the devil has been horrifyingly cunning with Easter.

Today was the day they crucified Jesus Christ. When I said those words to my little children this morning, something inside me remembered. I remembered that in spite of all the frivolous things that take up our days and our hours and our minutes here on this earth, nothing even comes close to this.

I know that the beauty of Easter is the resurrection, the fact that He lived and lives and will forever have His glorious body all to Himself again, but I can’t help aching this morning as I think about the sacrifices Jesus Christ made on my behalf. I need to remember it. I need to teach my children now, while they’re small, just how important they are in the eternal scheme of things.

I can’t wait for Sunday, and I can’t imagine how impossible these next few days must have been for Mary, the Savior’s mother, and everyone else that loved Him so on both sides of the veil. Even with a Heavenly perspective, this must have been a painfully tragic day, however much promise lay in store.

Today I’m going to sit down and think about the people and the places involved. I’m going to pull out my scriptures and read about it again, the whole hopeful mess of it all, and remember just how much I love Jesus, and just how much He loves me.

And I can’t wait until Sunday when my heart can shout, “Hosanna!” with all the other saints, on earth and in Heaven, as we celebrate the full circle of the Savior’s miracle of salvation.