I was so excited for Easter to be here. I bought cinnamon rolls and was looking forward to breaking an Easter Vigil fast with glorious sugar and butter. I was ready for trumpets and lilies and alelulia church.
The kids, however, were not. It was an autism day. No one could put on the church clothes that I picked out. And the day was filled with melt downs of a variety of flavors.
My heart sank. "Can't we just color eggs and dress up for church like everyone else?" My hopes of a holiday in C major settled into a minor key melancholy tone. I gave myself a time out and fell onto my bed exhausted.
I thought about the first Easter. They weren't happy. They were sad and then... scared out of thier minds. There wasn't an hallelujah chorus. There was a still garden drenched in sunlight after a long dark night.
The light is fierce. I pulled myself up and decided to go out into the sunshine. I sat with miles in the front yard pulling weeds. The warmth on my face sank into my soul. Maybe I'll let the light fill me...
I gathered the kids and we went for a walk. The day blazed with a brightness that couldn't be contained.
On Easter, God cracked the darkness and let the light flood in. The light is overwhelming. Especially when it finds us after long exhausting periods of life when we'd rather roll over and sleep in the comfort of darkness. But if you close your eyes and let the light warm your face it can seep slowly into your soul, melting the chips of ice on your heart and reach to the ends of your toes.
The tomb was empty. The women were terrified. The disciples were confused. But the light had broken the darkness.
And the light is overwhelming.
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