Untitled

The thing I can never get over every Easter weekend is how this is the grittiest kidnap and ransom story. When Jesus walked into the Garden of Gethsemane He was delivering the ransom. Himself. For each of us. Kidnapped by sin and an accuser desperate for blood. Desperate to make our Father God pay.

I have three kids. Only three. I know them inside and out and I am wild for them. Jesus carried a wild love for each of us in His heart. Each of your quirks and joys and accents and hopes were part of why He walked into that dark Thursday night over 2,000 years ago. For you. For me. For our kids. A living ransom.

I think He must have been equal parts terrified and determined. The God parent. Who came to rescue us. Before we even knew we needed to be rescued. Before we even wanted to be rescued. It defies words. The Thursday ransom drop. It is always the heaviest moment for me on this terrible, amazing weekend.

“For there is one God and one mediator between God and mankind, the man Christ Jesus, who gave hHmself as a ransom for all people.” 1 Timothy 2:5-6.

The kindness of Jesus is so UTTERLY IRRESISTIBLE.

Never more so than this week.

Because He is a God who isn’t just a king of wishful thinking but a GUARANTOR of promises that I WILL find my worth, my calling and my ultimate purpose and approval in Him.

It’s such an insane relief. To put down my phone. To stop trolling the Internet. To stop waiting for that reply to my email, my phone call, my tentative, humiliating need for her validation.

But instead to just let myself fall deeply, fully, wholly into the great, insanely unlimited, bottomless tank of God’s approval. To bite into and chew on the truth that He, delights in me and sings over me.

That He will literally leave a roomful of other people to come chasing after me on the days I’m feeling lost and angsty for approval. That’s He never tired of me always needing Him. That instead He is delighted by how desperately l need His validation and He never, ever withholds it from me. Or from you.

That He calls us beloved and beautiful. That I am His and He is mine and I can hang on every word that comes out of His mouth and that there will always be more than enough words to fill me up because He is generous and happily lists out the hundreds of ways He loves me with the same extravagant attention to detail as He spends knowing how many hairs are on my insecure head.

And that kind of security? It can change a girl. It tattoos acceptance into her bones. And teaches her to let go of her death grip on the opinions of others. It’s a feast. A meat and potatoes and triple decker chocolate cake for dessert feast.

This is my story. This is my Easter song.

  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •