#2,672 Resurrection Sunday.

I woke up this morning with one of my favorite hymns on my mind and it stuck with me all day:

Up from the grave He arose, with a mighty triumph o’er His foes!

We got to church early enough for a partial family portrait, though my parents who were visiting Methodists for the morning rolled in right on time for the service and missed the annual cross photo session.

Not to worry though, I got this jewel after lunch!

Later in the afternoon we celebrated the life of our dear friend Ross’s dad, Bit, and laid him to rest after a service that had us laughing until we cried remembering him–patrolling the neighborhood in his powerchair, always orchestrating a dare or a practical joke, a champion yard roller when his kids were in high school, a friend we are all going to miss very much around here.

Under the circumstances today, celebrating Christ’s resurrection and Bit’s brand new life in heaven, I found myself thinking of this:

I think the reason people love so much to see the transformation of an old house on TV is because we see ourselves in it. Our hearts all have the capacity to become hurt and broken and ugly. We’re messy, complicated, imperfect people who need to believe that forgiveness and redemption is possible. God put creativity and determination and love in all of us that makes transformation possible. Old houses are a great illustration of that. 

And that’s what I’ve been thinking about this Easter Sunday.