My grandfather was a missionary & church planter.

He went around all over Guatemala and the border of Texas planting churches and preaching the good news of Jesus.

One time he was at a church in a small obscure village preaching. The people of the village did not care for his teaching. They did not hear the good news, but rather were full of hate and rallied together to kill him. The mob waited outside the doors of the church with machetes in hand ready to attack as soon as he stepped out.

It’s 10:00 at night.

The teenagers are beginning to move to their quiet spaces. The days of 8 o’clock bedtimes are long gone, but they each find their own nighttime routine that works. The boy is usually exhausted from the day full of friends and school and sports and looks for his bed as soon as possible. The middle one looks forward to the night where she can stay up a little longer reading one more chapter. The baby still wants me included in her routine of snuggles and one more song.

Growing up is a never ending process.

This past year we have all definitely had the chance to grow in different areas. Quarantine will do that to us. If this season of Covid-19 and quarantine has taught me anything, it’s that there are many places in the depths of my heart that aren’t as “pure” as I would hope them to be. There were and are certain entitlements, certain anxieties and certain faithlessness that I have had to contend with in these times.

The first time I heard the Lord’s prayer was when I was nine years old.

A neighbor who attended the local Catholic school invited me to mass one Sunday morning. I was so impressed that she knew when to sit, stand, kneel, and recite this prayer. I had only ever visited Presbyterian and Episcopalian churches with my family, though mostly on holidays or special occasions.

When I was twelve, my parents divorced and my mother encouraged me to attend an Episcopalian church with her. I welcomed the idea and volunteered to be an altar girl on Sunday mornings and I committed to memorizing the Lord’s prayer and the Apostles Creed.

I couldn’t breathe. I could feel panic setting in and I knew I wasn’t okay.

My mind began to race. I thought I was delivered from anxiety Lord! I thought you had saved me from these fears. I was so confused. I felt broken. Again.

It had been years since the darkness covered me in such a way. It had been years since the looming black cloud had made its way into my life.

I refused to go back there.

I refused to lose myself, my faith or my hope.

I refused to pick up the chains of slavery, when I had been set free and delivered.

The way we normally do things is not an option these days. Our normal is gone. Our normal celebration of Easter will not be normal at all. Churches across the country and parts of the world will be closed. Traditional Easter hunts are cancelled. Most of us will be forgoing Easter outfits and pictures for pajamas and couch selfies.

I’m recognizing that God needs very little to do the things he desires. He doesn’t need the church steeple or the people. His way to the Resurrection was FOR us. We had little to do with it, other than the fact that we were sinners in need of a savior. Jesus had compassion on us and then carried his cross for us so that we could have communion with him and be saved from our sins. The plan of salvation was always in I am.

I am the Way.

I am the Truth.

I am the Life.