One Easter morning eleven years ago to the day, I woke up to a perfectly beautiful day. The sun was shining and birds sang outside my window. Everything was laid out and ready to go to worship.
And it began. The messages saying motherhood was about to make it’s debut in full swing. The funny thing was, it was early. Way early. I was only in my eighth month. We still had six weeks to go. This isn’t supposed to happen yet?! When the pain began and my water began trickling, I realized our Easter plans would change. A labor of love was about to begin.
What an incredible way to spend Easter. Bringing our first child into the world.
All through that day, one of the longest of my lifetime, thoughts would come and go of Easter. The worship that was happening at our church. The reason we celebrate that special Sunday in the spring. And as the day passed and night fell, I soon realized our baby probably wouldn’t make his appearance until the next day.
But, I will always remember this one Easter special. Always. The day I labored day and night, hour after hour to meet our son. Our first son.
My labor of love pales in comparison to the labor of love of our Holy Father and His precious son, Jesus. That Easter over two thousand years ago when Christ suffered and died and then powerfully rose again, just as He had said He would for three years and even longer than that throughout His Word. That day when the world was changed forever. When God’s one and only Son labored over us. Taking our sin. Conquering death, hell and the grave. Rising powerfully that we might be made right to once again walk with Him, side by side in perfect communion.
That’s a labor of love that we share with you this Easter. This special day.
God’s not dead. He’s alive for you. The Saviour of the world.