Easter in my family looked pretty typical–at least in my view. My parents would hide chocolate eggs and a larger chocolate bunny in which the scramble of us kids (myself and three sisters) would go searching all over the house for the hidden goodies.
The most vivid memory I have of Easter was the day my two older sister decided I wasn’t so little. The custom of my family was that the youngest could start the search first since they couldn’t find the good places as quickly. I started collecting eggs while my sisters lamented that I was too fast and too good at it. As soon as they were allowed to go they both jumped me and stole my eggs! I remember being upset but I could either whine and not get as many eggs or get the eggs. I choose the latter option.
A a child the largest memories of Easter had to do with the chocolate, the bunny, and I knew the story of Jesus but the chocolate was so much more interesting in my view. As an adult the opposite has become true. The perishables have faded and area forgotten but like my sisters had decided I was no longer the little one. Easter was not about how much chocolate I could get but what I received without the toil. The true gift of Easter is not something I would find under the bed, or that my sister might take from me, but in a single man dying on a cross.
The story of Easter has meant more to me than any other story because as Jesus died upon the cross my sin died with him. As Jesus lay in the tomb dead; my sin was proven to be dead. But when Jesus returned in his full glory with no stain of sin, my sin stayed dead. I no longer had to be the child searching for the egg but the son given new life.