Easter Is for Me

picture of a sunrise seen through broken glass
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On Easter morning, I woke up with my thoughts and emotions churning. I was worried that my Easter baskets wouldn’t thrill the kids. I was spinning from a conversation with a friend the day before. I was anxious about the week ahead. I was not, as they say, practicing resurrection. 

I was not feeling hopeful, or thankful, or joyful. 

And then I tried to enter into a contemplative space and think about the mystery and wonder of new birth. And one child woke up. And the cat started yowling. And it was time for the promised Easter breakfast of pancakes. 

And I remember the women who came to the tomb. That even once they were told that Jesus had risen, they didn’t understand. They were still terrified. They still wept. They were confused and uncertain what to do. 

I remember the disciples who remained huddled away together. 

I remember the ones who saw Jesus and doubted what they saw.

Easter is for me.

And then I remember that Easter is for me. For all of us who find ourselves still broken, still confused, still aching for certainty, still in the midst of anxiety and hardship. 

Not only in our hopefulness but also in our heartache, the promise of new life is for us. 

Not only in our wonder but also in our weeping, Jesus calls to us by name. 

Not only in our faithfulness but also in our fear, Jesus offers us peace.

In all things, love’s power to overcome sin and death is for us.


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Hi, I’m Amy Julia.

I write about faith, family, disability, and privilege.

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