Maybe it’s the curse of the prodigal as he tries to find his way home down unfamiliar and alien roads.  Stumbling along trying to get away from all that would steal his soul and destroy him.  I understand his fears.  I am him.  Afraid of the man inside.  Running away from the past.  Trying to get home. 

Today our church had our 2^nd annual Easter egg drop.  It’s an event with a carnival atmosphere designed to draw in people from the surrounding community.  There’s popcorn, cotton candy, face painting, and six or seven of the blow-up jumping things for kids.  The grand finale was 5,000 plastic Easter eggs with prizes inside ranging from candy to coupons for iPods and a few Play Stations.  It was freezing cold and the wind cut through you, but the whole thing was a blast. 

I went early this morning to volunteer and was asked to set up the blow up jumping stations.  Most of what I did was pound big steel tent spikes into the ground to hold the jump stations in place.  The metallic ‘clang of the mallet against the spike would ring in my ears over, and over, and over.  Maybe it’s because being around these people at church brings God close, maybe because tomorrow is Easter, but after a blister on my hand popped and started to bleed, I started thinking of Jesus on the cross.  It was as if I was watching myself from a distance.  But it wasn’t me.  I was watching a Roman soldier kneeling on the ground swinging his mallet, and with each “clang,” another spike was driven into Christ.  Each swing of the mallet represented another memory of my past that helped nail Jesus to the cross.   My hands ached and burned in the cold and I thought of his pain and suffering. 

What bothered me even more was picturing Jesus lying there willingly.  Sacrificially.  Looking at me.  I could hear him telling me that it’s ok.  That it’s something we had to do.  To drive the spikes in.  To take my old life – my struggles and pains and addictions – and drive them into him, to attach them to him, one swing at a time.   

And a God that loves you that much doesn’t let you walk alone.  He’s with me on the road, keeping watch during those dark nights, protecting me.  Whispering to me from His Word, comforting me.  Helping me up with I stumble in the dark.  Holding me when I’m weak and unable to take another step.  Carrying my burdens when the weight of life is crushing my spirit. 

I don't deserve any of it.  Thank You for Easter and for empty tombs and for restored hearts.  I think of You, bow my head, and slowly make my way...