I don't like waking up. Nothing surprising there, but I've recently figured out why. I usually wake up with an awareness of my sin so heavy that it feels like a forty-five pound weight on my shoulders. It's discouraging, debilitating, if I don't take it straight to God. Sometimes, I'll stew around in how hopeless it is, how helpless I am. I'm wallowing in Satan's lies; I don't know why I hang on them like they'd actually help.
This morning was some such morning. Easter morning, I hear birds outside and I resent it. Who are you to celebrate? You are senseless creatures - stop singing. Then I feel guilty and more guilty. I can't stand it. I can't stand it because they're so right and I'm so wrong. This is a morning worth dancing about, the anniversary of an event that deserves sunshine, flowers, beautiful singing and everything wonderful we humans can conceive. I just wonder what kind of party they're having in heaven.
That's why we rejoice so much. It's our resurrection too! We're not just stolidly standing by, applauding a miracle. We're crying and jumping and cheering ourselves hoarse, because as we see this glorious God-man emerge, we see ourselves, alive, breathing, pure, held in his arms. It is a miracle and we're part of it. His tomb is the holding cell for my old self, the sin I hate, the weight I don't have to bear.
He is alive and praise Jesus, so am I!
Listening to Bebo Norman - Can't Live Without You