I leave the big “discussions” about Easter for so many others. For me, Easter always represented a sense of hope long before I ever really knew about God.

As a child Easter meant many different things to me. Sunday morning my brothers and sister would run out to find Easter baskets filled with jelly beans, gold foil colored eggs and coins and these beautiful eggs that held all sorts of treasures. The smell of hot crossed buns, eggs, Canadian bacon and coffee came out of the kitchen. At some point we had a jelly bean hunt, running through the house finding jelly beans on mantles, window sashes and behind pictures. Following that we all sat down for breakfast and then it was time to get ready for church. There were the occasional years where we would go up the hill behind the elementary school at 6AM, climbing up to greet the sun, while singing hymns and thinking of Jesus.

Then there was that period of time in my life where Easter did not really mean much. But then my daughter was born and I remember punching holes in the ends of eggs and blowing out the insides to provide for the Easter eggs she was going to dye. And that was it for a while. Make it fun for my children.

And then one day I found out the meaning of Easter. A man named Jesus. Died and rose for me. Hmmm. Suddenly the eggs and the  candy took on a new meaning. A celebration of life AND death.

Certainly Easter is different now than it was. A few years ago I heard this story and in the spirit of the season would like to share it.

The mother of a nine-year-old boy named Mark received a phone call in the middle of the afternoon. It was the teacher from her son’s school.

“Mrs. Smith, something unusual happened today in your son’s third grade class. Your son did something that surprised me so much that I thought you should know about it immediately.” The mother began to grow worried.

The teacher continued, “Nothing like this has happened in all my years of teaching. This morning I was teaching a lesson on creative writing. And as I always do, I tell the story of the ant and the grasshopper:

“The ant works hard all summer and stores up plenty of food. But the grasshopper plays all summer and does no work.

“Then winter comes. the grasshopper begins to starve because he has no food. So he begins to beg, ‘Please Mr. Ant, you have much food. Please let me eat, too.'” then I said, “Boys and girls, your job is to write the ending to the story.”

“Your son, Mark, raised his hand. ‘Teacher, may I draw a picture?’

“‘Well, yes, Mark, if you like, you may draw a picture. But first you must write the ending to the story.’

“As in all the years past, most of the students said the ant shared his food through the winter, and both the ant and the grasshopper lived. A few children wrote, ‘No, Mr. Grasshopper. You should have worked in the summer. Now, I have just enough food for myself.’ So the ant lived and the grasshopper died.

“But your son ended the story in a way different from any other child, ever. He wrote, ‘So the ant gave all of his food to the grasshopper; the grasshopper lived through the winter. But the ant died.’

“And the picture? At the bottom of the page, Mark had drawn three crosses.”

Jesus died for you. And then He rose for you. He dwells not in a empty tomb but has delivered mankind from the curse and from the law. Today He is simply waiting on you and I to recognize the depth of His love and share it.