No.Nonsense.

For any Christian home, Easter is a special time for reflection and celebration as we remember the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. We collectively gather with our families at church, wearing our Sunday best. Easter egg hunts for the children. Dinner with all of the generations. It’s a beautiful time to celebrate life.

For me, it hits differently.

My grandfather was a flawed man but a good man. I didn’t always agree with him, but I always loved him and respected him. He pastored the church in which I was raised and was wholly devoted to his congregation. It was tougher being part of his family because he often left us to go be with one of his congregants in need. We tried to understand and give him that freedom in his ministry.

In late 2006 he had been in declining health. He was eight years past the death of my grandmother who had been by his side for 51 years and was ready to go to his heavenly home. For the first time in his ministry, he was not able to stand in the pulpit and deliver a sermon, and it weighed on him. The Saturday before Palm Sunday of 2007, we visited him in the skilled nursing facility where he had been for months. He was lying in the bed with his oxygen flowing, books spread out around him and his Bible in his lap.

I asked him, “Papaw, what are you doing?”

He replied, “Baby, I asked God to give me one last chance to preach.”

The next morning, on Palm Sunday, they moved his pulpit off the stage, set up a ramp for his wheelchair and a table, and pushed him onto the stage where he delivered a sermon from Psalm 23.

I wasn’t there.

I thought I had more time.

Thursday of that week, he was rushed to the hospital and just before sunrise on Easter Sunday morning, he met Jesus face-to-face.

I always regretted not being there that Sunday and from that point forward, prioritized being with some part of family for Easter. I moved away from my hometown three years later but still would travel back to be with my loved ones.

Ten years after that loss, I had my new beginning when I met my son. He came to live with me as a foster child during the week after Palm Sunday. I took him to church with me for the first time on Easter Sunday morning.

We celebrated many Easter Sundays together, sometimes traveling to see extended family and sometimes just staying home. We had a long and protracted legal fight to get through adoption which is a story for another day, but it didn’t diminish that feeling of family I have always had with him.

Then, in 2025, we received our final adoption decree and he legally became my son- the week after Palm Sunday.

And the first Sunday I took him to church as my legal son was Easter Sunday morning.

It is amazing to see how God can shift a feeling of loss to a celebration of new beginnings, how he can redeem what was lost by bestowing on us more blessing than we can ever imagine.

My focus has shifted over the past few years to making a home for my son and prioritizing my time with him. All parents know that the time with our children ends all too soon. It means fewer trips to see the rest of my family but they are no less important to me. But even as my parents grow older, let me not forget the lesson of 2007 to be present when they need for me to be. Even as I write those words, I know I let the busyness of life get in the way. But I keep trying.

I hope that in sharing this story, you see that even when it looks like an ending, there is a new start just around the corner. Hold on to your family. Set your priorities. Celebrate the moments. And keep walking forward.

Your resurrection day is coming.