" When the Son Feels Warm Again"

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I remember it well.

A few years ago I was headed to the lake with my oldest son on an especially warm day late in March.  He was five years old at the time.  We talked of many things, but our conversation soon turned to the upcoming Easter holiday. 

I was recounting the story of Christ's triumphant entry to Jerusalem and the subsequent events that culminated in his barbaric death on the Roman cross.  He seemed especially stunned by the soldiers who taunted Jesus and the one who finally pierced his side. Suddenly, he spoke the words I remember to this day.

"Daddy, when I get to heaven I'm going to hit those soldiers on the head." 

"Why?" I responded.

"Because Jesus is my friend."

We hadn't yet discussed the finer points of the Christian faith, which might account for those soldiers not being in heaven with him. Nor, had we ever really approached the subject of turning the other cheek.

It was simply an honest reaction from an innocent child, and it strikes me nearly as much now as it did back then. I remember telling Lisa I wished I felt like Luke, but for some reason it never occurred to me. The soldiers' cruelty really angered him.  Jesus was his friend.

 I'm not sure I could say same.

One reason I write so much about kids is because the birth of my own did prompt a spiritual awakening of sorts inside of me.  I think God made us that way.  There's just something miraculous, in my opinion, about experiencing firsthand, children birthed from the union of husband and wife.  I remember how this new responsibility softened my heart and heightened my sensitivity.

Time has a way of changing things, though.  The brilliant incandescence of that time has faded some.  Selfishness is creeping back in.  My spiritual intensity just isn't the same.  I can still preach and pontificate with the best of them, but living out that faith when the microphones go dead is an entirely different story.  I know all the right things to say and do. I want to feel like doing them, though.

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History is certain of a man named Jesus who lived, preached and died  two thousand years ago.  That is incontrovertible by any standard.  The hinge of our faith, however, is the empty tomb three days later.  It proves his connection to the God who made us all.  The absence of this emptiness proves the insane belief of a mortal man.

It's so easy for a child to believe.  Why does it sometimes seem so impossible to me? 

The Easter season is a time of renewal and rebirth. The sun feels warm again. During this time, all of nature bears witness to a great gardner who planted a magnificent field.  It's a time to sow seeds which will produce a great harvest.  It's time for me to live what I preach.

I need to get back to basics.  Jesus made clear the few options available when it came to children.  Become like one again and reap a great reward.  Ignore the challenge and a future of less certainty waits.  I need to rekindle a sensitive heart wounded by the Savior's pain.  I need to believe like my son. The real truth is, recalling how I felt at the birth of my children may be the only thing driving my quest for another revival anyway.

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I need to know Jesus is true. I need to know time hasn't separated us. 

Mostly, this Easter, I need to know He is still my friend.