Zoe saying this to me as she passed me communion this morning was the best part of Easter. I’m not sure that life gets better than this, being offered communion by my own child. It felt so tinged with holiness that I didn’t quite know where to look. Fortunately, soon after passing each of us the elements (the bread to me, the cup to Mark), Zoe began the busy task of finding the exact place to put her square of bread or her “teensy weensy tiny cup.”
We had a lovely Easter. Breakfast at church. Lunch with Mark’s parents—complete with a sweet treasure/egg hunt for Zoe. An afternoon of playing school. And an evening worship service for which Mark played guitar and Zoe stage whispered during the message, “Why is he talking about cell phones? He’s supposed to be talking about Easter!”
A day to celebrate the empty tomb. A full heart. And lungs filled with nothing but air.