Seeing these photos sparked a lot of memories – which in itself is amazing because my memory is terrible! But I remember the Easter baskets well. In Shreveport, Louisiana, where I grew up, there was a charity for the blind. Sightless adults made elaborate baskets decorated with tulle, ribbon, and lace. Mom took me there several times to get baskets over the years.

And then there were the egg hunts at my maternal grandmother’s house. Aunts, uncles, and cousins from out-of-town would gather for the holiday. The highlight was the Easter afternoon hunt at Grandma’s. One photo I found was taken in her backyard. My brother and I stood beside cousins Randy and Cynthia. Cynthia, who was six months younger than me, died just last month when her aorta ruptured.

Then there were the sunrise services and pancake breakfasts at church every Easter Sunday. I miss those. And I miss singing “Up from the grave He arose, with a mighty triumph ‘or His foes. He arose a victor from the dark domain and He lives forever with His saints to reign. He arose… He arose… hallelujah, Christ arose!”

Times have really changed. I don’t see many Easter bonnets anymore. I don’t hear much about sunrise services. Our Easter traditions and the songs we sing are different. But one thing has not changed and it’s the most important. Jesus Christ is alive! He reigns now and for all eternity! Hallelujah, Christ arose!

We’ve seen a lot of nurses over the last four days. You can tell by watching which ones like their jobs and which ones don’t. And you can tell which ones care about the patients and which ones see them more as a nuisance.

One visitation time on Wednesday as I neared Pappaw’s room I heard him weakly calling for help. I passed through the door just as a nurse in the corner said with snippy irritation, “There is no need to yell, I can hear you.”

All I have to say about that is it’s a good thing there was another nurse in the room who was already responding to help him. God protected me from acting very unChristian-like. And thankfully for Pappaw’s sake I have not seen the irritated nurse around again.

The nurse Pappaw has had the last two days definitely likes her job. She has been an advocate for him with the doctor. She has wiped his face with a rag, held his hand, and done everything she can to make him as comfortable as possible. She shows love to her patients through every action.

This got me to thinking about my own actions. Do I act loving not just to my family but to those God brings across my path?

“Are you more loving?” is the third question in that book I’ve been telling you about. In  “Ten Questions to Diagnose Your Spiritual Health,” Donald Whitney reminds us that Jesus said “love is the clearest mark of a Christian.” Love is the “badge and character of Christianity.”

He made another statement that personally challenged me: “We’re not growing in love when we have time for projects but not people.” Ouch. I have to admit that sometimes I’m too absorbed in a project to turn my attention to people that need my love and attention.

Thankfully, there are other times when I see glimmers of hope that God really is growing my love for others. How about you? Is your love growing? Are you increasingly more sensitive to the physical and spiritual needs of others?

I challenge you – and me – to show love to someone today without any expectation of them returning it. Can we do that?

Kelley, our oldest daughter, started it several years ago when she turned eighteen. She made her case to us that the ichthus (Christian fish symbol) she wanted to have tattooed on her wrist would be a permanent reminder of Who she belonged to. It would also be a “witnessing too.” Three years later, our second daughter Sarah made the same argument.

I will admit, people regularly ask them about their tattoos and they don’t hesitate to share the meaning. The two years Sarah worked as a waitress she often had several opportunities a day to tell people she belongs to Jesus.

Well, my mother never likes to be left out. She decided she wanted a tattoo just like her granddaughters’. So, during a visit to Kelley’s university for a choir concert, mom got marked for life. When Kelley took mom into the tattoo parlor she approached the counter and stated, “I never thought I would say this but, I’ve brought my grandmother in for a tattoo.”

The three of them regularly try to talk me into getting that same fish on my wrist but I’ve resisted. I know some people refuse on biblical grounds, but that really isn’t my reason. No, it’s because this decision is a permanent one. Once you do it, it’s there forever. (Yes, I know you can have them surgically removed, but even that leaves a scar.) I’m not sure I want to make that kind of commitment. Permanent. Forever. No going back.

Hmm. What about my commitment to Christ? Is it permanent? Forever? Do I make my commitment to Him known to others on a daily basis?

Just this morning I read a verse that brought this whole issue of tattoos to mind. “One will say, ‘I belong to the LORD’; another will call himself by the name of Jacob; still another will write on his hand, ‘The LORD’s’ and will take the name Israel (Isaiah 44:5)”

God, through the prophet Isaiah, was foretelling the return of Israel from exile. God would pour out His Spirit on His people like water on dry ground. His people would boldly claim Him as their God and not be ashamed to be “marked” by His name.

Am I willing to be permanently marked by the name of Christ like a tattoo permanently marks a body? Will I boldly and unashamedly proclaim Christ to everyone I encounter? Sometimes I do. But other times I fail. I think it’s high time I commit to “never going back.” Maybe I should get myself to that tattoo parlor.

Kelley showed me her bridal portraits last night and I cried. Just yesterday she was a little girl with blonde curls who called her Barbie sports car a “Barbie Ferrarbie.” Today she’s a bride. On Saturday, she will walk down the middle aisle of the chapel in a long white dress covered with lace and her father will give her away. She will belong to someone else.

Kelley is so excited. She wants everything to be perfect for the wedding. She wants to be perfect for Jeremy. Painstakingly and lovingly she planned every detail of the ceremony, the reception, and her appearance. Nothing has missed her scrutiny. Saturday can’t come soon enough for her.

There is another bride waiting for her Bridegroom. The Bridegroom has sacrificed everything for His bride. Even His very life. He gave Himself up for the bride so she could be clean and spotless. This Bridegroom is Christ and the Bride is His church. That’s you and me.

In Ephesians, chapter 5, Paul said that Jesus died for us so he could present us back to Himself “as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.”

Revelation 19 talks about Jesus’ return, when He comes for His bride, the church. The wedding supper waits for us. Jesus has provided the “fine linen, bright and clean” for us to wear.

I hope on Saturday as my daughter walks down the aisle toward her groom in her spotless gown, I will – at least for a moment -  think of the Bridegroom that is coming back for me.

Kelley and maid of honor, Teagan

The first day we met with the florist and went wedding dress shopping. Watching your oldest baby try on wedding dresses is a sweet, but sad occasion. Snap shots from her childhood kept popping into my head. Her first steps and her first day of school. The blanket she slept with and the crocheted doily she carried around. The big bows she wore in her hair.

But the bows are gone and the blanket is tucked away in a box. The little girl has grown into an independent, capable young woman. She loves the Lord and serves Him faithfully. So, why am I a little bit sad? Soon she’ll have her own home and her own family. And that’s the way God designed it. I am very proud of the woman my daughter has become, but sometimes I miss the girl.