by Tamara Hillman
I love Easter! Like spring season, it is a time to see with our own eyes—New Beginnings.
Just like Christ arose from the grave to be resurrected, (though everyone saw He was indeed deceased when taken from the ‘Cross of Calvary’), and carried to the tomb—so too, trees, flowers, and bushes come alive when they seem dead for all those long months of winter. In April, all seem to resurrect, and blossom into something beautiful to behold…
Jesus LIVES just as surely as those new blossoms! For anyone who accepts Him as Savior, there is no denying this truth. There is no way to prove it except in your daily walk. Ever so gently, the Holy Spirit reminds you of things best for your life, (sometimes at the oddest moments), but undeniably, He is the One speaking to you.
How do I know it’s Him? Well, it’s like when folks ask me how I come up with the things I write, and then put them into words that carry a message everyone can understand. I have no answer, but one thing I do know—fifteen years ago when we lost our son, I was inconsolable when I prayed to find release, and it was only a few days later (it seemed by chance) that I was led to writing classes at the senior center in the small town we lived in, in Washington State. I wasn’t even a senior then, but they accepted me as a student in a class of eighteen.
I literally blossomed like a spring flower in those classes. Before that time, I had never written anything more than letters home. I know, without a doubt, I was given a gift directly from God to ease my burden of grief. And to this day, when I write, it seems someone is perched on my shoulder dictating what to put down—and when a poem wakes me in the wee hours, the lines are coming so fast, I have to run to the computer, and type it out as fast as my fingers will allow. It’s an exhausting experience, but exhilarating at the same time. It rarely takes more than twenty minutes to finish the poem, then, I can return to my bed to sleep peacefully the rest of the night. The next morning, I’m always amazed at what I was given. That’s the best explanation I can give for knowing He’s always with me, and guides my hand in what I write. Take it, or leave it. That’s my story, an’ I’m stickin’ to it!
I know my writing has touched so many in a variation of ways, (I hear from folks constantly about poems, or books I have written that seem to be written just for them). I truly believe it is my mission, (calling) to continue writing until I draw my last breath.
However, I am not invincible. The Devil talks to me often saying, “Why are you spending your retirement years locked indoors writing hour upon hour when you moved to Arizona to enjoy the sunshine and freedom to wile away your elder years?” I shoo him behind me in those moments because I am driven in my quest to touch hearts with the gift God gave me. I am His puppet joyfully dancin’ on a string.
I worked hard forty years at a trade I could readily do, but hated—Now, I can honestly say, I have never had a moment when writing seemed a chore.
In the days of my childhood when Easter was all about new dresses, (I never received one unless I got a hand-me-down from my older cousin), and Easter Bunnies, (our folks hiding colorful eggs), and family dinners, there usually was snow still piled in great mounds all around our yard and driveway, so many, many times we had to hunt eggs inside the house.
According to my brother’s recent weather report from the old hometown where he still resides, snow is still coming in six-inch flurries, then, melting always in a few days, so not much has changed in the Methow Valley…
I’m prayin’ y’all have a wonderful Easter Holiday with good friends and family—And don’t forget to go to church! ‘Jesus is the Reason for the Season!’
Here is a poem to put you in the spirit of Easter!
He could have called in Legions
of Angels to His side
to take Him from that cruel cross—
with His Father then abide.
But that was not His mission,
He knew what He must do
to die for all the sins of man—
save the souls of me and you.
He was more than just a carpenter,
Mary and Joseph’s son
who came to live as common man
until His work was done.
His miracles were many,
but still some would deny
the prophesied Messiah—
they called for Him to die.
Disciples would betray Him—
He knew that Judas lied,
and in His wisdom, He foretold
how He would be denied.
And in the Garden, as He prayed,
some would seek His doom
calling on the soldiers
to detain in dungeon’s gloom.
He chose to take the punishment,
the nails in hands and feet.
He chose to suffer tortures,
The Father told Him He must meet.
He hung with lowly thieves of men,
degraded and defamed
tho’ the title, “King of Kings”
was His true and holy name.
He rose from cold, and darkened tomb,
and ascended into Heaven—
from that day we know He lives,
and our sins are all forgiven.
So, don’t tell me He was just a man,
a prophet of those days
who walked the earth in pauper’s clothes—
from Jewish Law He strayed.
I know He lives—works miracles,
the Holy Spirit’s in my heart.
I know each day He walks with me,
and He’ll not soon depart.
I know there is a promised-land
without pain, or sin, or pride,
and there I’ll walk with Jesus—
eternally by His side.
Now, we celebrate this Easter,
this wondrous spring season,
for we know His resurrection
truly is the reason.