Skip to main content

The Easter Story according to Paul

Nope. not the actual Paul in the bible.
Another one. A friend of mine's husband. And in addition to having a pretty creative and funny hubs -- she has two amazing twin girls. That have babysat my kids, eaten fondue and mexican food with me. Drank lots of coffee. Talked, math, physics, music and jesus with me. And now they are Sophomores in college. But once they were little and too smart for their pretty little heads and asked all kinds of silly questions. Like my son. And i'm sure this story is made up. But probably not that made up. And it's kind of long (have you ever tried telling a story to little girls!)...but worth the read.

Easter as a Bedtime story for K&K
“Girls, do you know what tomorrow is?”

“And what is special about Easter?”
“The Easter Bunny brings us Chocolate Bunnies, and Chocolate Eggs, and Toothpaste, and Stuff!” said Katie.
“And my basket has milk chocolate eggs and bunnies,” said Keeley, “while Katie’s basket has dark chocolate eggs and bunnies.”
“Daddy, how does the Easter Bunny know that Keeley and I like different kinds of chocolate?”
“Well, it’s for the same reason that Santa Claus knows that you want different presents than your sister.”
“Ohhhhh,” said the twins with a knowing glance at one another.
“Other than the chocolate, what’s special about Easter?”
“It’s the day that Jesus was reincarnated!”
“Resurrected,” corrected her sister.
“That’s right. Jesus was resurrected or raised from the dead.”
“How do we know He was resurrected,” asked Keeley?
"Well, in Matthew, one of the books of the Bible, it says that two women were visiting the tomb.”
“What’s a toom?”
“It’s the place where Jesus’ body had been placed after he died on the cross.”
“Were any of his twelve disciples there?”
“No, not that early in the morning.”
“Oh, like you sleep in on weekends while mommy gets up early and does our laundry…”
“And makes us her World Famous Cinnamon Rolls…”
“And wonders how you can snore so loud…”
“Girls, you know that I need to get a lot of sleep to be able to tell you creative stories.”
“I thought this was a Bible story. This isn’t a made up story, is it?”
“Yeah, like those stories you tell about when you were a boy…”
“And walked to and from school…”
“Through twelve feet of snow…”
“Both ways…”
“No, it’s a true story. So, like I was saying, Mary and Mary were visiting the tomb…”
“There were two Marys?”
“The Bible says that it was Mary Magdalene and the other Mary.”
“Like my dolls, Baby Violet and Other Baby Violet,” said Katie.
“Was the other Mary Jesus’ mother?”
“No, in the Gospel of Mark we are told that the other Mary was the mother of James.”
“Are all the women in the Bible named Mary?” asked one of the twins.
“No, there’s Esther and Ruth,” quipped her sister.
“Yeah, but those were Old Testament women. Are all the New Testament women named Mary?”
“No, but apparently it was a common name at that time.”
“Like the name Brittany is now?”
“We had thirty-seven girls at preschool named Brittany.”
“Some were named Brittney.”
“That’s what I said”
“No, B-R-I-T-T-N-E-Y, not B-R-I-T-T-A-N-Y,” she spelled out.
“Sounds the same.”
“Nuh-uh. Brittany has three parts – BRIT-UH-NY – and Brittney has two parts – BRIT-NEY.”
“Getting back to our story, while the women were there, suddenly there was a great earthquake and an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone that covered the opening to the tomb. The guards were afraid, but the angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, "He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him." This is my message for you.'"
“That is so cool that God sent an angel.”
“And he talked to Mary and Mary, but not to the Mary that was Jesus’ mother?”
“You’re making the story unnecessarily complicated.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Girls, calm down.”
“Were Mary and Mary afraid like the guards?”
“Well, it says that the women left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy.”
“That describes how I feel when I’ve been caught by Mommy eating too many of her World Famous Cinnamon Rolls.”
“As the women ran to tell the disciples, Jesus met them, and they worshiped him.”
“Just like we do at church?”
“That’s right.”
“Why were there guards at the toom?”
“They were there to keep people from opening up the tomb.”
“I guess they weren’t expecting an angel to show up.”
“No, apparently not.”
“How many guards were there?”
“Probably six.”
“You’d need a lot more than six guards to keep an angel from rolling away a big stone.”
“I wouldn’t want to tell an angel that he couldn’t have something, even if it was Mrs. Bonjour who had told me to guard it.”
“Did the guards get in trouble?”
“No, I don’t think so. The people who had wanted Jesus to be crucified gave them a large sum of money to tell a story.”
“Do you get paid for making up your stories?”
“Well they’d have to be good stories if Daddy was going to get paid for them.” Both girls giggled.
“Hey, my stories are good.”
“Do you get paid for them?”
“Point reiterated,” stated Katie.
“Yeah, what she said,” added Keeley.
“What story did the guards tell?” asked the girls.
“Well, a better description for what the guards were bribed to do was to tell a lie, as in a story that wasn’t true.”
“Ohhhhhhhh. That’s really naughty.”
“I bet they didn’t get any chocolate from the Easter Bunny that year.”
“They were told to say that the disciples came in the middle of the night while they were sleeping and stole Jesus’ body.”
“If the guards were sleeping, how would they know that it was the disciples who took the body?”
“And why would they admit that they were sleeping when they should have been on guard? That’s like telling your parents that you dropped the cat from the loft because you were doing an experiment for a school project to see if a cat really would land on its feet instead of just admitting that the cat jumped to escape one more attempt at being dressed up as Mulan. The lie would get you in more trouble than the truth.”
“Mommy would never be duped by a lie like that.”
“Yeah, but it would work on Daddy.”
“And how would the disciples be able to roll away a big stone and not wake up the guards?”
“And what are the chances that six guards would all be asleep at the same time if they had been given that important a job to do?”
“If there were six, the probability is 46,656 to 1 that all the guards would be asleep at the same time,” said Keeley.
“What if there were twelve guards?” asked Katie.
“I can’t figure that out in my head. Daddy, do you have a calculator?”
“Well, the point is that it would be very unlikely that they would all be asleep at the same time.”
“That’s a really bad lie!” exclaimed Katie
“All lies are bad. Mommy says even telling Daddy that his stories are good when they aren’t is a lie, and something we shouldn’t do.”
“I meant ‘bad’ as in ‘ineffective’ – a really unbelievable story.”
“Daddy, why would someone believe a story like that instead of the way that Matthew told it in the Bible? It makes no sense.”
“Well, some people find it difficult to believe in angels and that Jesus was actually raised from the dead.”
“Well, I believe in those things.”
“Me too.”
“I know you do. Goodnight girls.”
k&k now.

o&t. and they may not be twins, but are still super cute and can wreck a story almost as good as those two above.


Kate said…
Thanks for sharing! Made me smile!

Popular posts from this blog

preachers and parades.

Months ago, I sat in a pew and tried to not think about the fact that you could count on one hand the number of white congregants in the room.
And I was one of them.
 I did not want to draw attention to myself, but despite the fact that I have been to church most Sundays of my life, I had no idea what to do. When to sit, stand, pray or the lyrics to any of the songs. The rules here seemed so different than my own church, just a few miles away. Filled with people who mostly looked like me.
 A few elderly African American women were seated next to me and were kind enough to attempt to make me feel welcome and tell me what to do. At some point Eunice, in a bright purple dress, slid her arthritic hand on top of mine, squeezed and tugged me to the front to pray.
 I let her lead me, because I didn’t how else to respond, and because she seemed so genuinely glad that I was there, singing off key next to her.

 It was not lost on me, that my slight discomfort was one of choice and ended just …

The annual REAL Christmas letter

One of my favorite traditions for a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter.  Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot more entertaining. Last new year, I had a friend ask me to come up with a word for 2018. I joked that my word was just going to be “done”. I was partly kidding, partly serious. The year ahead seemed daunting rather than full of promise and resolutions.  I had so many things to finish in the upcoming year that I needed to be “done” with: my degree, my job and my thirties. A few weeks later, my friend showed up with one of those string bracelets with the metal word “done” hammered in the middle. I wore it often, especially in those home stretches. Not taking it off until I had my last chapter writte…

game day

“But I don’t want to go to soccer, I’m tired”
says the boy who has been running circles around the living room for the last hour.

“No, I don’t want to wear my jersey”
says the same boy that slept in his uniform just last week.

And so I do what any good mom would do, which is start bribing my kid.
I promise him ring pops or pizza or new toys for having a good attitude, listening to his coach and trying his best.
But those things are not quite enough to make him eagerly lace up his cleats.

Owen actually loves soccer practice.
And is one of the best dribblers on the teams.
And he loves kicking the ball around the living room and in the front yard.
But games days are hell.
Instead of being a proud momma on the sideline snapping pictures
I am usually trying not to cry.
Because Owen has realized that he isn’t really good at it.
That the other kids are bigger and faster and score more goals.

And today his team won. And they haven’t won many games.
And they cheered and lined up eagerly for patches and sna…