I had a middle-of-the-night encounter that primed my heart for the Resurrection Sunday celebration. In my sleep, I replayed the apocalyptic show we’re watching called Paradise. It’s brilliant. Disturbing. Inspiring. Convicting even, as it deep dives into the possibility of a world disaster and the human strengths and weaknesses that follow.

I was also trying to reconcile the human brokenness around skin color exposed in my fiction book, Small Great Things. Needless to say, I was not sleeping peacefully.

But it wasn’t a matter of grabbing the remote or closing the book. These pretend stories, artistic mirrors, are pictures of real human dilemmas on the real planet Earth.

At one point in my sleep, I cried out to the Lord in despair. “I can’t fix this. It’s too big. It’s too much. Help me!” I said.

Then I saw the Spirit of the Lord rush over all my scenarios like a fierce wave, a mixture of water and air, breath and power. After that, Jesus appeared. He opened His mouth and a waterfall of words poured out that read: LIVING GOD.

Then Jesus spoke. “I am the God of the Living. I alone carry Resurrection Power.”

The declaration washed over my troubled mind and the scenes that felt unfixable.

I was at once humbled and emboldened. Humbled to think I ever thought I could remedy such fractures without Him. Yet also fortified by the overwhelming reminder that this is My Father’s world.

He has done everything needed, through Jesus, to right every worldly wound.

Resurrection.
Abundant life. Eternal Life. With the Risen King.
Rescued from every possible form of death.
That is what we celebrate.

Hallelujah.