Transformed

Colors splattered or carefully placed. Giggles and another idea erupted. Drops of red and pink and blue. Spills of violet, green.

It is the dying of the eggs. Each year another hardened globe is transformed by hands eager with anticipation. By fingers submerging another, each tint vibrantly applied.

In a season of seeking the Holy, I marvel over the simplicity, the beauty. Isn't that what we all should be doing? Transforming in God's dying love? Allowing Him to submerge our hardened hearts until we are covered with the vibrant, with the glow of the Holy?

Easter is not for eggs and bunnies. Easter is Love dying me with a blood-splattered brow until I too am washed by grace.