Popsicles and Pajamas

It's raining, and even my sweet Baker Boy's disposition reflects the weather.

He's a little sick today.

And while that means changing plans,

and trading Easter frocks and Sunday lunch for pajamas and popsicles,

we are celebrating today.

Because this is a day of rejoicing.

 

After a fun Easter Egg Hunt yesterday, Baker started running a fever. And since it started, it's been nonstop. Fever, throwing up, rash, sleeping and then not sleeping.

I'm thinking it's strep again. This is just the way it started last time.

I had big plans for the weekend.

Dress up in our finest to worship our risen Lord on Easter morning, 

Sunday lunch with Brian's parents and grandparents, then a visit from mine. 

Fun, and frocks, and food, and family.

Instead, we've been home with a sick little.

But, what I learned was that Jesus can still be present in a home on Easter morning.

With a sick boy, and his exhausted mommy and daddy.

It doesn't take lights, and music, and a beautiful building to exalt the Most High.

We worshiped. And praised. And thanked the Lord for his perfect sacrifice.

Brian and I started the morning with cinnabunnies.

And then opening very small Easter baskets.

Do you see that Dropper Stopper? 

Glory!

We have a mad game of "Drop the Cup" going on 'round here

and I'm the sucker that falls for it.

Every. Single. Time.

Red Bull and chocolates for Brian, if that's any indication of the nights we've had lately.

When Baker's fever spiked again, he donned new pajamas and tried out some yummy popsicles.

His sick little eyes are just pitiful.

But that curly hair slays me.

Slays, I tell ya.

 

 

Both sets of grandparents sent Easter baskets.

I love how much our parents love our little.

And during the short time he felt better this afternoon, well, we played dress up. 

I was determined to see him in his Easter outfit. 

Doggonit!

I think this is all part of it. 

The sick littles.

And changes in plans.

The trading Easter clothes and Sunday lunch for pajamas and popsicles.

It's part of it.

And I wouldn't want it any other way.

 

Thank you, Lord for sending your precious son to die for me.

Thank you even more for not letting the story end there.

 

As I watched the season finale of the Bible series tonight,

I couldn't help but think about Mary.

How, oh how, did that mother watch her son die?

For her sins.

For my sins.

For our sins.

 

I've been sitting here literally aching, feeling physical pain at the hurt Baker is experiencing today. Every time he coughs, I wince. Every time he throws up, I whimper alongside him. But this, this strep, or cold, or sinus infection, or whatever it may be, pales in comparison.

 

So many times tonight, as I was watching this representation of the Bible, I started to turn away. It would have been so easy to change the channel and instead watch The Lucky One, which I had DVR'ed only a few hours earlier. But I didn't. I wanted to watch every lash, every whip, every nail driven into my Savior, every step as he shouldered the cross and in turn, carried the burden of my sin.

 

I am in awe of His perfect sacrifice and amazing grace.

Thank you, Jesus.

For living and dying.

For showering me daily with love and grace.

For a little boy who makes me better understand this.

Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.

Easter.

Thank you, Jesus.