EASTER
Easter has always felt a little different to me since I came to know God.
Before my faith, it was just a time of year—chocolate, family, a long weekend. But now, when I think about Easter, I don’t just see a date on the calendar. I see Jesus. I see the cross. And more than anything, I see the empty tomb.
For a few years now, I don’t place a big focus on celebrating Easter as a specific holiday. Instead, I try to hold onto what it actually means every single day. Because the truth is, the resurrection isn’t something I only want to think about once a year—after all it is the very reason, I have any hope at all.
Jesus died for me. That’s personal.
“It is finished” – John 19:30
Those words weren’t just spoken into history. They were spoken for my sin, my brokenness, my past. And then He rested in the tomb over the Sabbath. That part has become really meaningful to me. Just like God rested after creation, Jesus rested after completing the work of saving us. Nothing more needed to be done.
And then… He rose.
“He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen…” – Matthew 28:6
That moment changes everything. Because if Jesus rose from the dead, then death doesn’t win. Fear doesn’t win. Darkness doesn’t win. And that means the things I walk through—even the heavy, painful seasons—don’t get the final say either.
So, while the world might focus on Easter Sunday, I’ve come to realise that the reality of the resurrection is something I can live in every day—through prayer, through Scripture, and through simply remembering what Jesus has done.
And honestly, that becomes even more real when I’m surrounded by other believers. Being here at the annual SDA Easter Camp—now for the fourth year in a row—has been such a gift. The first time I came, it was incredible… but there was something missing. My family wasn’t here.
I still remember the prayer I prayed as I left that year—that somehow, I’d be able to bring my family back with me the next time. God answered that prayer. And now, as I sit here writing this, they’re with me again—for the third year in a row. God is so good.
Easter, for me, isn’t about the extras. It’s about truth.
It’s about knowing that Jesus didn’t stay in the grave. It’s about living with the quiet, steady hope that because He lives, I will too. Not just someday in heaven—but right now, in the way I live, the way I trust, the way I keep going even when life feels overwhelming.
And it also reminds me of what’s still to come. The resurrection wasn’t the end of the story—it was the beginning of a promise. That one day, Jesus will come back. That those who have died in Him will rise again. That this world, with all its pain, won’t last forever.
So, when Easter comes around, I don’t feel like I’m missing out by not celebrating it the way the world does.
If anything, I feel like I’m holding onto something deeper.
A living Saviour. A finished work.
And a hope that doesn’t fade.
