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Easter morning is a kaleidoscope of things for me. This Easter began with a faint pink sunrise, dew upon the grass, and the birds singing and fluttering around the yard. On my drive up to Olympia there were bright yellow stars in the fields—daffodils nodding to me as I drove past. Cherry blossom trees matched the sunrise, as airy as a dream. And hyacinths proved that a flower can be clothed more beautifully than royalty. This was a morning to be alive.

The choir at church was lovely; a gathering of people singing together never ceases to amaze me. Those in the pews joined in, adding their voices. As I sang, my eyes wandered over the stained glass windows. There was a dove and a lily amidst such an array of colors that I never wearied of studying it.

The pastor was speaking of new life, and of being born again. To me it seemed a metamorphosis—like that of a caterpillar to a butterfly, or the transformation of dead winter to the new life of spring. As the pastor spoke, I caught sight of a large moth flutter above the heads of the churchgoers in front of me. It wasn’t a spectacular moth—it was brown and plain, but it winged above us in shy grace, bobbing and rising as if in a dance.

That moth is like me, I thought, and a smile lit up my face. I am brown and plain, and I once was a caterpillar, but that old life is gone and now I wing through the air in a dance to the One who saved me. By grace I have been saved, through faith. Flying must be an act of faith, how can we know the air will hold us up? Emerging from a cocoon will be a struggle, but oh such glory when we emerge!

Jesus rose from the dead on that Easter morning, and I follow in His footsteps—I am a new creation; behold, the old has passed away, and the new has come. I will fly on the wings of the dawn, my precious Jesus has made me alive.

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