As I tucked my five-year-old, Nate, into bed last night after his day of coloring eggs with Granny, I reminded him of what the morning would bring. “What’s tomorrow?” I asked expectantly.
“Easter!” he exclaimed.
“What does that mean?”
“Jesus was raised from the dead!” he almost yelled (at 10 pm no less).

My mother’s heart–and eyes–filled at that point. He really got it. It’s not about the candy anymore (though he doesn’t mind that). He understands the gospel, the story of Jesus’ death and sacrifice to pay for his sins, and the victory and joy of the resurrection. Sure, it’s an immature knowledge, but it’s sufficient for him. He believes. He loves Jesus, and Jesus’ coming back alive makes him happy.

It makes me happy, too.

Before I left the room last night I mentioned the traditional Easter greeting “He is Risen.” Nate said he knew what to say in response. I told him that when I came to wake him up Sunday morning that was how I would start his day.

So this morning I shook him awake, all snug in his blankets, and softly said, “He is risen!”

Muffled into his pillow, not a hair moving, he mumbled, “He is risen indeed!”