For many years, every time the conversation hearts and the Valentine’s Day chocolates went on sale, a feeling of dread would wash over me because I knew Easter was just around the corner.  Don’t get me wrong, I love celebrating the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, but unfortunately, our culture has added to it an unnecessary stress and financial burden— the dreaded Easter outfit.  

I took a deep breath and let go of the two small hands in each of mine.  I’m not ready.  I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to smile.  “Have a good day!” I said with forced cheerfulness. Lord, please let them have a good day.  

They called out hurried goodbyes, waved, and rushed forward into the crowd of students and teachers.  And then, they were out of my sight.  Out of my care.  Out of my control.  

Today I found something unexpected in my son's room.

I picked up the white sheet of copy paper from his nightstand.  I thought it might have a sketch or a scribble on the opposite side that was refrigerator-worthy, so I casually flipped it over to check.  What I saw stopped me in my tracks.  Typed in a single line across the top of the page were six words I’ll never forget.

Let's imagine there is a man on an island, somewhere far across the globe, and a missionary has yet to reach him.  The man has never heard the name of Jesus.  Is he a sinner?  If so, how is he to be reconciled with God?