Every year, when this happens in my garden, it amazes me. Despite my poor gardening skills, despite the ravages of winter, and despite the neglect my garden receives from me, it comes back every spring.
Easter is like that. Even though I am clearly imperfect, Jesus still loves me. It's a miracle and is as sure as Spring. Because he lives, even after dying so terribly, so will I. And so will you!
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