My Offering

This time of year, Easter, I find myself weepy.  I feel guilty that my life isn't worth the sacrifice that Jesus made for it, for me.  Sadness and shame seem as close as my flesh.  This is my natural reaction to that supernatural act of love that Jesus shows through his death.  And, as all of the songs and verses suggest, I will never know the depth of his pain,  of his hurt, or of his longing for me to get the wholeness of his death.  Because if I stop there, at the guilt, then I obviously don't get it.  Because, that isn't why he died.  He died that I might have life.  Life.  A full life.  Life, people.  As I type this, I feel hope rising inside of me.  The tear covered eyes dry to a smile.  I lift my hands up, take a deep breath, and rest in his love, in his mercy, in his offering.  My response to this matters.  What do I have to offer?  What is my offering, today, right now, this minute?