Yesterday was Easter Sunday – my favorite holiday (besides Christmas) and a day I look forward to every year. A day meant for celebration, reflection, au Gratin potatoes, and pastel everything. This year felt especially meaningful for me as it was my first Easter celebrating with both of my kids. And your girl had it all planned out: all of us in our Sunday best, the floral prints, the picture-perfect family of four frolicking into church like a springtime dream.

Or so I hoped.

Except… when I went to get dressed, I realized those pants I thought were a six (or maybe an eight?) were actually a size four. And they no longer fit this postpartum body of mine. It wasn’t even about the fit – it was the fact that my outfit was a three-piece set and piece three wouldn’t button. Not even close.
So jeans it was for me this year.

Strike one — jeans for Easter, here we go.

Everyone was dressed and ready to head out the door (more or less). I had my coffee waiting patiently for me on the counter (God bless it, my half-full, two-hour-old coffee), and then—splat. Jackson, in true Jackson form, yanked it down from the counter, instantly baptizing his little Old Navy carrot polo in my vanilla latte. Outfit number one, done.

Strike two — latte’d before liturgy.

We did a quick change and rallied. I was determined to make it to church on time. It’s Easter Sunday for crying out loud, and we will not be late. And we weren’t; at 10:28 we pulled into the parking lot, and just as I reached for Everly’s car seat, I caught a whiff. A blowout. And not just any blowout—one that would put any diaper commercial to shame. Her pink velour Easter outfit? History. So into service she went in pajamas, because that’s what we had, and honestly, that’s what worked.

Then came Sunday school. They handed out chocolate donuts as a sweet (and sticky) visual for the stone that rolled away from Jesus’ tomb. Jackson loved the object lesson. His outfit? Not so much. Outfit number two—chocolate-smeared and barely holding on.

Strike three — and we’re outta clean outfits.

After church, the Jensens rallied once again and headed to Easter brunch. I had made a reservation at a nicer restaurant—the kind with linen napkins and a prix fixe menu. And despite the state of our motley crew, the staff decided to seat us smack dab in the center of the dining room. Front and center. Right where every. single. patron. could see us. Literally my worst nightmare, and yet—somehow—here we were, waving our syrup-covered linen napkins with pride.

To top it all off? We got one-star service at a five-star spot. I looked across the table at Wayne and just laughed. Because at that point, what else can you do? (I didn’t even get my au Gratins.)

And then — just as we were preparing to run as fast as we could from the restaurant — a couple seated across from us stopped by our table. They smiled warmly and told us how well-behaved our kids were. How lovely it was to see a family like ours. They had raised four themselves and knew what it was like bringing kids to fancy restaurants.

I nearly burst into tears.

Because what they saw wasn’t the blowouts, or the multiple outfit changes, or the chaos of our morning.
They saw love.
And that—that is the grace of God showing up exactly when you need it.

Because Easter isn’t about perfect families in coordinated pastels. It’s about a perfect Savior who entered into the chaos of our world and made a way through it. Through the greatest trial came the greatest triumph the world has ever known. Through suffering came salvation. Through death came life—eternal, unshakable, grace-filled life.

He is worthy—worthy of our worship, our surrender, our laughter through the madness, our tired hallelujahs. And because He is worthy, we are made worthy in Him. Not by our polished appearances, but by His powerful resurrection.

Jesus rose because of His perfect love for us. And it’s that love that covers our mess. Our coffee spills. Our pajama-wearing babies. Our parenting fails. Our brokenness.

So here’s to the holiday mornings that don’t go as planned.
To the pajama-clad babies, the donut-smeared shirts, the kind words from strangers, and the grace of God poured out in the middle of it all.

Because He is risen.
And He is Worthy of it all.