Resurrection Mercy

There are many truths we try to teach our kids. We repeat them often, hoping that one day they’ll stick. But every once in a while, life hands you a moment where the lesson becomes real — where something happens that illustrates the truth better than any words could.
I had one of those moments with my daughter, Bethany.

She woke up early to come with me to a sunrise worship service. Anyone who knows kids knows that waking up before the sun rises is a big ask. But she was up, dressed quickly, and excited to go. I was proud of her.

As we drove through the quiet streets, I was telling her why this day means so much to me. Easter has always been one of my favorite days of the year. I shared stories about Easter mornings from when I was a kid and how, year after year, the meaning of the resurrection has only grown deeper for me.

To capture the moment, I put on one of my favorite resurrection songs — upbeat, full of joy — and began explaining why it meant so much to me.

Then I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Blue flashing lights.
My heart dropped.

I pulled into a nearby parking lot, stunned that this was happening on such a beautiful morning. The officer approached the car while the worship music kept playing softly in the background.

He asked a few questions about my speed and where we were headed. Standing there in a suit, with my daughter sitting in the back wearing her Easter bonnet, I explained that we were on our way to a sunrise worship service.

He checked my license and insurance, stepped away for a moment, and then came back.
“Please drive carefully,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

That was it.
No ticket. No fine. Just mercy.

As we drove away, our hearts were racing again — though thankfully the car wasn’t. And in that moment I realized we had just experienced a living illustration of the very message we were on our way to celebrate.

I turned to Bethany and explained it to her.

My driving deserved the punishment of the law. The officer had every right to write a ticket. The cost would have been significant. But instead of punishment, I was offered grace.
The penalty was cancelled. And that’s the story of Easter.

The law says we are guilty. Justice says there is a cost for our wrongdoing. But Easter reminds us that Jesus stepped in and paid the price we owed. The penalty that belonged to us fell on Him instead.

That morning, in a quiet parking lot before sunrise, Bethany and I were reminded of something simple and powerful:

Grace means we don’t always get what we deserve.
And because of Jesus, that is the best news in the world.