He Lives: When the Light Slowly Returns
This morning I woke up before the world felt fully awake.
It’s one of my favorite Easter traditions. I lace up my shoes, grab my scriptures, and hike up to a high hill while the sky is still dark. By the time I reach the top, the sun is just beginning to rise.
I sit there and read the Resurrection story as the light slowly begins to change everything around me.
There’s something about reading those sacred words outside, with cold air and tired legs, that feels honest.
No music yet.
No celebration yet.
Just the quiet return of light.
For years I’ve loved Luke’s account of the Savior’s final hours. Earlier in his record, when Jesus was in Gethsemane carrying the weight of the world, Luke tells us that an angel came to strengthen Him.
I think about that often.
The idea that heaven sends help when the weight feels heavy.
I hold onto that thought during difficult seasons in my own life, that maybe angels are closer than we realize. That maybe heaven strengthens us in ways we don’t always see.
As I sit there watching the sunrise, I’m always reminded of something about resurrection.
It rarely arrives the way we expect it to.
At first the light is barely noticeable.
The darkness doesn’t disappear all at once.
It softens slowly.
The sky begins to shift.
And before you realize it, the whole world looks different.
I think that’s why this tradition means so much to me.
Because resurrection often comes quietly.
Gently.
After a long season of waiting.
If you’ve been walking through Before the Empty Tomb with me these past weeks, you know Easter isn’t just about this morning. It’s about all the mornings that came before it.
The questions you carried.
The places you stayed when you wanted to rush ahead.
The trust you practiced when answers didn’t come quickly.
The disciples knew that feeling.
After the cross, they didn’t wake up Sunday morning expecting celebration. They woke up in grief, confusion, and exhaustion. They were simply trying to take the next step forward.
And then came the moment that changed everything.
The stone was rolled away.
The tomb was empty.
The angel’s words echoed through history:
“He is not here: for he is risen.”
And suddenly the story that had looked like defeat became something entirely different.
Maybe this Easter finds you hopeful.
Or maybe it finds you a little tired.
Maybe you’re standing somewhere in between, still waiting for light to return to a part of your life.
Wherever you are today, I hope you remember this:
Resurrection has never been reserved for people who have everything figured out.
It meets us right where we are.
In the quiet.
In the becoming.
In the parts of our lives that are still unfinished.
Today we celebrate the truth that changes everything.
The tomb is empty.
He lives.
He has risen.
Happy Easter, my friend.
And thank you for walking this season with me.
With love,
Amber
If you didn’t get the Before the Empty Tomb workbook and would still like to slowly walk through the resurrection story on your own,
I’d love to share it with you.
You can download the free workbook here:
