It was fine. It was always fine. And somehow, that’s almost worse.
Every Easter—without fail—someone in your house hides a plastic egg just a little too well. The egg hunt ends. The baskets overflow. The kids are grinning ear to ear. The adults are exhausted. And somewhere—behind the couch, under the porch, or nestled in the depths of a fake plant nobody’s watered since Christmas—one lone plastic egg waits.
Patient. Unbothered. Entirely at peace.
It doesn’t need you. It’s not in a hurry. It has nowhere else to be. It will wait.
The Timeline of the Missing Egg
It’s a tale as old as time, and it always goes like this:
Easter Sunday:
“Did we find all the eggs?”
“I think so.”
“You think so or you know so?”
“…I think so.”
“How many did we hide?”
“…I don’t remember.”
“WHO WAS IN CHARGE OF THE EGGS?”
Easter Monday:
The egg is forgotten. Everyone is back to work. The inbox is full. The egg, however, remains unbothered. It’s probably sitting there with a little candy inside, enjoying its solitude.
Early May:
The Easter decorations come down. The plastic grass gets vacuumed up—most of it. (Some of it will haunt your carpet until August.) The egg is not mentioned. The egg does not care.
Mid-May:
You find a plastic egg behind a couch cushion. “Oh, there it is!” you think, triumphant. You toss it into the junk drawer. But that’s not the egg we’re talking about.
Late May:
Another egg turns up—in the garage this time. You have no memory of hiding an egg in the garage. Into the junk drawer it goes. The drawer now contains three plastic eggs. None of them is the egg.
June:
You finally move the fake plant. The one in the corner. The one nobody has touched since February. There it is. Bright yellow. Cheerful. Absolutely pristine.
It’s sitting there like, “Oh hey—took you long enough.”
You pick it up. You open it. Inside is a single Starburst. Pink. Still wrapped. Perfectly fine. Completely edible. Judging you.
You eat the Starburst. You stand there in June, eating an Easter Starburst next to a fake plant, questioning your entire life. The dog watches you. Completely unsympathetic.
The Junk Drawer Situation
A brief inventory of what is now in your junk drawer because of Easter:
- Three plastic eggs of mysterious origin.
- Loose jellybeans of indeterminate age.
- One slightly melted chocolate bunny.
- Plastic grass that somehow got in there.
- A fourth plastic egg—wait, where did that come from?
Congratulations. Your junk drawer is now a second Easter basket.
But Here’s What Got Me
That yellow egg sat behind the fake plant for three months.
In the corner. In the dark. Completely forgotten. And yet, it was fine.
The whole time.
Perfectly intact. Nothing lost. Nothing ruined. Still full of exactly what was placed inside it. Just waiting to be found.
And I thought—that is exactly what we do with the resurrection.
We carry the most powerful truth in human history inside us. And somewhere between Easter Sunday and Monday’s alarm clock, between May’s deadlines and June’s chaos, we tuck it away.
Behind the fake plant. Under the routine. Inside the part of life nobody really looks at.
And there it sits. Patient. Unbothered. Perfectly intact. Waiting.
Because here’s the thing about the resurrection:
It doesn’t need you to remember it to remain true. It doesn’t fade. It doesn’t expire. It doesn’t get weird in the dark. It just waits.
Full of exactly what was placed inside it. Ready the moment you come back to it.
The Bottom Line
The tomb is still empty.
Even in June. Even on a random Tuesday. Even when you’ve forgotten to look.
So maybe check the corners. Move the fake plant. Look behind the routine. Find what you tucked away after Easter Sunday—and pick it back up.
It’s still good. It was always good. It was just waiting for you to find it again.
He is risen. He is risen indeed.
Now go check the junk drawer.