By: Lysa Tuerkerst

You know what my favorite part of the Easter miracle is? It’s hard to choose a favorite, but I have one.

It’s the stir.

The stir no one saw.

That first second Jesus twitched beneath the burial clothes and death lost its sting. Hope, glorious hope rose in that second when the world still felt the weight of death. Hope twitched. Hope moved. Hope stirred. And Jesus arose.

God reminds us of the stir in so many ways.

A branch looks dead and yet a stir is happening in places we can’t see. Places that soon burst forth green life.

A drought threatens to dry out the life of everything planted and yet a stir is happening in places we can’t see. A wind shifts, a cloud bursts, and heaven pours forth.

A woman is told her womb will not and yet a stir is happening in places we can’t see. Her baby will come through a stranger’s womb and in an instant her arms are filled.

The stir no one saw.

The stir we so often miss.

The stir we so desperately need to remember.

The stir was.

The stir is.

The stir will forever be.

Even when we can’t see it.

He is risen, my friend. And because He is risen we can know there is a stir happening behind whatever tomb threatens to close over our hope today.

Yes, there is a stir happening in places we can’t see. He is risen indeed.