There is something quite sacred and sweet in the tending of a grave. The Marys knew as they carried spice and linen to the garden tomb.   In the quiet of the night shift, I've tenderly prepared many who have passed...honorable work, but these grieving women, theirs was  holy work.   

 Today, I gave Rob's grave marker a thorough cleaning before decorating it for Easter Week. Soft cloth, car cleaner and elbow grease...an hour later his name sparkled in the afternoon sun. A lot of dirt collects in the crevices of the raised letters, making for a tedious task.

I was reminded that Jewish women all over the world are completing the cleaning of their homes this week for Passover. They started a few weeks ago, ridding each room of hidden leaven, the chametz, which symbolizes the haughtiness that lies within a person. It's a big deal in many Jewish homes; there's no hiding yeast or pride during Passover.

As I scrubbed the stubborn grime, I found it impossible to clear it all. Isn't that like our lives? Sin at some level is always present and it always takes a Savior to remove it. 

This week, I'm dwelling on the hidden places as I prepare for Resurrection Sunday. Searching for the deep ugly, I want it exposed, laid open before the Lamb.

 Cleanse me with hyssop and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Psalm 51:7