Some of us who live in the Midwest are having a hard time imagining Easter is on the way. The days are mostly gray, and the sky keeps spitting down cold rain, sometimes freezing on our windshields and sidewalks. The other day, we had snow. There are no daffodils.

Actually, our weather is rather symbolic for this side of Easter. The darkness of the world when Jesus died. The cold, dreary hopelessness that settled on His followers. The feeling that joy and light and beauty will never come again.

Sometimes, then and now, we simply can’t imagine better days.

And that, Dear Reader, is the true hope of Easter. We don’t have to imagine it. The power that raised Jesus from the dead did not depend on the faith of His friends. God determined to conquer death. He spoke the word, and Jesus came out of that tomb, despite all the doubts and fears of the men and women who would soon become the first church.

Whether I can imagine it or not, Easter is coming. It comes every year to remind us that Jesus is alive. Despite the weather, despite the world, despite my own troubles with all this earth stuff, Jesus is alive.

Better days are coming, and they shall last forever. I’ve read it in the Bible, and I feel it in my soul.

I can imagine.

I do believe.