Open Roads and Broken Eggs: An Easter Story of Joy and Grace
We packed a U-Haul this week — not because we were moving, but because our son was.
Newly married and stepping into a life of his own, he's heading back to a place that's part of our story too — a place tied to calling, to growth, to seasons that shaped us long before we knew what they meant.
There's something about open roads that makes you think. Maybe it's the distance. Maybe it's the quiet. Or maybe it's the realization that some of the prayers you once prayed are now unfolding right in front of you.
We came to Oklahoma years ago chasing something we believed God had placed on our hearts. Plans shifted. Priorities changed. Life did what life does. But standing here now, watching our son step forward with clarity and conviction, it's hard not to see that God was writing a story bigger than the one we thought we were living.
And that's the thing, isn't it?
Not every calling looks the way we expect it to. But every step still matters.
This weekend, surrounded by family, laughter, and the kind of moments you wish you could slow down, Easter quietly wove itself into everything — not loud, not forced, just present.
And for our family, that presence shows up in a simple, meaningful tradition: cascarones.
At first glance, they're just confetti-filled eggs — bright, playful, a little messy. But for us, they tell a deeper story.
The egg starts broken — just like we are. Jesus fills it with confetti — the color, joy, and richness of life in Him. The streamer covers the crack — a reminder that He heals, even if the scar remains. And when we crack it over someone else? That's us sharing joy. That's us sharing Him.
It's laughter. It's celebration. But it's also the gospel — lived out in the smallest, most unexpected way.
Because Easter isn't just something we remember. It's something we carry.
It shows up in new beginnings. In families growing. In moments of letting go and learning to trust.
It shows up on open roads — and in broken things made whole.
And when the U-Haul is empty and the eggshells have long been swept away, what lingers is the kind of joy that doesn't fade — the kind that travels with you, settles into new places, and speaks softly in the quiet moments.
Because when Jesus is in it, even the broken becomes beautiful.
And around here, we choose to wear that story well — not because we've arrived, but because we're still growing in Him, one day at a time.
— Gabriel
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Grateful you're walking this journey with me. See you next time.