It’s time. But we’ve arrived embarrassingly late to the grand event, skittering to a halt before the guest of honor. Our garments are tattered and spattered with mud. We are a sight to behold.

We are the impetuous children, having frolicked and spurned guidance, fully ensconced in our own whimsies, play, and merriment without another care in the world.

And so we look down in shame, cheeks flushed, unsteadily rocking back and forth, twisting our fingers behind our backs in anticipation of the reprimand to come. We have strayed beyond the given boundaries. It is evidenced in our appearance.

But in a twist of fate we hear not the harsh scorn of threat and demise but rather a welcoming demeanor. “At last—you’ve made it! Come in, my children, come in. I have been waiting for you. Look what I have in store.”

Presented before us is a feast with place settings for any and all who would come in. As we enter the grand dining room, a gift is offered to each of our outstretched hands.

It is Resurrection Sunday. Today we dwell upon Jesus’ ultimate gift to us—grace. That’s what the resurrection is. It’s a gift undeserved, fully offered to our humbled souls.

This is what it means to each of us—a chance to be whole, to be clean, to be new. A chance to be looked upon not as we are but as we could be.

Our future is bright. Our potential is full before us. We have been given a chance to start the day anew. We are looked at through eyes of pure love by a Father who gave everything to invite us in to dwell with him.

Think about the last big goal you set for yourself. You had a date of accomplishment looming somewhere in the future. To get to that point, there were steps along the way you had to first traverse. But at last you arrived at the moment of completion.

How does it feel now that you’ve met your goal? Is there triumph? relief? even a possible letdown, wondering what’s next now that this is finished?

Think about this week in the life of Jesus, from Palm Sunday to Good Friday. His entire earthly dwelling, 33 years, had been leading up to this point. He faced the ultimate goal—salvation of all humankind. No pressure, right?

Though he was God, here he was fully human. There was nothing preventing Jesus from feeling the full amount of agony, shame, and abandonment—all the physical and mental anguish that could be experienced during the torturous capital punishment known as crucifixion.

Truly this was his goal. Yet what a strange culmination to his mission. Look how he acted during the days leading up to this certain, painful death. He paraded into town. He kept teaching. He reached out to his disciples with the humble act of cleansing their feet. He prayed earnestly for all of us.

Jesus lived out his final week just as he had been doing in the previous years. He fully kept on with his ministry until his dying breath. He lived out his mission until the final minutes. And then he reset the clock and gave a curtain call.

This was what his three decades of life had been all about. This is why a tiny, innocent baby was born in Bethlehem and lived out a childhood, an adolescence, and matured into an adult. This one weekend—a Friday death, a Sunday resurrection—made the difference between death and life to every human soul.

Jesus’ goal was met. It is finished. He created the salvation offered to even us. Now what will we do with it?

Surreptitiously I crept to the hall closet, making my 7-year-old self as minuscule as possible. With furtive glances about me, I swiftly, silently opened the door and dove inside, closing it behind. Heart pounding, I tried to slow my rapid breath. This was it—the moment of truth. With trembling fingertips I reached into the darkness and through the hanging coats. The moment seemed an eternity, and I dared to hope.

Thud.

My hand hit solid wall. Dejected, I faced the fact—this was not a portal to Narnia.

I love getting lost in a story, even as an adult. I’m caught up in childlike wonder by creative characters and twisting plots in books, in movies, onstage. I escape my own life for a while, and that’s relaxing, energizing, and even motivating. Perhaps I’m especially drawn to narratives that, as C. S. Lewis understood, have reflections of glory woven within.

Yet we don’t have to look far to find daring rescue, enthralling romance, confounding mystery, or spine-tingling suspense. Life provides plenty of each. God designed us to live with abandon. “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).

True, our plots aren’t always appealing. The scars brought on by sin are painful. But the Master Storyteller can redeem the most harrowed protagonists if we entrust ourselves to him. He provides hope that we matter now and we matter for eternity. Though we’ve heard an old, old story, Jesus’ sacrifice on our behalf is real and offered the same today as when God first planned his heroic act. After heart-wrenching loss he can bring wondrous awe.

How has God’s better story affected yours? How has he changed your view of yourself and others? Your chapters are intertwined with mine as we are in this narrative together. Let’s live our story to the full.