When I was a young girl, I used to visit my Grandparents' church in Mt. Sterling, Kentucky. It was a modestly sized church, always warm and inviting. Every year they put on an Easter program that took you through the story - from the last supper all the way through Christ's death and resurrection. My Grandpa routinely played the role of a disciple and recited his one line, "Is it I?" when Jesus tells them that one of the twelve will betray him. Each time I saw him on stage, I was so proud of him. I teared up every time they performed the Ray Bolz classic, "Watch the Lamb," and the actor portraying Jesus, bloodied and stripped down to rags, carried his cross down the sanctuary aisle. These things meant something powerful to me. They reminded me of the immense sacrifice my Savior made so long ago. The mediocre but sincere acting took me back to a time and place so easily forgotten in our modern day lives. They brought me to a place of vivid remembrance