One Thing You Don’t Know About Passover

Audio By Carbonatix

Isn’t it funny how things come full circle? Around this time of year, many years ago, my now almost eighteen-year-old was just six. And at six, he absolutely wrecked me—in ways that I still haven’t fully healed.

My eldest, Emerson, was just starting school and beginning to absorb the world in deeper ways. That’s a nice way of saying he used the term “going commando” correctly and asked my mom if she’d had a “lifestyle lift” after overhearing FOX News in the background. Wrecked.

The children are listening.

Gone were the days of casually having adult conversations with kids nearby. That realization made me wonder: What else were they taking in? What could they process with their growing awareness? Obviously, a social experiment was needed. Enter the Bible series from Roma Downey—not VeggieTales or SuperBook. I wanted to see what kind of “grown-up” spiritual content they could handle. How much of it made sense to them?

They were drawn to the Creation episodes, instantly recognized Noah, and were captivated by the flood. I was thrilled. Maybe I hadn’t totally messed them up yet. To keep the momentum, I previewed episodes in advance—something I learned to do after Emerson once tried to “decapitate” his dad (in costume) at his “David and Goliath” themed 4th birthday party. Apparently, not every child hears that part of the story.

In the next episode, Moses instructed the Israelites to prepare for Passover. The scene showed families sacrificing lambs, catching the blood, and painting their doorframes. It was raw and heavy. I was glad the kids weren’t there.

Then, a shift. The film showed parents comforting their sons—firstborns—while blood was smeared across doorways. And for the first time, I truly thought about what that night must’ve been like for those families. For the parents. For the children.

Observable obedience. With an observable outcome.

The Bible is more than a storybook—it’s real people, with real lives and real fears, trusting a very real God.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the kids. Did they grasp what was at stake? Did the older ones understand that their very lives depended on the mercy of God and their parents’ obedience? Surely, they had heard of the plagues. Even if they didn’t understand the full picture, they’d seen rivers turn red, frogs invade homes, and locusts darken the skies. They had seen enough.

And I thought—were some of them scared because they knew their parents weren’t all that great at obedience? Kids know. Maybe not about social status or wealth, but they know what intentional love and care feel like. They don’t always have the words, but they know. Were there homes filled with dread, uncertainty, even guilt?

And were there homes that slept in peace, confident that God was good and their parents faithful?

That’s the kind of home I wanted. A place where fear didn’t reign—but faith did.

And what about those parents? Can you imagine the weight?

“Sara, here is My Word. Follow it. Your child’s life depends on your belief that I AM.” Oy vey.

Could there be a more compelling reason to obey? Judgment passed over homes where parents obeyed. In homes where they almost obeyed, there was weeping. That’s as clear as it gets, friends.

If it were me, I like to think I would’ve painted that door over and over again. If not with lamb’s blood, then with my obedience, my prayers, my surrender. Whatever it took.

And just as I was in the middle of these thoughts, I looked down and saw Emerson at my feet.

“Mama, am I your firstborn?”

WRECKED. Yeah, you are, buddy.

“Would you have painted the door red for me?”

Absolutely. In every way. A thousand times. I’d paint it red until all my bowls and cups were empty, until I was so eternally stained. Lord Jesus, make me crimson in every corner, from head to toe.

I am not the blood. You aren’t either. But WE ARE the primary vehicle for making it visible and known in our homes.

I can’t save my children with effort or obedience alone. But my obedience can welcome God’s mercy, honor His sovereignty, and model trust to them and to others. Obeying a God who is already faithful seems like the very least I can do.

To those reading in 2025 through The Bible Recap, here’s a little extra context. I wrote this in January 2014 as a personal offering during our church’s annual mission drive, “The Big Give.” We were handed money on a Sunday and told to multiply it with our gifts. I got $20. I used it to make wreaths (I was a designer in a former life) and brought back $200. But it felt easy. I hadn’t really offered my gifting. So I prayed over Christmas, asking the Lord what else I could give. Then I watched the Passover episode. And God wrecked me again—with the word obedience. That one blog post turned into three: Red Hands, Black Friday, and One Salty Lady—about Passover, the crucifixion, and Sodom and Gomorrah… or what happens when we almost obey.

By February 2014, my little blog about parenting and faith became Hey Salty Lady—a space to call out to those in peril and fan the flames of obedience, urgency, and influence within them.

The title of my first book is Hey Salty Lady and Other Terrible Tales of Almost Obedience.

It’s a “Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” for adults that invites you to wander the most scandalous and scorched earth stories of the Bible. I’m not sure when, but some day it will be out there in the world. All because Emerson asked me if he was my firstborn and because he and the precious girl that came after were enough to remind this Salty Lady to keep running hard and keep running red.

Children or not, Jesus is worthy of our obedience. And it should require flogs or death to elicit it

Paint those doors, papas and mamacitas.

—Sara Johnson