Storytelling Podcast?

I am in the process of researching podcast creation to share some of my stories and/or discuss the business development edge to storytelling. If anybody has any advice or has any experience in developing a podcast, please feel free to share. Thanks.

An Easter Story

Three days ago, He died; nailed on a cross, hung in our shame. Three days ago, they cast lots for his clothes as he endured the reality of “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Three days ago, He went through Hell so that we could enter Heaven. Three days ago, he cried, “Abba! Abba! Father! Why have you forsaken me?!”

The little boy was 6 years old. It was his turn to spend a summer’s week with his grandparents. No parents. No brothers. Just him, his papa, his grammy, and a fat white cat named Casper. It was a rite of passage for the boy, he was becoming a man.

It was His last supper. He was surrounded by His loved ones. Not a bad way to spend your last supper really – though I imagine it would be difficult if you knew it would be your last supper as He did. He knew that one of them would betray Him, start the unraveling of a chain that was forged at the dawn of time. And yet, he broke bread with this man. He told His betrayer, “I know the game you’re playing.” But he enjoyed His last supper with this man, this Judas. He broke his bread, shared his drink, and said, “I love you.”

One year before, the boy’s grammy got sick. Real sick. She almost died. She lost part of her memory, the part that let’s you remember anything for longer than 5 minutes. His papa had to work during the day. Adults don’t get summer vacations. The boy stayed at home with his ill grammy and Casper the cat. They only had an old TV that seemed stuck on news and wheel of fortune. He was just learning to read, so books were out. His grammy would forget he was there, and when she saw him, she’d forget his name.

He had asked them to stay awake. He knew they were going to be tempted, sifted like wheat. He asked them to pray. They didn’t understand why; they were with Him, but they were so tired. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, or so they say. Still, He wanted them there. His friends. His amigos. His boys. They’d have His back. They’d fight for Him. But not tonight, not in the way He knew they would in just a few short days. They’d fight for Him. They’d die for Him. But first, He’d die for them. “For God so loved the world….”

He was lonely. His papa could tell. That’s why he made the boy His special homemade peach ice cream one night in the middle of the week. But there was an ache in the boy’s stomach that the old Texan grandpa’s ice cream couldn’t mend. The boy ate his bowl, smiled, and then crawled to the couch to hold his gut. But papa knew. He knew what the boy needed. He called home and handed the phone to his grandson. “I’ll come to you tomorrow, son,” said his dad through the boy’s lonely tears. The next day, his dad drove up, picked him up, and took him out for lunch to the nearest Whataburger. He gave the boy a sack full of crayons, drawing pads, and coloring books. “You’re homesick, son,” his dad said to him. “Can you last just three more days? Soon, you’ll be coming home.”

The stone was sealed, three days ago. But today, the stone has moved. The tomb is empty. The white knight has slain the blackest death. He is risen. He endured. He is alive. When he again met his friends, they were afraid, doubtful, ecstatic, grieved, hopeful, and loved. Oh yes – Jesus knew. They’d fight for Him, they’d die for Him – but first, they’d truly live – with Him, for Him, by Him, in Him. He is alive. The Son has returned to the Father and the Father has welcomed home the Son. He said, “Friends, I’m homeward bound. You’ll be coming soon behind, but first, won’t you go out to this world and bring some others with you?”

I stayed. For three more days, I stayed in loneliness, in homesickness. But it wasn’t as bad as it was before, because I knew I’d be going home. Because my father, my dad, had made a promise. Because I knew he’d come and get me. Because he’d never forsake me, even as he asked me if I’d stay. Because I know my Father, loved me first.