For all of my childhood, we did Easter church, then egg hunt for eggs with jelly beans at my parents, and then egg hunt at Grandma and Grandpa Chico's for our 6 eggs. Easter was simple, filled with the Good News, and a little bit of bunny fun.
After marrying we began alternating years between Indy and Evansville but still following that same fairly simple Easter pattern. Church first then everything else.
Two years ago the world stopped just before Easter. It was the first holiday of my life spent without time in church or with either family and yet in the end, Easter still came. No bunnies, no baskets, no ham or macaroni and cheese, no family pictures with coordinating outfits, and yet Jesus rose. Two years ago, in the middle of quarantine, God gave me my most blessed Easter. In those quiet hours, of being home alone just the four of us, I realized more than ever how complicated we make things.
Jesus came to earth as a baby. He lived a simple, sinless, blameless life just trying to tell everyone about God's love. Then he died. He died an awful, painful, horrible death on a cross for us. For me. For you. When I think about the darkness of that Friday, I don't want to do baskets or candy or anything silly. I want to sit in the quiet and be ever so thankful that the One who made the universe, who placed in the stars in the sky, also saw fit to save us all.
Last Thursday, I tested positive for COVID. We cancelled our travel plans to visit Evansville and that was that. Because we keep the holiday simple and small there wasn't a last minute rush to make baskets or buy candy or cancel an egg hunt - we just continued on.
Easter Sunday at our house passed quietly. Yet, even without the "holiday" activities - Sunday came. The sun rose. The sun shone. We shared time in scripture and were reminded once again that "He is not here. He's risen!" And just like Mary, on that first Easter morning, we were shocked, in awe. Grateful.
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