So this year, my husband and I won’t make two kinds of soup, and homemade cannoli.
And even though I almost have five dresses done, three little girls and two bigger ones won’t be wearing them to church on Sunday. There will be no photo recollection of grandchildren on my front porch swing from Easter Sunday.
At dinner time, I’ll miss my kids, and their kids, and their kids.
And I’ll hope the six packages of Peeps I bought don’t get too stale before I can bestow the baskets–even though one daughter will end up with all of the Peeps since no one else likes them.
Appropriate to the year, she likes them to be a bit stale.
For the most part, this Easter will be different from any other we’ve ever experienced.
It takes me back to a Christmas moment. The Whos of Whoville wake to discover that Christmas has arrived. But they don’t even seem to notice that what signifies Christmas is missing.
They sing to welcome Christmas. They sing with joy. And when the Grinch’s heart grows, they welcome him to the feast he tried to steal from them.
So this year, we will welcome Easter. My husband and I alone will bake bread and color eggs and drink grape juice at Communion time as we watch church online.
This Easter I will pursue joy.
I will work to latch onto a wonderful moment to remember from the day. The Easter unlike every other of our lifetimes.
The Easter that, like all the others, calls us to remember that first one. When there were no colorful dresses, no marshmallow chicks, no chocolate bunnies, no colored eggs, no special foods.
Only a risen Savior to take away our sin.
And He is more than enough.