Easter. I have wonderful memories of this time of year. When
I was young, Easter meant chocolate bunnies and squishy yellow marshmallow
chickens. Easter egg hunts. Dying Easter eggs. I even remember one year my mom
wanted some decoupage eggs.
She was artsy and ahead of the trends. We spent hours
clipping daisies, daisies were her thing, out of fancy home magazines like
House Beautiful and House and Garden. My sister was never snaked in these
projects for very long. She would begin, usually with her upper lip curled in
disgust, full of misgivings.
Throwing in the towel very early, with no patience for such
stupidity, she would get up and park herself in front of the TV. I, on the
other hand, felt some sense of obligation. Was my mom asking for too much?
Sure, it wasn’t normal to put tiny holes in the ends of the egg and blow out
the insides with all your might.
The irony was that I am allergic to eggs. But there I sat,
the hopeless asthmatic, hardly able to draw a breath, let alone sacrifice it for
such a thing. This task was so difficult and next to impossible, that I only
remember nearly blowing out my brains.
It was at one point, however, I determined such a thing was
dastardly and just another bad idea when I didn’t release my lips from the egg
fast enough before I drew my breath, a great big inhale, and I brought some egg
in with it.
What was my mom thinking?
Back on track again, Easter moved from chocolates and jelly
beans to ginormous youth rallies. About one year into my faith and walking with
the Lord, at age 14, I was at one of these big rallies in central Illinois on a
My sister never liked to go out in public with me to new
places. She was so embarrassed by my huge eyes of wonder and my jaw dropping to
the floor. It seems that when my eyes were open so big I couldn’t walk
straight. I think it was this that annoyed her most of all. My toes on top of
Oh, she would give me a nudge, a grunt and the dreaded lip
curl. “Stop it! Just knock it off! You act like you have never been away from
The truth was, I hadn’t. I was always ill. My mom couldn’t
pass me off to anyone to look after, and we never had any money to go away.
These events were the first experiences with hotels for me. Even when my
friends would moan about four of us to a hotel room and the run down look of
the place, it was so wonderful to me.
Lots of people. A weekend of fast food. Hotel rooms.
Unreliable buses that always broke down. But God was even in that…they always
broke down on the way home! There
were my girlfriends on the side of the road making out with their boyfriends
while we waited to get the bus sorted. In fact, one of the girls was the youth
pastor’s daughter. What a laugh. He was not happy!