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easter rally

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Thoughts on the Cross:
The Meaning Behind Easter

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?  easter celebration

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 college campus.

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 hers.

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 home before.”

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!

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