Resurrection Morning

Easter has a rich meaning for me as an adult ~ things that I appreciate now that I never comprehended as a child.

When I was a little girl, Easter was mostly about hunting Easter eggs, wearing my new dress (complete with white shoes, gloves, and a hat!) to church, and a Sunday dinner of ham and all my mother’s special dishes that included one of her signature desserts.

My sister and I usually posed before church on the front lawn for a photo, taken with the family Kodak camera. It often turned cold and/or rainy on Easter morning, so we sometimes had to bundle up in a coat that hid the lovely dresses our mother had made us for the occasion.

My parents hid hand-dyed boiled eggs (and sometimes plastic ones too) around the inside of the house for a quick hunt after

I first woke up. Then we ate breakfast and dressed for church. If little girls hurried, there might be time for one more hiding-and-hunting session before Sunday School. 

After lunch eaten at our kitchen table, I changed into play clothes while one of my parents (or more likely my big sister) hid the eggs once again in our back yard, and I would go hunting again. The hiding and hunting happened multiple times during the afternoon if the weather cooperated.

My Easter basket was a small, plain basket stuffed with Easter grass—nothing like the big

colorful Easter baskets children have today. And I used the same one, year after year, until one special Easter when I was about four. A good family friend, Oleta, drove up to our house the day before Easter that year. Her family and ours had been close for a long time, and she and my mother had a special friendship. Oleta, who had never married, lived with her parents. A tiny, perky lady with a good sense of humor, Oleta was a grocery checker at the local market. I was always drawn to this lady, who had no children of her own, because she was kind and fun-loving, and paid special attention to me. On that Saturday, I was outside playing on the swings west of our house. Oleta drove into the circular drive in the empty lot by our house and stopped under the trees where I was playing. I excitedly ran to the car to greet her; she rolled down the window and handed me a new, filled Easter basket and then drove away.

I don’t think I had ever seen the large filled baskets in the stores before that day (Mama had probably worked hard to keep that knowledge a secret!). I thought the plain little basket I carried every Easter was what everyone had. Oleta’s basket was larger and was stuffed with candy, little Easter toys, and plastic eggs. It was as stunning to me as winning the lottery, and I ran inside with excitement to show my mother. I don’t remember receiving gifts from Oleta before or after that day, for any occasion ~ and I don’t know what prompted her generosity on that occasion in the early fifties. But I was stunned and thankful for such a magnificent gift.

Another Easter, perhaps a year or two later, my Aunt Velma and Uncle George came to the house on the Saturday before Easter. They brought me tiny feathery Easter chicks that I had seen for sale in the stores. The little stick feet were fragile and the chicks were more loose feathers than anything—not exactly something you would play with. But I had never had one and I was thrilled, and promptly put them on the living room table to be displayed.

When I was a little bit older the neighbor next door, Willie Mae, brought me my first chocolate bunny. I saved it for quite a while, hesitant to eat any of it and mar the shape. Then I prolonged the delight by eating a small bite every day to make it last.

These stories make it sound like we were so poor that my parents never bought me anything. But truthfully, we were so rich in all the things that count. Yes, money was tight and they did not squander money on frivolous things very often. But I always had all I needed, and didn’t feel deprived. Easter was not so commercialized then, so children did not have all the toys and baskets and candy that are considered mandatory in the 21^stCentury. 

I mostly remember Easter being a secular holiday and don’t remember elaborate celebrations to commemorate Christ rising from the tomb; that recognition became more obvious only as I grew older. Yet perhaps as a child enjoying all the secular fuss of the day, I grasped the concept on a deeper level than I realized. While I may not have made the connection until much later, the stunned awe and joy of those early simple Easter gifts laid the foundation for the anticipation and joy of the greatest Gift of all. Dressing in our finery that was provided by loving parents anticipates the day we will pose in our heavenly home, clothed with the robes our Father will provide.  Searching for the hidden eggs will be a distant memory when someday we discover all the hidden gems of knowledge and wisdom, and the rich sense of love, that we were never meant to understand or anticipate while still on Planet Earth. 

The surprising and unexpected generosity of friends and family who gave gifts to a little girl ~ well, that is so much like all the sweet surprises of gifts from our Heavenly Father who gives more than we ever expect—who gives even before we know we need something—who gives things we never dreamed even existed. There will never be an Easter basket big enough or fancy enough to hold all those gifts that are ours because we are beloved children of The Father!

I'm so very thankful my heavenly Dad made the ultimate sacrifice of his Son on my behalf, and I hope you will celebrate Resurrection Sunday with me today.