Easter!

My most vivid memory of Easter was when we lived in Johnstown and I was in middle school. Easter in those days meant a new spring outfit from Gram and a basket of chocolate goodies, and those years Gram and Mom outdid themselves. I couldn't wait for Easter morning to dawn.

I jumped out of bed in the darkness and slid into my new lilac colored outfit, complete with dress, coat, frilly ankle socks, straw hat, white gloves, purse and patent leather shoes! I felt like a queen. Never one to fuss with my hair much, I had spent the night sleeping on those foam clip rollers - the pink ones with the spongy centers. You had to find just the right angle so the clips didn't dig into your scalp.

I tiptoed downstairs to wait for the rest of the house to wake up. "It's Easter!" I wanted to shout. "Get up!" I was too excited to sneak much from the basket on the dining room table with my name on it. Besides, we had to be down to the cemetery across from the church by 6am for the sunrise service. Dad had gotten one of those new fangled cassette recorders and taped me playing Easter hymns on the piano so we could sing at the sunrise service.

Only Dad, my brother and I went. Mom stayed home to get the "little ones" ready. I danced all the way there, I was so happy. We gathered, a small group of stalwart faithfuls, in a barren spot near ancient crazily tilted headstones worn smooth by a hundred icy winters. Dad walked us through the events of that first Easter morning and read Scripture - one couldn't help but be reverent in the presence of so many dead people.

It was cold, even after the sun poked its shining face through the darkness. I shivered and my teeth chattered while Dad called to memory that first Easter morning. I was pretty sure Mary and the other women who went to the tomb that morning weren't contending with 20 degree temperatures or pinching new shoes or a straw hat strap that choked you just a little. But it was alright. I hugged myself for warmth. I didn't mind these small inconveniences. After all, it was Easter!

Dad punched the button on the little black recorder. At first nothing happened. I think the darn thing was frozen. But it finally kicked in. The music warbled and wavered and barely managed to provide a singable tune. Everyone tried their best to sing along. After all, in such a small crowd, you could tell if someone wasn't singing.

At last, after my shivering had completely consumed me, after the last verse had been sung, after the small crowd dispersed, we made a beeline for the church fellowship hall. The warmth of the room enveloped me as we stepped through the pointed wooden doors. The pancake breakfast was nearly ready. The wonderful aroma of sausage, bacon, syrup and coffee nearly made me faint. It was such a welcome relief from the cold of the cemetery.

The next delight greeted me when I entered the sanctuary with my too full little tummy, my straw hat and gloves retrieved from the corner of the kitchen where I had abandoned them in favor of a plate brimming with rich brown pancakes smothered in fruit preserves and melted butter.

I entered quietly, before most of the congregation came in. I wanted to savor the fragrance of the lilies that stretched from one side of the thickly carpeted platform to the other, to just stand mid-aisle and take in the pure whiteness muffled in the purple tinfoil papers that wrapped each container. It was as quiet as the empty tomb and I just sat and thought about Easter. You could hear people chatting in the foyer, but they hushed their voices as soon as they entered the sanctuary.

The music for the Easter services always seemed so grand to me. I remember the deep bass of the older men and the mellow altos of their wives and the warbly soprano of the spinsters as they whole heartedly sang "Up from the grave He arose!" It was glorious. The organ let loose a bit and the majestic swells of sound encouraged us all to sing out.

After service was the whole Easter dinner awaiting us at home - ham and sweet potatoes and those soft fresh rolls and pickles (Seven Day Baptist homemade by Gram) and all the trimmings. More stuffed tummy. So much food was a treat for our table, and we took full advantage. Finally, after the angel food cake and whipped cream, we got to "open" our Easter baskets - as if we hadn't already been picking at the jelly beans and speckled eggs. I always saved the big chocolate rabbit for last. It was great.

Easter hasn't been much of a celebration at my house since the boys grew up. This year for the first time since I was born, I did not color Easter eggs or buy chocolate for baskets. I did succumb to a bag of licorice jelly beans and a few flavors of jelly bellies, but its a bit of a let down.

Perhaps it's for the best. Now that the clutter of celebration is out of the way, I have time to think about the truth of Easter, what God did for me, how much he cares about me. Somewhere deep inside, I am still that young girl arrayed in Easter finery, carried away by the sights, sounds, smells, and flavor of Easter, still so happy to know God arose and conquered death. And in many ways, that event is more significant for me than ever, especially from my current view.