The first Easter I can remember was when I was 3 years old. My parents owned a small three bedroom home. It was a ranch style, didn’t have a basement and there were 1 3/4 bathrooms – the 3/4 was off their bedroom and the full bath was in the hallway leading from the tiny living room to the bedrooms. I don’t really remember but I am guessing it was around 1200 square feet. Like most Christian families, Easter was a big deal for us. I don’t remember wearing that little suit, bowtie and hat in the photo but I have to admit, for a 3 year old I looked pretty doggone good.
The week before Easter Sunday would always start with coloring the hard boiled eggs. I can still remember the smell of the various liquid dies used to color the shell of the eggs. There was a certain amount of water and vinegar put in small bowls. Then you would drop small tablets in the mix. The tablets would dissolve into bright hues in the bowl and using a flimsy wire device the eggs were placed in the bowls where they would be rolled around until the desired color was achieved. There were a few tricks to help customize the finished product. A clear wax crayon could be used to draw designs on the eggshell. The wax prevented the shell from absorbing the die and if you had any skills you could actually write your name on the shell. Of course being 3, the best I could do was a few scribbles but they were beautiful to me. And of course there was a competition between me and my sister to claim the prize of best colored egg. After the decorating was complete the eggs were placed in a straw basket filled with fake grass and left in the kitchen to be found by the Easter Bunny. All of this increased the anticipation of the big hunt to come.
Easter Sunday was a little bit like Christmas. The idea that the Easter Bunny had showed up sometime early in the morning to take the eggs and hide them in mysterious places around the house and yard was enough to make me get up early and start snooping around. After-all, it was vitally important for me to find more eggs than my older sister. Somehow we always managed to miss one or two and the hope was my father, aka the Easter Bunny, would remember where he hid them so they wouldn’t lay around and stink up the house. After the egg hunt was over we would pile in the car and go to church. The Easter service was exciting as the black drape that had been placed on the cross behind the altar on Good Friday was removed and the good news of Christ resurrection was proclaimed. At age three I was too young to really understand the implications but I knew everyone there seemed to be really happy about they heard. After the service was over it was back in the car for a visit to see both sets of grandparents. That meant two more Easter egg hunts and best of all, a couple chocolate Easter bunnies. It also meant the traditional Easter meal with ham, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows and a weird fruit salad, I think they called it “Waldorf Salad”, made with apples, oranges, grapes, strawberries and whipped cream.
Yes, for a three year old, Easter was all about the fun. The Easter Bunny was sort of the spring version of Santa Claus. Just like getting too old or too hip to sit on Santa’s lap, as I grew up I finally figured out the real story about that bunny and tired of the egg hunts, those marshmallow slathered sweet potatoes and the Waldorf salad – yuck. Yet I had this gnawing feeling in my gut that was telling me the real story of Easter had always been more than chocolate bunnies, Peeps or colored hard boiled eggs. Besides, who came up with the idea that bunnies wanted anything to do with hard boiled eggs?Despite regularly attending church, going through confirmation in the church and all the other things our family did relative to my Dad and Mom’s beliefs, I didn’t understand the real significance of Easter until much later in my life. I finally realized you cannot be trained into believing that God is real. It is far more about trusting what is written in The Bible and listening to our heart. I know that each of us who come to the realization of what happened on the cross do it in our own way and at a time no one else can predict or manipulate. For me, my first truly spiritual moment was when our first son was born. As I gazed upon this new life Terrie cradled in her arms I suddenly knew that God is real. There was no doubt in my mind. And yet, I still did not fully grasp the entire picture. It took several more years of gentle leading by Terrie, the examples set for me by both of our sons, and the testimonies of close friends before the complete message of the Gospel came alive for me with the realization of what Easter truly means. Even still I had a hard time accepting the fact that this God I had been told about, all of my life, would put himself through such misery because he truly loves me. But he did.
So, my encouragement to you is, enjoy the celebrations of Easter. Have fun with children searching for eggs hidden by a bunny and don’t get caught stealing their chocolate treats out their Easter baskets – of course I never did that! And if you are the one doing the hiding, make some kind of record of where you hide them so none are left behind to spoil and stink! Enjoy the family gatherings, ham, sweet potatoes, Waldorf salad and all, but always keep the real reason for celebrating Easter at the forefront of what you do, 365 days of the year. For those who believe, one word says it all, Easter.
Doug's Journey 