In spite of my melancholy Easter Eve, snow in April, on Easter, was a beautiful sight. With the Easter baskets safely hidden away, and a feast waiting to be cooked, Easter felt more like Christmas than Easter.
Our old gray stone church, the dreary sky and snow contrasted sharply against the bright green grass. The snow swirled around the pastel flags blowing in the wind, as fresh green wreaths that hung on the doors of the church. The brass horns soared through the sanctuary with the choir, and I heard this from the pulpit, “Someday you will touched by the Grace of God so deeply and so profoundly, and it will be so personal, that I suggest you keep it to yourself.”
My husband built a roaring fire early in the morning, and the older boys played Uno by the little boys built trains.
“I hope the Easter Bunny brings us Peeps so we can roast them on the fire,” said the 8-year old. “Oh, I forogot,” he said, “We found out last year there was no Easter Bunny.”
Thankfully, the little ones were out of sight.
Our 3-year-old, acting like a grumpy old man, ripped off his Church clothes, and put back on his PJs that were still lying on the floor in a puddle, and has been comfortably lounging ever since. He’s carrying around his “beeps”(Peeps) in their little carton — he thinks they’re stuffed animals. They have names, and they talk. He’s not too attached though. Because, occasionally he asks us to put one on a stick to have it roasted on the fire, and eats it.
As it was too cold for an Easter Egg Hunt, we played “hide the button” with an Easter Egg. The 5-year-old was adamant: “I want to hide it and find it.” So we ended up splitting the egg in two, so he could have one to hide and one to find.
“I don’t believe in the Easter Bunny — because I saw this Easter Basket stuff in your closet,” said our 5-year old.