One Early Easter Morning

As I dressed in the dark this morning, I began to think that I had been so preoccupied with the logistics of the day--sunrise service, Easter egg hunt and breakfast for six adults and two kids, then a respite and then mid-day dinner for eight--that I hadn't stopped to meditate on the significance of the day, to let the wonder of God's love sink in. The service was lovely, and the minister--a young man I didn't know--said jut the right words, said that some rejoiced that Jesus was risen but others were fearful, even doubting, which he said is okay. I very much needed to hear that message. The service was highlighted for me by the offertory--"One Early Easter Morning," which I've blogged about before. I sang it in choir at the age of 10, 12, I don't know. But it has bounced around in my head ever since, and I was so grateful to our music director for scheduling it. A quartet, with one acting as soloist, sang it a capalla. We had all groaned about sunrise and early getting up (5:30) but we decided it was inspirational and we'll do it again next year. It's lovely to go to church, outdoors in a courtyard, in the dark and watch the sky turn pink and then blue. As though God were reaching down to say, "It is true. He is Risen." (As our breakfasts guests left, the dad said, "He Lives!" and Jacob asked, "Who lives?" Oh well, he'll learn!).
Ultimately the day was mostly about kids. Jacob began the day at 5 a.m., waking his parents because he had a bonus morning, both the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy visited during the night. That tooth has been hanging for weeks, but he wouldn't let anyone touch it. A stray elbow in a bouncy house at a birthday party yesterday did the trick.

Jacob and his friend/sister, Eva, had a great time hunting eggs, and then we all had sausages, eggs, fruit, and hot cross buns--which I love but nobody else seemed to much like. Nice gathering, good way to start the day. And easy kitchen clean-up. After they left, I got a short nap, and then it was time to get ready for 3:00 p.m. dinner.

Most of the dinner was ready--a sliced ham waiting to be put in the oven, potato salad, fruit salad with just a little more cutting needed, green beans snapped and ready to roast--but the deviled eggs were still empty half eggs, although the filling was made, I was dragging my heels, hoping Jordan would stuff them. Well, now I know the trick--my ten-year-old granddaughter is a pro. I always spoon the filling in, recognizing that it doesn't looks as good. Edie cut a corner in a baggie and piped it in with the precision that characterizes everything she does. They looked beautiful. We had as always a noisy happy hour and a joyous dinner.
What's my lesson from this Easter? Well, I always wait to be blown away by the certainty of my faith, but much as I believe, little doubts creep in, sort of "What ifs?" in the back of my mind. Today I learned that those little doubts are okay and that's it's also okay for me to focus on family, friends, and food even, and maybe especially, on high holy days. And now I wish I could sing with the quartet the last stanza of "One Early Easter Morning," particularly approriate for a sunrise service:

At last the dawn came streaming

Across the Eatern sky.

Thank God for Easter morning

When Christ the Lord rides by.

Poignant letter to Santa

Over this long weekend, I have wondered how many elves in Newtown were left on the shelf. That little elf has wormed his way into our Christmas celebration big time and consumed much of my attention over the weekend. Jacob's traveling elf (he has two) came to my house and demonstrated he is magic by flying during the night from Jacob's bed to the Christmas rosemary tree on the coffee table. And he confirmed that magic by taking a picture of himself and putting it on my computer.
So tonight Jacob dictated a long letter to Santa. It was in truth a series of "I want, I want." He wants to see Rudolph, to keep Boogie (the traveling elf) after Christmas, to see Donner and Blitzen and Mrs. Claus again and Santa through the window on Christmas Eve. He says his main elf, Jack, isn't very funny and could Santa please make him funnier, and he says he has been a good boy this year.
It strikes me as the strangest of contradictions that this child, who sometimes knows his way around the computer better than I do and certainly understands the cell phone better, also believes so firmly in Santa and the magic of elves. It is a great gift--to him and to those of us who love him.
But writing the letter almost made me cry all over again, thinking of the children who won't write their letters this year and those who may write but their faith is shattered and their innocence gone. One more reminder that this tragedy, horrific at any season, is just a bit worse, if that's possible, at the time of year that is all about children in most faiths and, for Christians, about welcoming the Christ child.
Our former minister wrote in his blog today that if we have a candle of joy to light, we should light it today because life is fragile. I think spending my evening writing Jacob's letter instead of reading the galleys I should be proofing is my way of lighting that candle. But we will never forget the children of Sandy Hook, the letters they won't write, the elves who sit quietly on shelves no longer flying.