Easter Song and Medicare on the Horizon

I love Easter, the remembrance of Christ's death and resurrection. To me, it's way better than Christmas. And this year, the advent of it seemed sweeter than ever. The trees and flowers (as well as the pollen) have bodaciously sprung forth. The bluebirds are chittering in the trees, everything ridiculously green. Spring and the ensuing Easter always feel like hope personified. 

We've had a lot going on recently -- just got back from a week of camping (with a lot of rain and crabby joints), then the week of preparing for family and all the birthdays surrounding this time of year. There was Good Friday service, then Annabelle's 12th birthday party to be had on Saturday, then Sunday morning church (I bought 3 dresses on Amazon, hoping one might be okay --that's where we are now), Sunday lunch and then the family was coming to our house Sunday evening for our annual egg hunt and baskets and dinner. Everybody throws in and it's the highlight of the year, to me. 

Saturday, I felt icky but kept aiming at getting the Easter baskets ready and the house in semi-normal shape. I couldn't find my ceramic bunnies that normally live in our giant built-in china cabinet. I looked everywhere for them, remembering that I had used them recently for a church tea, and I pondered out loud if I'd ever see them again. Ken just said, "They'll show up eventually." No! I scoured the barn, to no avail. It didn't make sense and my heart fell. I love those silly bunnies. But I know that once again, it's just stuff. By then, I should have showered, but didn't. It was time to leave for Annabelle's party (at the church) when Ken found me in the barn. He usually makes no comment on my appearance except to say I'm cute, once in awhile. I was standing there in my cat-hair-covered outfit that was considered cute that morning, but he said, "Are you going to do something about your hair?" I crabbed, "Of course, I'll brush it in the car on the way." Then he asked, "Aren't you hot? That outfit looks hot. Why don't you change into a dress. It will be cooler." I said, "Why? I thought you liked this outfit" to which he stated: "Welllll, it looks kinda dowdy." This is something he has never said to me in 43 years of marriage. I guess I should have been huffy but I wasn't and just said, "We're going to be late! Nakitta said she wanted me there early to help with Annabelle's cake." "We've got time -- just hurry up and change" said the errant male. I threw on the coolest dress I could find, put a brush through my hair and jumped in the car with Annabelle's present and some chips to help with the meal. When we arrived precisely at 5:30 (the man knows time, which sometimes makes me homicidal), the parking lot was full. Our son, Daniel, met us at the door. I suddenly thought maybe I got the time wrong, but Daniel said that there was an event going on at church and he had come early because he had to get back to work soon. We walked into the door and into the gym, where a dozen boatloads of people cried out "Surprise!" Right now, it is two days later and I'm still trying to process the shock. I literally had no clue that this was going to be anything but Annabelle's party (she was born slap-dab on my birthday, happy-happy day). A throng of our grandchildren surrounded me as we all laughed and crowed. It was the sweetest of times, as Ken and I went around to all the tables thanking old friends and new, and our family. There was excellent, home-smoked barbecue and fixin's, then there was old-fashioned folk dancing on the gym floor (I'm still sore from just two dances) and lots of love and laughter. It was a glimpse of heaven and I'll probably never get over it. Oh yeah, and there were my bunnies, decorating some of the tables...

And if all that wasn't enough, there was Sunday church, with glorious music, scripture and hymn-singing, then more amazing music with the choir along with the children's choir (I might have just floated on up). The message given was one of light and hope and joy, just what you should expect from the Christian's high holiday. Evening came, with our annual Easter egg hunt in the yard and supper, then collapsed in the backyard with kids all around, hyped up with the sugar. By the time everyone left I could hardly move. It will take us a week to get all the crumbs and Easter grass up off the floor, but we are buoyed up for heck, another year or two. 

"He is not here, for He is risen as He said!" Matthew 28:6  But He is now in our hearts and for that, we are so grateful.  

Home Fires

Pinterest kind-of ruined it for licensed decorators. Now we're all decorators, even if it's just a cut-and-paste kind of thing. My years of decorative painting were sometimes done under the projects of professional designers. It was fun to be let loose with their vision of beauty for their clients and I was privileged to work with some amazing artisans. Rarely did they ever hold me back on what I wanted to do in a space. "Space" -- how many times are we going to hear that word on another HGTV program before we lose our minds? Between so much overuse of the the words "space" and "narrative" I might just pop a gasket. 

All posturing aside, a lovely home is a gift to those who live in it. Be it a mansion or a grass hut, when there is thoughtfulness and intention for those who live there, it becomes a base and touchstone, even a reason to go on. I grew up in a very clean, modest home in the suburbs of Atlanta. We didn't even have air conditioning in that small brick oven of a house, but it was as comforting and reassuring as any dream. The real and raw people living inside it were never perfect, but redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. That's what lots of folks don't understand. You don't find Jesus because you've gussied up your goodness enough to be accepted by Him. No, it's the dirty, the unwashed, the unworthy who find Him, when they cry out in their lostness. He covers the depraved with His worthiness and they break free, gifted with new, healed hearts. Still not perfect, but indeed covered. 

When we married, 43 years ago, our church and family blessed us with sweet gifts at our wedding. There were strawberry-infused Melamine plates and sunshiny yellow linens and towels. I augmented everything by scrounging at yard sales and thrift shops, a tradition my family swore by. We're still doing that -- FB Marketplace and Craigslist replaced the Atlanta Advertiser that we perused until it was dog-eared. My Daddy used to leave out on a Saturday, saying, "I'm gonna go see about a dog." Us kids would run to the car, hoping there was something involving any kind of animal, though it usually wound up being about car parts, new-to-us curtains or hand-me-down jeans. 

 In the humblest of abodes, cheer and warmth can be brought to its occupants. A scrubbed floor, a slip of a bright curtain at the window, the smell of lemons and a simple candle...all things to show that someone cares. Home should be a safe place. It doesn't have to be fancy, expensive or matched. The thought really is the thing that matters. I've been at the humble end of things and also at the fair-to-middlin' end of things, but the sentiment is the same. Make it so your people think: "There's no place like home."