Sons of Men and Angels Say Hallelujah!

This Easter did not start out particularly well.

I had slept poorly, one of those fitful nights that are inevitable when I try to cram an entire year of gardening into one fitness-impaired afternoon with resulting knee creaks and back tweaks. Then when I finally managed a deep sleep, the alarm went off so that I could start Easter dinner.

I discovered that it's impossible to grate Velveeta in the food processor, even though the recipe clearly call for grated Velveeta, and then I spent a precious 15 minutes digging gummy pre-chewed cheese product out of every cranny in the machine.

My hairdryer ground to a halt and blew puffs of smoke as I was hurrying to get to church in time for  choir practice, leaving my 'do undone.

Worst of all, when I put out Grandma's Fiestaware and the chicken napkin rings in preparation for Easter dinner, the stack of plates was only three high--one for me, one for Husband, and one for Mother-in-Law. This is the first major holiday in which we've had no Boys with us.

"It's okay," I told them when it became clear that schedules were not working out to have them at home. "Easter really is a spiritual holiday, not a command performance." (Thanksgiving, if they had any doubt, is a command performance.) And truly, I meant this, but I still missed my sons.

As I hulled strawberries and cleaned asparagus for lunch, though, I began to think of Easters past, when I went to bed exhausted Saturday night after making sure every Boy had clean dress socks and the right tie and a belt. (Dress socks and belts were forever disappearing. How? Where? Why?) Then Easter morning was a wild rush to get everyone through the shower and out the door. By the time I reached the sanctuary my mind was on lunch, and whether I remembered to turn the temperature down under the ham.

This year, though, was different. Without the bustle of Easter egg hunts and the responsibilities that go with being the mom, I felt my soul expanding. I thought of the conversation I had with my father yesterday, when we talked about how very fundamentally different this holiday is from all the others during the year.

"On Good Friday, when I realize it's about mid-afternoon, I feel grief in my soul, but Sunday is pure joy," he said.

This year, without the pull of Martha's distractions, I  followed Mary's example as she focused on the Savior. I thought of His sacrifice, and His love for me and mine, and once again Easter was pure joy.

Christ the Lord is risen today! Hallelujah!