Finding Peace on Easter

Image via Wikipedia

Daily Foglifter:  “The method for determining the date of Easter is complex and has been a matter of controversy.  Put as simply as possible, the Western churches (Catholic and Protestant) celebrate Easter on the first Sunday following the first full moon after the spring equinox.” (Source)

It’s hard to believe it’s already the end of April.  I think it’s because Easter is so late this year.  I always think of Easter as the official beginning of Spring.  But Spring sprung over a month ago.  Nevertheless, Easter is here and it is the day above all days in the Christian faith.  Christmas may get more hype, but without Easter, Christmas loses much of its import.

Easter requires preparation.  The grand tradition of brand new Easter suits and dresses must be observed.  Have you ever taken five kids shopping for clothes?  It is the nightmare you are imagining, times 10.  Thank God I had reinforcements.  My saint-of-a-mother-in-law went with us and was there to witness the horror.  The kids fought, ran in circles, and couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.  #4 was on his absolute worst behavior and was lucky he didn’t get left at the mall.  When he was hiding in a rack of clothes, the brief but glorious vision of me rushing everyone out to the car and driving off at the speed of light, was almost too perfect to resist.

Besides shopping for clothes, there is also the necessity of getting the kids’ hair cut.  My oldest son is particularly resistant to haircuts.  The unfortunate return of shaggy hair for boys is a trend I could do without.  Of course, I don’t make a big deal about it.  I decided a long time ago that hair was going to be a non-issue.  My hubby has done some outlandish things with his hair in the past and I’ve dyed my hair so many times I have no idea what my natural hair looks like.  If I had to guess, it would be gray or the shade of white that occurs after a horrendous shock or scare.  How could it not be considering what I have to deal with on a daily basis?  Anyway, I try not to be a hypocrite, so hair is kid’s choice.  Within reason.  The rule is two haircuts a year.  One around Christmas and one at Easter because if the kid gets a new suit, he should at least look like a nice kid in a new suit and not a Bad News Bear in a new suit.

My son's hair if it was blonde

Have you ever taken 5 kids to get haircuts?  It’s not as bad as clothes shopping, but #4 certainly gave it a run for its money.  He refused to sit in the chair because he wanted his hair long.  He wiggled and squirmed and whined until I whispered various threats in his ear.  Then he calmed down. Briefly.  When his haircut was finished he refused to get up because he wanted his hair shorter.  He wiggled and whined until I dragged his behind out of the chair and sat him down in a chair.  #4 is the answer to my prayer for patience.  Be careful what you pray for.

I also have obligations outside my family.  As my kids make up a substantial portion of the children’s department at my church, I am a logical choice for head of children’s activities.  I don’t recall volunteering, but I’m it, nonetheless.  It’s not that complicated.  I have to arrange an activity for every season.  Fall is Trunk or Treat.  Winter is the children’s Christmas party.  Summer is a lock-in.  Spring is an Easter Egg Hunt.  That means filling plastic eggs, hiding them, helping kids find them, and giving the kids a cupcake and juice and praying they don’t make a mess of their pretty new dresses and suits.  Of course the kids always make a mess of their Easter clothes, but I do my best.  I forgot to pick up the eggs so I called a dear friend and asked her to pick them up for me.  She graciously volunteered to fill them for me and I gratefully accepted.  Now all I have to do is bake some cupcakes.

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/
Of course, there is the daunting task of getting five kids and myself ready for Church on Easter Sunday.  It’s not easy.  On a normal Sunday, I’m usually leaving the house with a wet head and have to resort to using the Dog-in-a-Car-Method of styling (hanging my head out the window so the wind can blow it dry.  It is very effective for that messy bed head look that’s so popular.  A little mousse and a the wind whipping my hair for about a mile or so and I’m all set.  I hope that look stays around for a while.)  But on Easter Sunday, it will be even trickier.  The Sunrise Service begins at 7:00 am and is followed by a pancake breakfast.  Of course I wouldn’t dare dress my kids in their sparkling new clothes to eat pancakes swimming in sticky syrup, so that means the Easter clothes will have to ride in the car.  The odds of forgetting a crucial item of clothing (shoes, tie, or the perfectly matched hair bow it took me three hours and five stores to find) are pretty good.

As you can see, Easter Sunday causes a lot of stress and frustration. The question, of course, is Why?  Why do we take a day that is supposed to be dedicated to the Lord and turn it into a week of toil and vexation?  Why is it necessary to have new clothes and shiny new haircuts?  I suppose it’s symbolic of Spring–new beginnings and being able to wear white shoes again.  Easter is also an important celebration and it’s human nature to dress up for special occasions.  Of course, this has nothing to do with the actual point of Easter.  Jesus is not looking at our clothes.  He’s not looking at our hair.  And He certainly isn’t looking for Easter Eggs.

Jesus is looking into our hearts and minds and He doesn’t want to see turmoil, stress, negativity, and distraction.  I hope that my heart is devoid of those things by tomorrow and instead holds Love, Compassion, Faith, Humility, Peace, and above all, Gratitude.  Gratitude for the sacrifice of my Savior, who paid the price of my transgressions when I didn’t even know I owed a debt.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy Easter.

When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.  John 19:30

About these ads

Blogger, Interrupted

Daily Foglifter:   In the Middle Ages, young men and women drew names from a bowl to see who would be their Valentine. They would wear this name pinned onto their sleeves for one week for everyone to see. This was the origin of the expression “to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Hey everybody!  Sorry I missed yesterday, but I just didn’t have time to sit down at the computer.  Normally, I get started the night before after everyone else has gone to bed, but I actually fell asleep before anyone else on Wednesday night.  Eventually lack of sleep catches up with you, and you have no choice but to crash.  I missed my writing time.  The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.

When I woke up Thursday morning it was late and one of the kids was sick.  So that meant a trip to the doctor.  We all know what that means.  You make an appointment for 11:00 so the doctor will see you by 1:00.  In the meantime, the baby that’s not sick has plenty of time to roam around the waiting room, picking up all manner of germs, thereby guaranteeing a return trip in a couple of days.  I especially love the part where they put you in a 5′ x 5′ room filled with enticing objects like tongue-depressors and latex gloves for an hour with a hyperactive five-year-old and a 15-month-old who needs a nap. 

After the doctor I had to take said hyperactive five-year-old and 15-month-old who needed a nap and was now hungry to the mechanic.  The car window had  fallen inside the door and wouldn’t come back up, and that makes for a cold ride.  It was supposed to take “about an hour.”    Two hours and $260 later, I loaded the kids into the car and headed to Purgatory, otherwise known as Wal-Mart.  Have you ever noticed how time has no meaning in a Wal-Mart?  It’s like a Las Vegas casino.  There are no windows and no clocks.  Instead of flashing slot machines, there are giant red “Rollback” signs, convincing you that you really do need a slushie machine and a 10 gallon jug of Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

I was there buying cards and candy for Valentine’s Day parties for three children and all the supplies needed to make a detailed model of an animal cell for my fifth grader’s science class.  He’s had the assignment for two weeks, but only gave me the paper to sign, which confirms my knowledge of the project that is due this Monday, on Tuesday night.  Since I spent all day Wednesday waiting for the DirecTV guy, who was to arrive between 12:00 and 4:00, I didn’t have time to go to the Wal-Mart.  (BTW, he arrived at 3:57 and didn’t leave until almost 8:00.  It was a very informative four hours.  He told me about his dysfunctional family, his brief foray into the world of cocaine, and his preference of full body scans in airport security as opposed to the more invasive “pat-down.”    I was also on the phone for an hour switching my auto insurance while my dinner sat untouched.  There’s nothing more appetizing than ice-cold ravioli and stale garlic bread.  Maybe it wasn’t bodily fatigue that knocked me out that night.  It was probably my body shutting down to protect the fragile state of my overburdened brain.)  Where was I?  Oh yeah, Purgatory.

I was buying the supplies for this animal cell that I will probably be doing into the wee hours of Monday morning.  Do you know that a styrofoam ball costs $10?  The worst part is that I only need half of it.  On top of all that, there was a sale on kids’ shoes.  Any smart mom knows that as hard as kids are on shoes, there’s no reason to buy above Wal-Mart grade shoes, especially when they’re too young to care about brand names yet.   Buy cheap and in bulk.    An hour and a half and $225 later (darn those Rollbacks), I leave the Wal-Mart and remember that I haven’t dropped off my son’s prescriptions yet.  Thank God for drive-thru pharmacies. 

I get home at 4:45, and realize that dinner was supposed to be in the oven by 3:00 if I had any hope of getting it done before I had to leave for my Thursday night bible study at 5:30.  I also realize that I haven’t done the homework for the bible study either.  I make a command decision that dinner is whatever they can find and my husband is willing to fix and sit down and guiltily rush through my homework.  My husband gets home when I’m making the highly necessary coffee and is not exactly pleased about his dinner duties.  I grab my stuff and shout a quick reminder to my husband to DVR Community and instructions to my kids not to let daddy forget to feed the baby.  I know this is unnecessary, but I felt like giving him a little taste of the annoyance I was feeling.  Misery loves company, after all.

The Bible study was nice.  I love the ladies and the study.  It’s nice to focus on something worthwhile for a couple of hours, too.   I was able to forget the chaos of the day, at least for a while.  Unfortunately, the day wasn’t done.  Not even close. 

After the bible study, I had to pick up the prescriptions at the Kroger.  I arrive 10 minutes before they close and am informed that one medication won’t be in until tomorrow.  Great.  Another trip to Kroger.  I really think I’ve earned my own parking space by now.  I realized that I forgot milk and the stuff to make the dessert for the youth’s spaghetti dinner on Sunday.  An hour and $50 later I head home. 

I was starving and had been thinking about heating up some leftover ravioli.  Apparently, my husband had the same idea.  It was still out on the kitchen counter and the cat was eating it.  I settled for a frozen calzone, which took 40 minutes in the oven and tasted exactly like you would expect a frozen calzone to taste.  I did get to sit down and watch my beloved Thursday night shows with no commercials, thanks to DVR. Bless the slow and overly informative DirecTV guy.  Then at 11:00, I remember I was supposed to transform two shoeboxes into Valentine’s Day mailboxes.  It was actually kind of fun.  Everyone else was in bed and Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion was on, which has always cracked me up.    The hilarity continued when “When In Rome” came on.  It’s so horrible, it can’t help but entertain.

Two hours and two lovely Valentine’s mailboxes later, I hit the sack.  Or the recliner, since it’s the only place I can sleep that doesn’t make my back hurt so bad I can barely breathe in the morning.  Instead, it causes a mild stabbing pain along my spine, but at least I can move without crying. 

So, for those of you who asked, that is why there was no blog yesterday.  I missed writing it.  I get all the craziness out of my head and clear the fog a little bit. 

Tomorrow I am having what is supposed to be “THE PERFECT DAY.”  It’ll be a day of self-indulgence and I can’t wait.  I also can’t wait to tell you about it on Monday.  I hope everyone enjoys their weekend and any Valentine’s Day plans.

I don’t understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine’s Day.  When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.  ~Author Unknown