Psalm 40: 1-3
I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.
To me, Easter is always a joyous time. I remember images from my childhood, many from photographs my father took. Three little girls, hair neatly combed, new dresses and white shoes – one trying to look sophisticated, one looking down at the hamster in her hands, another looking straight at the camera, smiling as big as possible. Their new dresses fitting perfectly and the skirts standing out with numerous petticoats; their hair curled and combed by their mother, who spent the evening before securing their pincurls with bobby pins.
Until I was twelve, the Easter bunny (Daddy in his bathrobe) visited our yard and hid eggs. Even after we were all too old not to know the truth, we required this enactment, and Daddy played along.
As an adult, nature plays a bigger part in my Easter excitement. Flowering peach trees, budding flowers, planting seeds in anticipation of giant sunflowers and spicy nasturtium blossoms to put in a salad. My grandparents’ gardens were always a thing of beauty – purple irises and azaleas in pink and white. My garden is raggedy and disorganized, but the spring brings me back to memories of those special times.
As a child, I think I was pretty self-confident, feeling loved and secure. But as an adult, I am less so. In my times of sadness thinking of the special time shared with my parents and grandparents, I do agree with the Psalmist – I can be pulled out of my desolation and feel my feet set upon firm ground through prayer, meditation, and thankfulness.