I can't ever remember not being in love with Spring.
I grew up Catholic. Both my parents families were devout, so in our home, Easter was the biggest day of the year. Just preparing for it was quite a thing. Fabric and patterns were bought, dresses
made, and then we'd shop for little purses and hats, and sometimes gloves.
But for me, and I loved all those things for sure, don't get me wrong, but the highlight ,was this. After Jesus died, he rose from the dead. And then, in my yard, at my house, the daffodils began to pop from the ground. Butterflies arrived, buds sprouted on the trees and the grass turned green. There was new life everywhere. And I knew in my little girl heart that it was all because of Jesus. He died so we could have new life, and He showed me what that looked like year after year.
In preparation for these amazing things, we would sit around the dinner table as a family, the six of us, and talk about Lent. I was the oldest of 3 girls. Lori was born 3 years after me, and Kay was born 2 years after that. My brother, the only boy, was 11 months older than me. We were Irish twins. He was born Dec. 23rd, and before his 1st birthday, I was born on Dec.4th. So he and I...we were a tribe. I took his lead as we hunted for tortoise's in the field, caught tarantulas, and chased our little sisters with dried locust shells on the tips of our fingers. Anyway... let's get back to lent.
The first year that I really felt what it meant to make a sacrifice, I was 12. I babysat quite a bit on the weekend for families on our street. I always liked kids, and my babysitting money was always spent on Tigerbeat Magazines, or records by the Monkeys. Daydream Believer, Last Train to Clarkville, etc. I received my very own 45 record player that Christmas. It was in a square box, and I could take it anywhere. But that year for Lent, my parents really encouraged me to think seriously about sacrifice. Not as a little girl, but as an almost adolescent girl.
And so...
Could I really go 40 days without buying a new magazine, or listening to my records. I truly wasn't sure, but I know I wanted to try.
As Easter drew closer, Mother would begin the dress fittings. She would slip the pinned fabric patterns over our heads carefully and make small adjustments. I can still picture her behind the sewing machine feeding the fabric right up to the foot of the needle where she would remove the pin at just the right moment and place it between her lips. I can still see her tight-lipped smile and her mouthful of pins as she noticed me watching.
The week before was marked by Palm Sunday. I can remember quiet moments as a little girl brushing the soft fronds of the palm against my face as I tried to picture Jesus riding the donkey into the town as people threw them at his feet. On Ash Wednesday of that week, we would get our ashes and Mother would put the finishing touches of lace and rickrack on her three daughters dresses. On Good Friday, we watched the Passion as the “Stations of the Cross,” were acted out before us in an extra long Mass.
My spirit sensed the seriousness of all of this. Beyond the pretty dresses, Easter baskets, and egg hunts, something much deeper, much more powerful was alive and at work in and around me and I knew it. I can remember waiting for the daffodils and tulips to pop out from the dirt, and running outside in the weeks before Easter eager to report to anyone who would listen that they finally popped through the ground. My heart would flutter at the sound of the first chirping birds, and the sight of the first Monarch butterfly.
One Easter, when I was about eight, I had a Sunday school assignment. I sat at the kitchen table for a long time struggling. I just couldn’t get my idea onto the fabric. After awhile, my Mother came and sat beside me. My assignment was to portray what Easter meant to me on the piece of white linen. I told Mom what I was thinking and feeling, but didn’t know how to convey it on the material.
I remember Mom’s smile, her suggestion, and knowing happily, that it was perfect. It was exactly what I’d wanted to say. And when it was finished, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Mom helped me paint in the Monarch’s wings, and she helped me shape the tulips and daffodils just right. When dad got home from work, he attached a wooden stick under the top corner of the fabric and tied a string onto the rod so I could hang it on the wall. “Alleluia, Alleluia.” It said, “He has Risen.”
What I knew even then, is that it is not a coincidence that the Resurrection of our Savior, and Spring’s new life, happen simultaneously. It is a deliberate sign from our Father in heaven about who Jesus was, and what He did for us. Christ’s resurrection immediately follows the Passover and the Feast of First Fruits. As Jesus took all our sins to the cross that day to save us, his gift to us was our new life. Our eternal life. And it is that gift of His Grace that we celebrate in the glory of every new spring bud and butterfly.
So I want to leave you with this...
Many years later, I planted 2 blackberry bushes in our Round Valley home for our first grandson, Jude. They were established plants when I planted them, and he had his first taste of Blackberries and was in love. Not just the taste, but picking them off the bush and popping them into his mouth all by himself. I was so excited for this next years harvest, but over the winter it appeared the blackberry bushes had died. I was more than sad. I looked at them often, but there seemed to be nothing alive on the bushes.
I cried, but I had come to terms with the fact it just got too cold, and they they died. Then Paul and I prepared for our first real day of garden clean up in preparation for Spring. I had more tears that day too, but this time it came from the joy in finding new growth on both the bushes. As I stood there, so in love with Spring and praising God that Jude’s little bushes survived their first winter, I then thought how ridicules I must look crying about the fact that my bushes were alive.
It was then that God laid words upon my heart. He reminded me that I have understood the significance of Spring and been in love with the Glory of His creation all of my life. “And that, my precious daughter,” He said to me, “Is why I gave you this garden.”
And so... be encouraged to look around and see the little things. The significance of Jesus death and new life is everywhere. See it and be Blessed.
You are greatly loved! Happy Easter.
