My Easter


Last week, there was this moment. I was rocking William to sleep in my arms and a poem formed through jumbles of thought. It isn't that I don't see the importance of celebrating newness and that I don't love a good Easter egg hunt. As a matter of fact, the first Easter egg William picked up on our hunt was plastic purple with jelly beans in side and I love Robins Eggs (the malted chocolate crunchy ones!) The freedom to love and laugh and walk though life enjoying celebrations with our friends is what I feel Easter to us. Because deep down, I know I am loved by the master of the universe in the most deep passionate way and because of that . . .

My Easter

My Easter is not pastel.
It is not a yellow number 5
Starburst Jelly Bean
In a purple plastic egg
Buried in green strips of plastic grass.

It isn’t a cheap chocolate bunny
Wrapped in yellow foil
Wrapped in plastic and paper
With big white fluffy raised words --
The Easter Bunny.

My Easter is not a rushed trip to the mall
To pick out the perfect matching
Hat, dress, sweater, and shoes
Advertised in last Sunday’s paper.
On sale  -- Only this week. . .

My Easter is a deep red bloodied
Body. One of 3 hung on splintered wood
Cursed and accused and beaten
Down to dark purple skin.
Buried in a dull dark tomb -- In Strips of linen.

My Easter is the end of a blood bath
In Egypt. Sons dead in their beds.
An angel of death passing over bloody doorways --
The sign that they would escape the death,
And walk away from slavery --into freedom.

My Easter basks in the love of the King of Glory
Who wore the dirt and grime of the universe,
And took my grief and sorrow and shame.
Who rose up again and lives.
The sign that we can walk away from death
Into life – Forever.


Comments

  1. PendergrassApril 3, 2013 at 5:57 PM

    Elisha, I miss you guys, so much! And this post makes me realize that I need the Boggs' wisdom and calmness in my life more! I hope that all is well.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Love Them. Feed Them. Talk To Them. The Rest Is Icing On The Cake.

Image
We've been homeschooling for ten years. At LEAST once a week I think that homeschooling is the worst possible thing on the planet. I look at my kids and think, "I've got nothin'!" It is scary. It is hard. How many hundreds of times have I called my extremely patient husband and yelled, literally screamed into the phone, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" There was a day, in the middle of a lesson that wasn't going well at all, that I walked out the back door, walked to the pool, jumped in fully clothed and yelled as loud as I could under the water. I got back out of the pool, calmly walked inside, changed my clothes and continued with the day feeling much relieved. George, my husband and biggest cheerleader - also a major part of our homeschooling life, is diligent to walk me off the cliff of homeschool despair. When I feel like I am failing our children, he offers me this morsel... Before I give you his advice, I would like to mention at this poi...
Read more

Child's Play

Image
Amelia wanted to have a coffee shop party for her friends to celebrate her birthday. We planned it all week. We named the coffee shop, "Amaruma Coffee." George Wilder says it means, "Good Coffee". We made the logo. Of course it included a tree (Amelia draws trees constantly) and coffee beans. We made decisions about what to serve and how to serve it.  Then Amelia decided to make a castle. She found some bricks in the yard and started making a wall/castle. George Wilder was responsible for making the mortar from ash and water and dirt. They worked on the wall/castle for days. The coffee shop became the side show and the castle would be the center of play. They walked through exactly how the day would go all afternoon Thursday. It was nearly impossible to do any school work Friday. They looked longingly toward the castle/wall. There was work to do. It had to be finished and decorated and set up for extensive castle visiting. There were problems to be sol...
Read more

Wilderness Whines

Image
When the "but I want . . . " sirens wail and "just one more time. . . " voices ring in chorus, and the "when will we be there?" interrogations press hard against ear drum, we stop and talk about the power of wishing for something that isn't ours to have and how it is debilitating and hard and caused an entire nation to get stuck in a desert for 40 years and if they would have just seen past the "when will we get there" they might have enjoyed the journey and found glory waiting without so much turmoil. We are cuddled and there are lots of tears as I explain the weeding of the whine and how it must happen now. And suddenly I realize that perhaps I've been wandering around. Yes, I have. I am in a desert of whine. It is bedtime and we turn off the lights and pray for grace for the next day. The next day arrives quickly. I lace up and head out the door for a morning run and prayer. It comes to me as I put one foot in front of the...
Read more