I'm not particularly good at holidays. Pumpkin carving, gingerbread houses, egg dying: they are done inconsistently at best. More often taken on by my mom and aunt than myself. About the only thing I can manage for holidays is the grocery shopping and cooking that comes with making a big meal for a big family.
The way Easter is celebrated can make me a little sad too. It is a holy holiday made silly with bunnies bearing eggs. I see that decked out baskets loaded with toys and trinkets and gobs of candy, and I am forced to fight my judgmental tendencies. This is what the resurrection of Jesus has become?
I wish that Springtime could get her own celebration. I wish that the fun that comes with Easter could be transferred, maybe to the Equinox? May Day? Because I do like all the packaging that comes with Easter, but in my perfect world, it wouldn't get mixed in with religion.
Our holiday celebrations involved both worlds. The egg hunts and church services, and those family dinners that are so much apart of who I am. There was also some hula hopping and lots of baby holding. Attempts at family portraits that involved rumbled clothing and curious expressions. Back porch rough housing. Daffodil blooms. Grassy rests. Wind-up chicks.
New beginnings. Rebirth. The resurrection. This time of year holds something even more beautiful than magic. It is filled to the brim with life. And that is powerful.
