An Easter photo from long ago. This photo is taken in front of a motel, so we were traveling. Probably to Abbotsford to visit family, hordes of family. Boisterous cousins, aunties by the dozen, groaning tables, and green foliage everywhere, a striking sight after the brown that signaled spring in the interior.
My mother created those darling outfits for my sister and me, often sewing late into the evening. I'm the one in blue. Skirt, blouses, jackets. She's very talented. Don't we look prim and proper in our black patent shoes, little hats, and white gloves? And our brother in his miniature blazer? Just what we wore in the mid-60s for dressing up. The hippie movement hadn't caught us yet.
Easter Sunday. We attended services at my grandparents' church at East Aldergrove. I remember it as chilly, and a bit damp. The front of the church had a curved ceiling, painted pale mint green. The choir sang. The highlight of the service, for me, was when we all stood and sang, "Up from the grave He arose," the sound welling up as the notes climbed higher, joy filling hearts and space as the triumph of the Resurrection was celebrated.
Tomorrow we will attend church and that song will likely not be sung. But I sing it to myself every year. Today, Saturday, preparations are made. Our family will gather this evening. The table is set. A vintage tablecloth from my mother-in-law sets the mood for spring. I iron it and think of her, and pray for her.
Sometimes the little ones sit with us, sometimes they like their own table. I know they'll like the eggs on each napkin.
Although this is the day between, the day when Jesus lay in darkness, a quiet day, we know the end of this chapter and so, in the spirit of hope, I say to you, Happy Easter! He is Risen!