It’s Good Friday which, yes, is the day Jesus died on the cross, but that’s not important right now**, because Good Friday is ALSO is the day well-intentioned mamas like me die a little inside when we realize we have done nothing — nothing — to prepare for Sunday’s Easter celebration.
No hot cross buns.
No chocolate bunnies.
Zilch and zip.
And then we get a little stressed out and a tiny bit overwhelmed because we wonder how — how — we will resurrect this thing by Sunday.
We’re sure it’s not possible.
I mean, our expectations are just dead, man. Not to be dramatic, but we kind of tripped, and face-planted, and landed hard, and smashed our expectations all over the ground, and now they are DEAD-dead, and the skies darken.
It is BAD, friends. BAD NEWS. Rather hopeless. Just AWFUL.
We descend into Mama Expectations Hell.
And I know you won’t believe me about this next part. That’s OK. I never believe me, either. What I’m about to tell us is, after all, unbelievable.
But I have lived through Mama Expectations Hell, and here’s what I’ve discovered…
We will rise again.
SOMEHOW, unbelievably, we will rise again.
BECAUSE WE HAVE MIRACLE POWERS, friends.
We have miracle powers — all is not lost, after all — and WE WILL RISE from what we knew was certain death. WE WILL KEEP ON RISING, too, because this doesn’t apply just to the Easter Plan and the Eggs and the Baskets.
No; we will keep rising on repeat. Over and over. Dying to Expectations. Dying to Ourselves. Dying to How We Thought This Life Would Be and WHO We Thought We’d Be in It. Descending into All Kinds of Hell. And Rising Again.
You know why?
Because we are a Resurrection People.
Because we believe in Unreasonable Hope.
Because we have learned what it is to Release Expectations and the Things That Tie Us to the Tomb.
Because we have learned to look for the Things That Matter instead of the Shoulds and Ought Tos.
We do something that matters — sometimes one thing — and we discover it’s enough.
^^^^MIRACLE, I TELL YOU! ^^^^
So I have planned nothing for Easter, friends. Not one single thing.
My kids are going to go to church on Sunday in — and I’m not kidding here — whatever they want to wear, which will undoubtedly include jeans with holes in the knees and shoes covered in duct tape.
I will — almost certainly — boil some eggs over the next couple days, and we’ll dye them or we won’t, and Easter will come anyway.
We’ll dine on Sunday on… food. Whatever I find in the freezer and the cupboards that makes the least number kids say EW.
We’ll hide Easter baskets for the kids to find, probably even with something in them.
And we’ll talk about resurrection. The resurrection of Jesus, yes, and the resurrection of us, too, and we’ll celebrate the hell out of rising from the dead.
That will be our One Thing That Matters.
So, in case you, like me, are unprepared for Easter, know this: you are not alone. We can sit here together and wait for the dawn, which always comes after the dark. And we can celebrate the hell out of rising from the dead.
**Sometimes I make Jesus feel sad. Sorry, Jesus.