Easter Memory

I have a memory. It is of a little white church -- the kind of church that comes to mind when you think of little, white country churches. It is three doors down from where my grandparents lived. The memory is of an Easter morning when I was in high school. My mom and I had gone to visit her dad (my grandfather) for Easter. I'm not sure which Easter it was; I think it was 1982 -- it was after my grandmother died.

Picture a small, Presbyterian church with seats like old movie theater seats instead of pews. I remember that whenever we went to church with my grandfather, he would hog the arm rest. Nobody wanted to sit next to him for that very reason. This church celebrated Easter early in the morning with a sunrise service. I remember walking into the very small sanctuary. At the front of the church was a cross -- handmade out of chicken wire -- the kind people use to make chicken coops. Everyone was given a spring flower when we entered, which we then placed through the chicken wire. After the service was breakfast in the "social hall" -- the basement of the church. Later, we returned to the sanctuary for the regular Sunday morning worship. Between the two services someone had filled the cross with flowers. The wire was gone -- only tulips, lilies and daffodils were visible. Abundant life from a lifeless cross. What a powerful image that was for me -- so powerful that I remember it even today (and it's been a long time since high school).

I have moments, like I did this morning, of missing my grandparents terribly. These moments don't happen very often, but when they do, they take me by surprise. Just a sweet memory of Easter, and I have a lump in my throat. I'm wishing my guys could have known my grandparents. They would have loved them (pronouns purposefully left ambiguous).

But we have the promise of abundant life from a lifeless cross. So the story's not over yet.

Photo: Crocuses coming up in our flower bed. Go back! It's February, and snow is coming!