Photo courtesy marthastewart.com
Speaking of rabbits, Easter is just two shakes away, as well: Sunday, April 4th. As I recall, one thing that was very important to me as a kid was to get an "Easter dress". I always loved getting an Easter dress, because I knew it would be just the most wonderful and beautiful new dress to wear to church on Easter Sunday. Of course, it was always a horrifying pastel or flowered something, with too-tight sleeves, and a propensity for only matching equally horrifying white shoes. And sometimes, if I were a lucky girl, there would be a wide-brimmed hat with a large silk flower hot-glued to the front. Usually, Jessica and Noah--when we were little enough that our outfits were still dictated by Mama--were wearing some version of the same: pastel, a floppy hat, camel-colored suede oxfords, and a handful of garden roses, newly shorn stems wrapped in a wet paper towel and crinkly tin foil. Oh, the agony and the ecstasy of Easter outfits. The church I grew up in always and forever has held Easter services outdoors in a big white tent at Boone Hall Plantation, right next to the softly sloping riverbank lined with moss-laden, sentinel oaks--a more beautiful sight you've never seen! During the service, the young children would venture to the front to find a wooden cross covered in chicken wire in order to secure bouquets of flowers in the holes--and by the end, a few plain four by fours would be bursting with blooms of all colors, sizes, and species. Deluge or sunshine, freezing or sweltering, no-see-ums or not--every Easter, there will always be a big white tent and a wooden cross to be adorned with flowers timidly brought forth by Easter's eager children. And there, amongst the oaks and the flowered cross, a few thousand or so of heaven's saints would sing praises to the One who changed everything. Amazing love, how could it be?/that you, my King, would die for me?
And so, without further ado, have a wonderful, restful Sunday evening.