Easter summons up images of lilies, spring hyacinths, vivid greens and blues and yellows; the white of bursting orchard blossoms and lambs and gentle warm afternoons. Things like Easter bunny come to mind (Utah's will be a white snow-shoe hare), and eggs and yellow chicks and children calling and laughing with the celebrated egg hunts.
I inwardly grumble at God. He knows perfectly well these snowy mantles are not a cloak I would not have designed if I had done the shopping!
As a family, we have begrudgingly thought we could make small snow balls and chocolate coat them, and twist-tie jelly beans in colored cellophane and throw them in snow banks. Boiled eggs should preserve nicely if bought brown. You'd never find the white ones! The cold hands and grouchy children stuck inside were not a welcome back ground anxiety.
But there are upsides:
We can make our own displays: clothes pin and pompom caterpillars, paper towel chrysalises and crepe butter flies; cereal boxes converted to mats for salt dough maps of the Holy Land; blown and hand painted eggs; and those marvelous giant crystal eggs with scenes inside. I've never made one, maybe now it is time to learn. There will be family gathered around me, and food, and songs, and smiles.
Maybe, just maybe, there is more to this cool weather for me than even this. I can look for its hidden treasure like turning over old leaves and seeing that surprising green shoot underneath. Like the surprise of picking up a fiery red-orange sea agate on a gray, cloud draped beach. It is not the setting, but the discovery. I am on a treasure hunt. A miraculous chance I would not have created for myself.
This year I shall re-discover why. Not just why this cold on Easter, but why Easter. This is not just the celebration of new life, but a REALLY new life: HIS, and mine through Him. This is a chance to skip the shopping market and visit the cathedral. Lifting this small branch of cold weather I can see this landmark of the Christian's own chrysalis. This is God's garden, where He can be seen walking through the magic of making all things new. All I can do is hold my breath, remembering every time He has touched me and changed me, and one more time inwardly plead, "Let it be me!"
