Resurrection Day

"We are cased up in vehicles of clay, and converse together as if we were in different coaches with the blinds close drawn around. We see the carriage, and the voice tells us that we have a friend within; but we shall know each other better, when death shall open the coach doors, and hand out the company successively, and lead them into the glorious apartments which the Lord has appointed to be the common residence of them that love him. What an assembly will there be! What a constellation of glory, when each individual shall shine like the sun in the kingdom of their father! No sins, sorrows, temptations; no veils, clouds, or prejudices, shall interrupt us then."

~John Newton (wrote Amazing Grace 1779)

So grateful for the precious gift of salvation from my risen Savior.

"And Jesus, thank-you for Daddy that he is stern and kind. We love you, Jesus. Amen." Jane prays. She spools out gratitude for each member of our family and ends on Daddy. And so we close out the best day of the year, the day we celebrate our risen Savior. 

HE IS RISEN.

HE IS RISEN INDEED.

Salvation, the unspeakable gift there in our laps. I am undone with gratitude.

Oil

"I'm going to be changing the oil in the suburban," Craig says.

Old canvas coat and knee torn jeans, he gathers oil filter, catch bin, and blue shop-grade paper towels. Joe watches, mimicking Craig's long strides, his deliberate voice, his pleasant and expectant eyebrows, tallying them up as if numerals on an old adding machine, as if perfect execution could spit out an exact replica.

"Ok, I'll be out front if you need me," Craig says. Joe gallops over, bear hugs Craig's leg.

"Will it take long to put the frankincense in the car?" he says.

Frankincense. Having children is like this. We do the daily chores and to the children it's frankincense.

Craig laughs and howls, giggles and shakes his head, a squeaky child-like sound escaping between guffaws, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, the other children gathering to see what's the matter. Joe grins, as if now that everything were totaled, he'd hit the final button and instead of a replica of Daddy, he's filled the entire room with pennies and quarters.

Changing the oil, this is an event that must never be missed.

Gratitude:

5815. Resurrection Day the high holy day of the whole year. We quiet our hearts in deep, deep gratitude of Christ's sacrifice for us.

5816. Organic lotion bars. I try my hand at making these. They turn out perfect. I sell a couple and then perfect the recipe.

5817. New plastic lids for fermenting tea and vegetables.

5818. Iron on pellon.

5819. I start a new project converting a baby wrap into a mei tai carrier. I love a good challenge.

5820. Jack completes the wrestling season and final tournament with flying colors, 11-1. Still not 100% after being sick, he wins all but one match. I, of course, am exhausted just watching. Best of all: his character continues to grow.

5820. Motor oil.

5821. Frankincense oil.

5822. We attend church together as a family, all eight of us. Worship unfolds, dimensional in a way indescribable. While we have our own morning devotions, something special happens when we seek the Lord together.

5823. So we set our hearts in this new season to seek the Lord daily, moment by moment, to His glory. Amen.

Butter

"Joe-Joe, guess what." Jane tilts her head. In another era she'd have hands on her hips, but today she just sighs.

There moored at the bottleneck part of the kitchen, Joe stands tip-toe, his elbows propped on the counter. A red step stool wobbles against his weight. He clanks the butter knife back to the butter dish, blinks.

"We don't eat plain butter in this family," Jane staccatos each word. She scoops the pottery dish beyond his reach, then softens her eyes. "I know, it sounds sort of crazy," she says.

Joe, the glisten of butter around his lips, grunts disapproval.

Then, it's Monday the wide mouth of afternoon open and grinning at us.

"Alright, everyone suit up for bike rides," I say.

"Yay," the children cheer. They gather scruffy tennis shoes and helmets. I brew a cup of espresso.

"Mom," Myra jangles at my elbow, a blue helmet balanced on red cloud hair. "Jude really likes me because he like my BIKE," she beams. For all the beatitude in her voice I can picture hands clasped beneath her chin. "He maybe likes me BEST," she says.

"Oh," I say. Jude, cousin of all bluster and gusto, always finds redheaded girl in a crowd.

"I'm just so excited 'cause Jude likes me SO much," she says. I nod, her face resplendent with friendship.

They blast up and down the street, pedals spindling spools of mirth. The cousins can't come. Jack's bike almost breaks. Still, warm sun careens across our skin, fractures dullness and woe.

The night circles up at the old black table. We gobble bowls of soup, chew down bread, butter, a generous smear atop. And we unweave the day in gossamer threads of conversation.

The dishes pile in the sink, bowls balanced in uneven stacks, silverware pinched in between. Jane loads the dishwasher, the mathematical plodding of duty, the slavedriver at her elbow. Slog and schlepp, plough and drudge, she pulses the dirge of duty.

"Jane, stop," I finally say. I whip a wadded scratchie-pad from her hand, a bouquet of silverware in her other. She turns the orbit of her face to me, that same slow plodding. "These do not need to be scrubbed," I say. "Just put them in the dishwasher."

"Oh." she lilts.

"Jane, don't be slow," Craig cannons over my shoulder.

Like mortar in a stain glass window, her face fractures; a smile emerges. "O-K," she says, sighs. "I'll try not to do the dishes with my fingertips."

Fingertips. Indeed. She grasps the silverware along their full shiny backs, docks them in the gray washing basket. She whips a washrag over the counters, sidles miscellaneous jars and pans into place, and settles. Something settles across the back of the evening. Strength rises, wings unfurled, and we carry on.

That last dish clangs into place. I watch her, taller than a year ago, curls springs at her elbows, and duty a weightless banner across her shoulders.

Gratitude:

5348. Jack and I take a hike in the woods. A date.

5349. "I really like birthdays and Christmas," Lu says, "because I get to see Uncle Jesse and Uncle Dan and Uncle Peter. I don't get to see them very much."

5350. White chicken chili and leftovers, I love it when dinner guests leave leftovers. Jack says it's his favorite soup ever.

5351. "Please stop kicking the heater," I scold Myra. "I'm not kicking it," she calls from the other room. "I'm hitting it with a hammer."

5352. Out with my mom, the car dies. Twice. Peter rescues us. Twice. Love.

5353. Rosie arrives home safe from Europe.

5354. Carolyn and Ellin arrive home safe from NYC, a good report from the doctor in hand.

5355. Pillow shams, again. The melons ones go back; cream ones come home. The whole room sings around the white shams.

5356. Lucy pukes in the night. In bed. Craig and I stay up until 3:30 washing puke laundry and watching reruns. He lets me sleep until 10:30.

5357. Jane bakes brown sugar oatmeal cookies for Craig. And me.

5358. We attend Easter service as a family. Rapture. Surrounded by our children, we worship the risen Savior. HE HAS RISEN. HE HAS RISEN INDEED.

5359. Jack challenges me to a chess match. I win. He smiles. "Wanna play another game?" he says.

5360. The girls volunteer with Craig in five of the six Easter services. At the tail end of Sunday we catch dinner with my family. Reclined around the remains of a ham dinner and carrot cheese cake, Mom pulls out the prayer requests from last year and reads them off. HE HAS RISEN INDEED. We praise him for his answers.

5361. We leave some items on the prayer list and add to it.

5362. We get the bad news that Great-Grammie fell and is settled into the hospital. "Who wants to pray for her?" I call to the back of the car. "We do," they chorus. We bring her before our Savior.

5363. Resurrection Day. Greatest Day Of All. I bow my heart in recognition of my Savior. I am lost without him. Praise be to Jesus. Amen.

Resurrection Day

"Why when you sleep or wear boots it makes black stuff between your toes?" Lucy wonders. Scrunched up, fingers separating each toe, she squints, picks the black stuff out, wipes it on the carpet.

We gussie up in fresh clothes, me in soft black running jersey, her in apple skirt and green rain boots.

And all of us, the five kids, me, we gallop down the block, sun on our heels and in our hair, Joey on my back. We run down around the horse track, around again, back up the block, and then pile in the car, zip off for errands together.

"So what's so great about Jesus rising from the dead?" I ask. We skitter down the main drag, kids' heads bobbing in the back.

"'Cause he raised again," Lucy bellows.

"But Lazarus raised again. Why is it so great that Jesus did?"

"'Cause he died for us," Jack says, and the others clamor and bluster. The chatter blends together, then lulls.

"But, why is that so great?"

The wide five-lane road aflutter with cars, a suburban to my right, a corolla slows, and I switch lanes, pull the visor down, piercing orange sun hidden for the moment.

Jane's voice rises from the backseat, "He died the death of a criminal so he can pay for criminals like us."

There, in that blazing orange sun, I feel her comment warm on my skin. He paid for me. I'm all paid for and clean and perfect in his sight. Oh happy day. The Lord has made us new. Jesus has made us new.





Gratitude:

4281. "If you don't obey Jesus's instructions," Jane says, "you usually still get to the same place, just not in the same way." We trace again the life of Abraham and notice his detours.

4282. The seven of us make the four-and-a-half hour drive to Lucy's four hour eye appointment. We turn around and come home the same day. Jack makes wrestling practice. Craig and I have date night. It's the best long day ever.

4283. "Pardon me, I tooted," Jack whispers in the waiting room. "Jack tooted just now," Myra announces in full voice.

4284. Egg salad -- with bacon. Warm rosemary bread. Oven crisp chocolate chip cookies. Warm brownies.

4285. Cerissa hosts a Tuesday retreat.

4286. "I'm always gonna be a nice girl," Myra reassures.

4287. I comfort Myra after a nightmare. We pray together.

4288. Craig calls on his way home. "What kind of pizza do you want for dinner?" he says.

4289. "You're pretty," Myra says. "You're pretty with your head," she points to my long hair.

4290. Cerissa makes a big happy deal about Lucy's new reading glasses.

4291. Myra squishes Joe's cheeks like putty.

4292. Rockie gets the spica cast off!!!

4293. We all feel relief and joy, but it's palpable from her parents.

4294. The Sugar Creek Gang.

4295. Top Dog.

4296. A cup of soup, a cup of glorious steaming coconut-curry-sweet-tater soup comes from across the street straight to my bowl.

4297. "That's my stinky toot," Myra announces. "I said PARDON ME, I TOOTED," she rambles on. "I didn't poop my pants."

4298. Scented pencils. A friend gives us scented pencils.

4299. Lavender seasoning. The perfect blend.

4300. Question games, stories, laughter and play, we practice our signs with Miss Lynne.

4301. Craig's parents celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. We throw a party. We laugh and linger and marvel. What a blessing to be in their family.

4302. Joey fusses. "Mom, Joe says him's tooth is hurt," Myra reports.

4303. Pink polka-dot shirt, all happy and fresh, cardigan to match.

4304. I decide to boycott Starbucks. As per the suggestion of Starbucks' CEO I'll take my stake somewhere else.

4305. Cerissa faces an awkward situation. She hits it head on. We all silently cheer and take note.

4306. I buy honey yogurt. The kids split wide smiles, quietly lick their spoons.

4307. Pecans on salad.

4308. Down at the horse track two Boston terriers join us. Myra spots them. "The horses are coming," she says and motions to the two dogs. They trot up, sniff us, and continue on. "Her is nice. See Lucy, her is nice," Myra says.

4309. "Tell me when you wake me up," Myra suggests.

4310. For Resurrection Day, I make pancakes. Jack grabs Lucy's hands and dances around the living room for all the joy of it.

4311. Lemon cheesecake, coconut cupcakes.

4312. Resurrection. Jesus's resurrection.

4313. My salvation.