The weekend weather pattern in our neck of the woods altered it's rhythm long enough to provide us a sunny Easter Sunday. We've had inclement weather every other weekend for over two months, and it was due this weekend, but the clouds wrung themselves dry on Saturday and the kids ran around grandma and grandpa's yard hunting eggs under the clearest of skies.
I remember helping Elliott with the egg hunt last year. He stumbled around the yard on his young and not so stable footing while I dropped eggs in his path. He'd stop, never thinking to question whether eggs were supposed to rain down from the sky, and pick up the egg and put it in his bag. Then he'd wobble into the path of the next egg shower.
There was no wobbling this year. It was pure sprinting. I did have to give him some subtle hints about egg locations, but since I helped hide them, my subtleness was valuable assistance. Once he had an egg in sight, he charged at it determined to keep it from escaping back to the sky it fell from. The only thing that slowed his rummage was his desire to eat his catch. He didn't like the marshmallow eggs, but he loved sticking them in his mouth whole while the sugar coating dissolved into streams of colored saliva that flowed down his throat and his chin. When the sugar supply had ended, or when his mouth got sore from opening so wide, he would toss the egg aside. I watched carefully to make sure it wasn't retrieved as a slobbery surprise by one of the other young egg hunters.
On the holiday that celebrates new life, there is something very symbolic about young children running around the yard with an unmatchable spirit and energy. I can't think of anything to better represent the hope that came to life when Christ rose from the dead and walked out of that tomb. I often think that when he did, it was truly his hope that we wouldn't complicate life beyond the simple joys of a child. Many days I believe we have, but an Easter egg hunt is a wonderful reminder that we don't have to.
Easter Photos Courtesy of Kim Faris