white easter_#tell his story


“Not what I expected”.

Try saying it out loud and I bet your voice dips a smidgen lower and drips a little at the end with cynicism.

We woke today, this Resurrection Sunday, this high day on the Christian calendar, to snow.

A white Easter.

The snow continued and piled and the wind picked up speed and we scrambled for knit tights to go with bright dresses for church.

Just yesterday with the temperatures high and the sun shining the girls and I did chalk drawings on our long stretch of blacktop drive way. I drew a rough sketch of a pink tulip and circled around it, in my messy handwriting, Jesus Is Forever Spring.

Hmmm. Today I am not feeling so sanguine and poetic.

This week for Spring break my husband and I went to NYC. We left a day and half early because I got sick.

And so it seems expectations are a dangerous thing.

One could argue that to play it safe, to guard and preserve yourself from further deflating harm, a wise man would just stop looking forward to things. Life is after all, not a perpetual candy shop-that’s for kiddies. Because there is, after all, something so smugly adult about putting on a good face and just making peace with a world full of disappointments.

There is something so rightly Christian about not attaching yourself and just put a stop to being happy over tangible things in this world, because it just distracts you from the eternal, the spiritual.

I know some people like that and quite frankly, the are horrible people to be around. So that can’t be it.

We had a guest speaker for service today, as we have had for the last three months with our church currently being without a Pastor. He preached on Resurrection Miracle, and my eyes kept drifting to the snow coming down sideways and piling up out the narrow slats of the sanctuary windows.

And all of a sudden, it was right there:

The Struggle.

Not so much to listen to the sermon and stop staring out the window.

Rather, to not allow present circumstances to permeate my spiritual faith.

We know the scriptures by rote.

But we react like everyone else.

But for good reason:

Our world is on a spinning axis.

Our bodies flux to hormones, enzymes, chemicals, adrenalin.

Our minds tilt to the reaction of past experiences, learned patterns, and a constant inundation of emotions, a good many, not even conscious.

And so here I am, on a white cold Easter, on the heels of get-a-way vacation that sucked, and its whispering over me what I truly need isn’t

a perfect romantic weekend,

or green buds swelling under sunny warm skies,

{though both are wonderful gifts I have enjoyed and will again}.

No, I am white-knuckled desperate for something, someone, constant and lasting.

No beginning. No end. Too big to neatly analyze and put into a tidy labeled box.

If I can believe, then recognize, then proceed in THAT-

the suckiness won’t go away, those mild irritations to the devastating news will still find its mark-

but it will not be the ultimate reality.

For a month I keep getting this image whenever I wrestle in prayer of a great river, which is also a song over us all.

It puts into context those old words “when peace like river…”

And as abstract and weird as that may seem, in those whirling moments when I am trying to put the world in some sort of order that makes sense, it allows me to relax my shoulders and exhale.

And my stance changes:

not brimming with self-confidence and knowing it all;

it makes me see clearer and be thankful.

Awareness of the unseen trinity of Father, Son, Holy Spirit who are good and in control,  bring into sharp focus those things and people right in front of me, who are good and I don’t need to control.

My last post was about my fractionated mind that I can’t keep neat and orderly anymore, and knowing I need Christ to heal the fissure cracks from the inside, however He may do so. Today I read in Isaiah 64 God’s message and promise to come down flowing like fire and water for those who wait. 

We don’t wait like a sour puss, bemoaning the woes, we wait dogged determined to be filled up with Gratitude. It is the only accepted stance for those who have been transformed, put right, and made whole on the inside. Even though logically and put on paper it does not make sense.

It coaxes the invisible to invade the visible.

Here are a few digital gratitudes from this white Easter weekend.


frying fat

large quantities of caffeine

hunks in aprons


paper hats sent home from kindergarten teachers {bless you}

the shirt says it all

chocolate bunnies mauled to oblivion in less than 24 hours


undaunted daffodils

snow that always eventually melts


Our tradition of hiding not a Single basket,

but Scads of candy

all over the house

on Saturday morning not Sunday.


Linking up, two days after Easter (because it takes me forever to get one post completed) with writer and great encourager Jennifer Dukes Lee at #tellhisstory blog link up


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