Easter isn’t really my thing. As a child, I loved it, and my parents went all out with the baskets, the candy and the hiding eggs. But as I grew older, I stopped caring as much. When my children were little, we gave Easter baskets but didn’t get into ‘the bunny’ -creepy AF, if you ask me- and once Hunky was in ministry, Easter was more of an enforced evangelical production than a fun, family holiday. Weeks of preparation went into whipping a room full of sugared-up adults deeply concerned with getting home to dinner into an emotional frenzy which must be sustained for an hour while lights strobe and music pounds.
It’s just not my thing.
Last year easter morning was our first morning in our new-to-us home after the church divorce/graduation. I don’t remember much about the day except that it was a quite chilly. We sat on our gorgeous front porch wrapped in blankets with our hands pressed into our coffee mugs and finally felt free. I imagine we cooked something and unpacked a last few boxes. Craig had no where to be the next day, and I was learning how to work full time again. It’s a time I fondly remember as the few months where I came home from work and dinner was ready and on the table waiting for me.
Life has changed a lot in a year. It’s still, continually, filled with new things – which is a blessing and a curse.
Usually, I am enamored of new things. I’m entirely guilty of trying to skip over the middle in order to get to the end, just so I can start the next new thing. But lately, the constant barrage of changes, shifts and transitions is starting to feel a little bit like an assualt. Just as soon as I begin to settle into a pattern, there’s a disruption. Not a little disruption, mind you, a giant tromping through the garden style disruption. An “oh shit, we’re starting all over again AGAIN” disruption. It’s easy to feel like so much flotsam dragged along in the wake of events.
This, too, is midlife. Learning to understand that some seasons you may not love your life, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve strayed off course. Sometimes frustration is just a season, a transition, a time to find ways to thrive anyway because to turn around is to undo hard, important work, even if you aren’t certain how much longer you can keep up.
So many times, we look at these challenging seasons as signs that we should change something or, if you’re me, change everything. But lately I’m open to the possibility that perhaps so many things are difficult right now, because we are making right choices, wise choices. As the cliche goes: if it were easy, everyone would do it.
I told my husband last night, “I don’t love my life right now” and I meant it, but that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with the direction we’re going. I just don’t want to hang out any longer than absolutely necessary in the space we are in. I also know I can’t skip over the middle part to get to the end. We have to ride this one out without running away or giving up or throwing it all away. Seasons change, and we don’t control the turning.
I didn’t celebrate Easter this year. It’s complicated. It’s a season. It’s one more piece of me (re)discovering that sometimes “new” isn’t the harbinger of bunnies and flouncy dresses. Sometimes new means we dig in the dirt and spread manure and hope like hell we grow something, but knowing nothing is certain.