Soundtrack of My Life: He is Risen!
I was with my Bible study group last week and somehow we wandered off, like our ancestors in the desert, and landed on the topic of playlists. Discussing Peter’s books will do that to you.
I casually mentioned that I had an Easter playlist and several heads whipped around and demanded that I share said Easter playlist immediately. Oddly enough, they didn’t really care about my colonoscopy playlist, or the one I made to musically depict Arie’s season of The Bachelor. There was some interest when I disclosed that I had not one, but two Valentine’s Day selections. I have one if you are excited about love and another if you are irritated with love.
I’m very creative.
When I think of Easter growing up in Hallsville, I think of the entire Walker/Dorsey clan gathering in Noonday Cemetery for a sunrise service. Gathering in a cemetery makes sense if you think about it. Yes, it’s weird, but it makes sense.
I also think of fancy, flowery dresses that were undoubtedly hand-me-downs from either my friend Carmen, my other friend Caroline, or my cousin friend Stephanie. Luckily these girls’ moms had PHENOMENAL taste. I would rock a Gunne Sax with aplomb. Of course my winter coat would cover it up because sunrise services are chilly.
But I knew what was on the inside. And I felt fabulous. I may have worn a bonnet.
The cry of, “HE IS RISEN!” was always followed by an enthusiastic, “HE IS RISEN, INDEED!” We would sing, “Up From the Grave He Arose,” “He’s Alive,” and “Old Rugged Cross” by my relatives’ headstones. Again, it made sense, but was really weird.
Then we would go home, eat ham and deviled eggs, wait patiently for the adults to finish servings of Mama’s chocolate pie, and run outside to hunt “things” because Mama didn’t like us to hunt eggs.
Remember that scene in Gilmore Girls where Kirk forgets where he hid some of the boiled eggs during Easter and the entire town smells rotten for weeks? That’s a real thing.
Therefore, we hunted money. How cool is that? All of the adults would contribute whatever they wished to part with from their purses or pockets and different denominations would go into plastic eggs. There may have been some non-melting candy in a few of those. You know, for the babies who hunted. But the big kids scoured acres of land to see which cousin would go home with the most money.
Oddly, the tradition petered out over the years. I’m lobbying hard that we reboot the money egg. I could use a little change.
One thing that Mama did do for my sister and I every year was an Easter basket. Of course Linea Ray would never put chocolate in a basket. (Have you read chapter one of my book?) Don’t feel sorry for us. Each and every Easter we received a new pair of roller skates.
Life doesn’t get better than that.
I may not wear the fancy dress, or whip around in Care Bear skates, or tiptoe through a cemetery at the break of dawn every year like I used to. Nevertheless, one thing does remain: The Easter playlist.
I give you four hours of “HE IS RISEN” goodness for you to enjoy this year. Happy Easter!