Easter Sunday

Our Easter finery

My father took this picture of Norma Jean and me almost seventy years ago, in front of what must have been his pride and joy, our family car. I pulled this picture up at the coffee shop last week, and we discussed what kind of car that was. I heard names of automobiles that brought back old memories: Studebaker, DeSoto, Packard. We were never able to agree on what this car might be, but it's got two cuties standing in front of it, Easter baskets in hand.

I think Mama might have made our dresses. Mine is pale yellow, and Norma Jean's is pale pink, and hers has more of a ruffle on the bottom, but otherwise they are identical. I have used this picture before on this blog, but I never thought much about the car before. At the coffee shop, we perused many different makes of 1950s cars online but never saw any that look quite like this one. You can also see our home in the background, believe it or not. We lived on Travis Air Force Base in a duplex tar-paper shack, which housed enlisted servicemen and their families.

I am hopeful that the military no longer uses tar paper to make these buildings, because it contained a high quantity of asbestos in those days. We didn't live there too awfully long, but I wonder about our exposure to it at the time. These buildings were constructed as temporary housing, I'm sure. It's interesting to see such a fine automobile in front of such a home, don't you think?

For many years, I have wondered just what we did after this picture was taken. We never went to church when I was growing up, so did we just get all dressed up for the occasion and then play with our Easter baskets? It's a mystery to me, and unfortunately there is nobody still alive to ask. Neither of us remember all these years later.

The reason for Easter was never discussed, either. I'm sure that the religious aspect of the holiday never occurred to me. It was a time for a new dress and a basket filled with hard-boiled eggs and jelly beans, with maybe a bit of chocolate. There was never any mention of Jesus or any of that. Being raised in a home without any religious instruction seemed normal, because I didn't know any different, but now I wonder if it was really a blessing in disguise. I know many people who have rebelled against their family religion, but since I was free to learn all about it myself, I was able to choose what fit me best.

When I was a teenager living in Georgia, I started attending the nearby Episcopal Church, and before long my sister had also joined. We went to weekly services, and Norma Jean even began singing in the choir. I don't think I did, but I do remember going to Midnight Mass at Christmastime and truly enjoying all the pageantry. I was hungry for religious instruction and read the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer all the time, alarming my parents. At one point as a young teenager, I considered entering a religious community. The important thing for me at the time was how attractive the religious habit was; Episcopal convents weren't all that numerous, but I did study which one I'd like to join.

Obviously, that phase didn't last. But what has remained with me all these years later is the realization that I need some kind of faith to be happy and fulfilled. I don't attend church any more, but I did join several more denominations in my quest to find my own place. I was a Unitarian Universalist for many years, and then I moved on to study Buddhism and Hinduism. Now, in my later years, I realize that much of these religions are now part of me, without differentiating how much comes from each. They all live in my heart and soul.

Easter is filled with new beginnings and comes at a time of year when the environment is coming alive again after the winter period of dormancy. The birds sing, flowers bloom, and green shoots sprout up in every corner. When I walk to the bus early in the morning, I see changes from day to day, with tiny buds becoming flowers overnight and raindrops glistening on the leaves. A smile comes unbidden, my steps become lighter, and the beauty all around me fills me with gratitude.

We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won't need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don't fire cannons to call attention to their shining - they just shine. —Dwight L. Moody

Today I feel like letting my light shine, all day long, while at the coffee shop, digging in the garden, or writing this post on Easter Sunday. My partner still sleeps quietly next to me, my tea had turned cold before I finished it, but it's gone too, and the day beckons. I hope this day will be a wondrous one for you, my dear reader, and that whatever you decide to do with this day, you will also let your light shine. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things.