Waking up in the Grave

On Holy Saturday, I woke up in the grave. The night had been spent in one of those repeating nightmares, and we had cleaning the basement on the agenda. The basement is our classroom, and all those educational toys and manipulatives add up to way too many moving parts and a giant hassle. Easter errands needed running too, and I decided that cowardice was the better part of valor and ran off to do errands while Kurt and the kids got the basement started.
Ladies, you know how that goes. I did improve my mood significantly, which was good since not much had happened since I left. The floor was laid out in masking tape squares which were keyed into little prizes. It was kind of a random bingo game, but the kids were just not able to do the kind of work that needed done without help. Kurt and I got things going, and really, it was one of the best day's work we'd ever spent as a family in the basement. All prizes were earned, and we had done it without getting frustrated with each other.
We had just enough time left to eat dinner and get ready for the Easter Vigil, which was our first ever, and it was wonderful. The candles and the Scripture, I love reverence and the Easter Vigil was my kind of Easter service. I was quickly moving out of the grave and into the new life we were celebrating.
Easter Sunday, the youngest woke up under the weather, so Kurt took the girls to the Protestant service. There were a few hiccups in the day, but they opened opportunities for important dialogue with my children on a day when they felt absolutely loved. All things weighed I came through the Easter season awakened in a deeper way to the new freedoms and possibilities of my life. Much of the bitterness and fear from the past melted away like that old nightmare as I cleaned and celebrated and talked to my children. It wasn't the kind of Damascus road experience my old life was always hoping for, but it was the road to Emmaus. I did wake up to new faith.