Growing up, on the Saturday before Easter, I’d sleep with sponge rollers in my soft, blonde hair. It was awful. Like having rocks for pillows.
My mom would let me pick out a new dress from Penney’s or Uptons to wear on Easter Sunday. Sometimes a matching bonnet. Other times an oversized bow. My favorite Easter dress was a white fluffy number with a full skirt decorated with purple ribbons. There were tiny bells sewn into the inside hem, so I jingled softly when I walked.
We’d take family photos on the front porch before going to the early service. It was one of my favorite times to be at church. We sang hymns you didn’t hear the rest of the year. Lord of the Dance. The Easter Song. Morning Has Broken. Because He Lives.
There was always a warmth to Easter. Sunlight poured through the stained glass windows. The sanctuary, adorned with white lilies and rich purple tapestries. And even if you didn’t make it to church all year, you showed up on Easter Sunday.
That’s because it’s a day for redemption.
Because a year’s gone by and we’ve screwed up. We’ve done wrong. We’re failed and flawed. But on that day, on Easter Sunday, we’re reminded that we’re free.
And so we wear white and we wake up early and we slick back our hair and shine our shoes and we pile into church. And as we sing those hymns, as the organ plays and the choir sings, we let the sweet notes of grace and glory wash over us.
It’s a beautiful feeling. When the burdens fall from your shoulders, the shackles from your ankles. When the weight you’ve been carrying is lifted gently away.
Easter reminds us how beautiful it is. To be forgiven. To be loved. To be set free. Forever.
I hated those rollers, which never worked because my hair was too straight. But I have similar memories of Easter. A new dress my grandma made to match with my sister, fresh ribbons, the music and eggs and pastels at church. Everything clean, everyone getting to start over.
What a wonderful reflection.
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You always leave such thoughtful comments, Natalie. Thank you for that and for reading!
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i love what easter means to you.
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Wow.. I know now that I had a repressed memory come to light. THE PINK SPONGE ROLLERS! How did we sleep with those things? And why were we tortured so?! I remember little blue dresses and white gloves. I have a pic somewhere being at a relatives house completely miserable because I wanted to just be outside playing in the dirt.
Thanks for the memory, I love it! This was a beautiful post.
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This just made me laugh out loud. You’re awesome. But seriously, the sponge roller were the WORST!! I couldn’t wait to change into normal clothes and go hunt for eggs at my grandma’s house.
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Sad thing is, we didn’t go to church on easter. My mom just did it because… I DON’T KNOW WHY! ha ha ha ha Aww this is fun though I’ve been sitting here since I’ve read this thinking about all that stuff.
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Haha! I love that. I am the granddaughter of two preachers, so we had a lot of church growing up. :) But even though I haven’t been in many, many years, it still has the same meaning to me – and that’s what I love about it the most.
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I didn’t grow up going to church so this is actually very unfamiliar to me but honestly, I think I like your version better than my own. Which is basically sugar highs, hams and egg hunts.
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You can’t beat the egg hunts!! :) And the inevitable sugar high…
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I once tried wearing sponge rollers in my hair, but since I don’t have enough of it, I just scotch-taped them directly to my head. I’m not allowed in for those Easter parties anymore. Or out of the house.
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I felt about Palm Sunday the way you feel toward Easter. Our church did baptisms that day, and the processional was one of my favorite songs, “The Palms.”
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:) The music was always my favorite part of any service. You can’t beat an organ and an old fashioned hymn.
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