I’ve been looking for the essence of Easter. Cleaning out the closet, if you will, and ditching all of the stuff that may be nice, interesting, or appealing to someone else, but for me not really useful. I don’t want to argue about theology. I don’t even want to try to understand everything. I just want Easter in a nutshell, Easter distilled, Easter in its simplest form.
My favorite season is fall. Fall is football, hayrides, and War Eagle. It’s candles in pumpkins, a yellow harvest moon. Crisp mornings and cool nights. It’s Harper’s birthday, deer jerky, and Thanksgiving. It is waking up to scenes like this picture, to mountainsides ablaze with vibrant color. But it’s also darkness by 6:00. A prelude to winter, to bitter cold, to the death of many beautiful things.
Every day I leave the Triple F Ranch to enter the world of academia. In academia I spend a lot of energy in conversations about language, perception, and communication. I do a lot of critical thinking. In between classes I take forays into my writing life where I think about poverty, and justice, and hope and Jesus (and coffee and kids and fiction and memoir and Guideposts devotions). And sometimes I come home with a headache.
I threw this image up on Facebook and Instagram yesterday after finding it on one of my neglected Pinterest boards. It was my mantra for the day based on a morning of failure. Failure in the form of burnt toast, hungry, unhygienic children; a cluttered house, laundry on the dining table, too tight pants, dirty hair, no blog entries in over a week, an empty bank account, and lateness, just to name a few.
Something happened yesterday, something big for our family. A chapter ended. A door closed. It challenged us on many levels as Christians, parents, teachers, and for Stone, as a coach. Our daughter Grace quit basketball.