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.
This is a picture of some of the world’s greatest body builders, all assembled in one place for an early Thanksgiving dinner. The little church building on the corner of where highways 309 and 23 meet in Ozark–Webb City Baptist–can’t contain them all at once anymore. Lifting weights, after all, makes you grow.
We say it takes a village to raise a child, and I believe that’s true. But equally true is that we adults also need raising sometimes. We all need a village.
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.