Bunny

Lent is upon us, and the Easter bunny is knocking at my door.  I do love this time of year, when we can bid winter a long over-due farewell and watch the flowers and grasses come to life right before our eyes.  Then you throw in the redemptive Easter story and you have a prescription to rid away any and all winter blues.

When I was growing up I very clearly remember how important it was to dress the part on Easter.  My grandma made most of my new Easter dresses, but at some point I grew out of that, and my mom would take me shopping to find just the right one.  It had to have white on it, so it would match my bonnet, gloves, white patented leather shoes, and white ruffle socks.  If you are 30 or older, you know just what I'm talking about.

One year Super Valu(again, you have to be 3o or older to know what/where that was) brought in a big old bunny and you could pay $7.99(or some ridiculous amount of money) to have your picture taken with it...and after viewing it below you will wonder why my mom not only paid money for it, but also why she ordered any prints of it to begin with.  Be still my bad boy haircut and my brother's mullet...my mom drug us in there well past the age that it was socially acceptable, or even cute for that matter, and had our picture taken with the freaky bunny.  

For the love.  That is pure nastiness going on.  I have been scared to death of the easter bunny ever since.  No lie.

After having kids I thought dressing the part for Easter was just what we did.  It was expected that on Easter my children, and maybe me if I was lucky enough to stop shopping for them long enough to find a dress that would fit my post-pregnancy body, would show up at church donning our bright springy new duds.  Almost as if we couldn't celebrate Easter without new, and might I add matching, clothes.  One year I even went so far as to match all 6 of us, and a bed of tulips.

How presh.  

Too bad I have no idea what the preacher talked about that day.  But hey, we all looked cute together, and isn't that was really matters on Easter morning?

Not sure if it's my fast that is getting to me this year or what, but I am so over the whole "go buy new matching outfits for everyone in my family including, but not limited to, sweaters, accessories, shoes, shorts, hair bows, and shirts."  I cannot even do it.

Cannot.

Will not.

I will not succumb to the pressure this world is putting on me to appear as if I have it all together. 

Now, does that make me any better than the family I am sharing a bench with on Easter morning that is decked out from head to toe?  Absolutely not.  I stated long ago right here on my blog that this whole thing is about me, not you.  About changing me, not about making you feel guilty.  About taking a hard look at my heart, not about judging you and yours.

This year, well, I'm not even really sure what any of my peeps will be wearing on Easter morning.  And you know what?  That's ok.  It's ok.  It's ok for us to show up at church on Easter morning, and any other Sunday morning for that matter, a little mismatched and disheveled.  Because if I am showing up simply to put on a show; to make it appear that we have it all together; to tell my brothers and sisters in Christ how great and grand and perfect my life is, then I have missed the whole point of the redemption story.  When I am standing before Jesus someday I am pretty sure He will ask how I loved His sheep, and if all I can say is that I dressed my flock cute, I don't think that will cut it.

I have taken Christ's death and watered it down into being about me and how great I am, rather than it being about Him and what a great thing He has done for me and my not-so-perfect heart. 

If I'm being honest, there are a few, ok most, Sunday mornings that we are running out the door yelling, perhaps even screaming, at the kids to quick get their shoes on, grab the church bag, put on a jacket, and for the love, GET IN THE TRUCK NOW!  WE HAVE TO GO PRAISE JESUS! 

Thankfully we have a 10 minute drive to church to get our heart rate back down to a normal pace, reapply powder to cover the beads of sweat, and put on another layer of deodorant to cover up the "we are late for church" perspiration before we pull into the parking lot, smear on our happy "we love Jesus" faces, and dance into church.  

Whoever said that Sunday was a day of rest did.not.have.kids.  End of story.

Moving on.

This year, when we stumble through our church doors on Easter, and we file into our pew, I will look at my sweet little family of 6 who will be wearing whatever they can find in their closet that morning with whatever hand-me-down shoes they can find, and I will be reminded that Jesus doesn't command me to have it all together.  He does love me for my ability to match everyone on Sunday morning.  And He certainly doesn't care if Boo is wearing the same dress for Easter that her sister wore 3 years ago.  He wants my heart.  He wants me.  And He wants my love.  And praise the Lord that I can give that to Him even when I am wearing "old" clothes.

Please note that if that bunny picture I shared ever shows up anywhere besides my blog, there will be some serious consequences...you all have ugly pictures to share too, and I know just who to call to get them.  Consider yourself warned.