Big crowds, killer shoes and your Sunday best…it must be Easter

It’s springtime, which means: “It’s rabbit season.” Easter to be exact.

 

I believe it is the only major holiday that just is not that stressful. You do not necessarily have to find an Easter gift. A package of eggs, food dye and a $1 chocolate bunny will do. And don’t tell me you can’t find one of those bunnies. They’ve been in stores since February. I know; I checked.

 

Family activities seem easier at Easter. A simple egg hunt at home, even Easter dinner is no comparison to “A Hell’s Kitchen Christmas Dinner Special, ” which occurs in my home every year. And, of course, the infrequent trip to church.

 

Yes, there’s Christmas, Easter, and for good measure, maybe Thanksgiving. You know who you are: I like to call you “the Holiday Church Crashers.” Clogging up the parking lots and making the building stuffy. The A/C units are shocked into overdrive by the unexpected presence of people! I swear I saw one church bring out the airport batons just to maneuver cars up and down the street and into the parking lot.

 

My family goes to church fairly often. On any given Sunday, you may have to ask someone to scoot over for a seat. However on a major holiday it’s standing room only! For rookie attendees, going to church is like paying club dues. You hope that when you get to heaven, St. Peter will be standing there with a checklist. You can scream: “Hey Peter, look under Easter 2010; I was there.”

 

So we prepare ourselves to be seen at church. Ladies…we coordinate. We buy shoes that match our purse, which matches the nails, and those match the lipstick, which goes with the dress and that matches the Sunday hat (I grew up Baptist; you need to wear a hat).

 

Then we stuff our daughters into an outfit similar to our own. Next, shove their little feet into some uncomfortable heal-biting patent leather shoes that they will unbuckle and kick off six times before leaving the house. You may even resort to putting a band aid on the back of their heel to stop the blisters from forming.

 

Gentlemen, if your family is creative enough to find where you may have tried to hide, you may be forced to put on a shirt and tie. Some of you may shave or grow a beard in an effort to disguise yourself…for you fear that if the BIG GUY IN THE SKY recognizes you, he may well strike you down with lightning upon your entering the building. Yet, some will just come as they are. The Good Lord didn’t wear Armani; so why should you?

 

Finally ready, we file into church, tuck the children safely into Sunday School and head to service. When the praise and worship music begins, you secretly mouth the words “watermelon.” You don’t want to look out of place, you only come twice a year and that’s not what they sang last time.

 

As the minister takes the podium, you think: “Oh God, I hope this won’t be boring.” Now, hoping that God was not just listening to your innermost thoughts (this is his house after all; he just might be home), you focus in on the message. Yet no matter how hard you try, your mind starts to wonder “is he still talking? Isn’t the pastor looking forward to lunch, too?”

 

As the sermon goes on and on you can’t help but start to fade in and out of consciousness. But don’t fall asleep yet. If you make it to the end, I hear they’re giving out juice and crackers. Happy Easter, everyone!

(Erin Wheeler is a mother of two living in the Glennwilde subdivision.)

 

Photo by Jim Williams