Somebody Finally Told Me

Before coming to know the Lord as my Savior, nobody ever told me the meaning of Easter.




As a schoolgirl I did notice that some of my "churchy" friends skipped the hot lunch meat a couple days the week prior to Easter. When I asked, they merely mumbled. What I heard was not noteworthy, I don't think they even mentioned Christ. All I got out of it was they do it because it's what they're supposed to do.


Nobody ever told me why they gave up something.




Living in the country and mostly staying home on weekends, I wasn't privy to seeing ladies dressed in grande floral dresses, donning bonnets, and holding hands with little girls dressed the same, only wearing pink tights instead of nylons. How did I know such fanciful outfits exist? Oh, I saw their likes on the TV or at the grocery store, thumbing through the heads of lettuce.


Nobody ever told me why their eyes sparkled and why they were dressed so nice.




From childhood and well into my adult years I still thought Easter was some sort of springtime celebration that welcomed baby chicks and fuzzy bunnies. I thought it was about eating jelly bean candy and chocolate bunnies. I thought it was about hunting for hard-boiled, colored eggs and baskets filled with strange plastic grass. 


Nobody ever told me why it was a day everyone smiled.




Along the way, seeds were planted when my grandma sang "Rock of Ages" as she fried chicken and mashed potatoes on summer nights spent at the farm. Along the way seeds were watered when someone asked if they could pray for an ill member of my family. Along the way, folks privately prayed for my salvation. 


Then the one Easter a friend invited us to church. I told her I did not have a pretty floral dress, let alone a bonnet. She smiled and said it didn't matter. Wear my jeans. And my boots. Just come. I was pregnant with our son and I was very ill with morning/afternoon/evening sickness. I spend more time out in the bushes alongside the church than I did inside. Strangers, women from inside, came out and talked with me. Someone brought me water. My friend, she patted my back each time I returned.


I heard only bits of the message... God had a son named Jesus. Jesus died. A few days later, Jesus came alive again and walked right out of a tomb. He walked and talked among some ladies and fellows He knew. God and Jesus did this because they love me. I could belong to Jesus and His dad. And they could take all my sins away.


I started to understand... because somebody finally told me.




One year later, to the day, those very same friends sat in our little country church with their two kids. She held my five-month old baby while he encouraged us with smiles (and silent prayer I am certain). My husband and I took turns professing our dedication, devotion, commitment, and acceptance of Christ as our Saviour. Rather than wear our Easter Sunday best, we approached the pastor covered in all manner of sinful gunk. We were dunked and brought up outta the water, risen to live a new life in and for Christ.


... as I stood there, dripping and crying and smiling, I finally understood most things nobody ever told me. On the anniversary of His resurrection, I also rose to a life everlasting.






Sunday is the seven-year baptism anniversary for my husband and me. Now we are raising a little warrior for Christ. And you can be sure, he understands what all the Easter hoopla is really about.

* I have moved to a new blog called SIMPLY DARLENE, 

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