The Love Basket

Last Easter, I was in Canada with my son Brad whom I coerced into traveling with me since I hadn't been on an airplane in more than 20 years because I had just a wee bit of an irrational fear about flying. The eight days we spent with Matt, Becca and C.J. passed way too quickly, but we managed to pack a lot of fun and a ton of memories into our short time together. C.J. was a little too young last year to quite get the whole Easter Bunny concept, but it didn't take her long at all to understand that the plastic eggs in the basket were filled with Cheerios, yogurt snacks and other special toddler goodies. I Skyped with her on Friday evening, and I can assure you she was much, much more excited about the upcoming Easter festivities this year than she was last year ... yep, this year, my sweet granddaughter had a completely different perspective and a much deeper level of anticipation and excitement for the surprises that Easter morning would bring.

It's not unusual for me to find myself fighting a case of the blues in the days leading up to a holiday weekend now, and some holidays seem to precipitate a bigger battle than others. I knew a couple of weeks ago that the sadness was trying to weasel its way into my mind, and I fought with all my might to keep it at bay. By the time last week came, however, I could tell my will to fight the all-too familiar creature was weakening with every passing day. It's odd to me that I used to be able to slap a smile on my face and pretend that everything was just fine and dandy no matter what I was feeling. I was a master at pretending to be someone I wasn't ... a master at not letting anyone see the real me ... a master at concealing my sadness and pain. Things have certainly changed over the last couple of years ... now the people closest to me know ... they know when I'm sad ... they know when I'm lonely ... they know when I'm happy ... they know when I'm excited ... they know when I'm afraid. Now the people closest to me know those things about me because they know me ... they know the real me ... they know my heart and who I really am.

One of the cool things our company does is to close the office early on the day before a holiday, usually at 3 p.m. Things began winding down early on Friday afternoon as folks headed out in anticipation of celebrating Easter with their families and friends. As I smiled and wished them a Happy Easter, my heart ached with the silent dread for what I knew would be a lonely weekend. (And before you ask why I'm not with my kids on Easter ... one kid lives in Canada, one kid is traveling for his job, and one kid is helping her pastor husband on the busiest church day of the year.) Since I was in Canada last Easter, this year is the first Easter in my life that I'm not actively involved in a church ... and when I say actively involved, I mean I used to be super actively involved. All week, my brain pounded with church memories of Easters gone by ... reading Scriptures on stage at Good Friday services ... participating in skits and dramas on Easter Sunday mornings ... sharing Easter lunches with my church friends and their families. Yep, I was a sad puppy on Good Friday afternoon for sure. I was walking back to my desk to pack up to leave when a friend called my name and motioned for me to come to the front desk to join her and another friend.

I should have known they were up to something from their huge smiles, but I was truly surprised when they said they had something for me. One of them reached under the desk, pulled out a metal Easter basket filled with plastic eggs and placed it before me. I did what every person in the world, young or old, does when presented with a basket of plastic eggs ... I picked one up and shook it to see if there was something inside. There didn't seem to be anything in the egg, and I was reaching to put it back in the basket when my friend said, "There are notes inside the eggs, Terrie ... notes from your friends here for you to open and read throughout the weekend when you're feeling lonely or sad." My other friend piped up and said, "Hopefully, you won't read them all in the next hour!" Tears filled my eyes as I hugged and thanked them, and wished them a Happy Easter ... then I dropped the basket off at my desk, ducked into the restroom and bawled like a baby. 

Though my kids may find this hard to believe, I didn't open the first egg until after my evening walk with Ollie. I had already decided which one I would open first ... the biggest one, of course. The tears returned as I carefully unfolded the piece of paper and read the words written on it ...

I opened one more egg before I went to bed Friday night ... one egg chosen randomly by reaching into the basket, stirring the eggs around and lifting out a pink one. Chosen randomly ... hmmm ... the note was from my friend who was with me when I melted down in the conference room that day ... yes ... that day. Though it was tempting to open all the notes the first night, I didn't ... again, much to my children's surprise, I'm sure. I followed the instructions of my friends ... much to their surprise, I'm equally as sure ... and I've been opening the notes throughout the weekend whenever I need a smile. There's no possible way I can put into words the depth of my gratitude to you, my friends ... absolutely no words can convey how deeply your love and kindness has touched me.

You know what Easter is really all about? Easter is about love ... sacrificial, unconditional love ... love worth dying for ... love worth living for. Never underestimate the power of love ... whether that love is your kids calling or texting to say, "Happy Easter, Mom!" ... your granddaughter's sweet giggling as she excitedly jabbers about her Easter Bunny surprises ... handwritten notes of encouragement on pieces of paper tucked inside plastic eggs ... or the hope for eternity found within the empty tomb of our Savior ... never ever underestimate the power of love, friends ... never ever underestimate the power of love.