Happy Easter! This is always such a glorious day. I hope you have enjoyed it.
One year in Sheveport, our young family had an experience that still brings a chuckle.
Our oldest son, Steve, was a happy, healthy seven-month-old, and I was still breastfeeding him. However, he wasn’t nursing as often as during the earlier months. So when my dad (whom I wrote about in my last blog) asked if I would help him with the music at our community’s annual sunrise service, I agreed. He would lead the crowd in all the familiar Easter hymns and also a musical rendition of “The Lord’s Prayer,” and I would be his accompanist on the piano.
Robin said he’d be glad to babysit while I was gone. When I left the house before dawn, all was quiet.
It was a beautiful morning, and the service at Centenary College amphitheater was well attended. Young people reenacted the roles of the women coming to the empty tomb on that first Easter morning, and as the sun burst above the horizon, the angel announced “The Lord is Risen!” The congregation joined in singing, and everyone left the service, smiling and full of joy.
After hugging my dad, I headed for home, pulled into the carport, and entered the kitchen. The house was dark. Walking down the hall, I glanced into Steve’s room. His crib was empty. Back in our bedroom, our bed was empty too. Where were my husband and son?
Suddenly, Robin emerged from our walk-in closet with Steve in his arms. “This is the only place I could get where he would stop crying! It was dark, and he couldn’t see anything.”
Steve took one look at me, scrunched up his little face, and tuned up again. “Oh, dear. I guess he was hungry!” I gathered our son into my arms, and we settled down.
My husband laughed. “Happy Easter, Momma! Welcome home! Now we will all have a happy Easter!”