Thoughts from a stay-at-home mom on Easter Sunday.

This watermelon is mouth-watering refreshing. I'm on my last slice which means I've just polished off an entire watermelon which isn't hard to do when it's one of those "mini" melons. Dinner was as easy as pie as hubby is on the road. Just grabbed whatever is already cooked or can be zapped in the microwave (given we still have power). Ben's been traveling a lot this month--we hit our first big run of him being away and we're still getting used to it. Our "goal" is as little travel as possible especially when the kids are young for the benefit of our entire family (and my sanity). I'm glad he's home tomorrow (yup that'd be Easter Sunday that he flies in, then we meet in the middle for Easter lunch with a group of new friends). Mornings and evenings, the hardest times with young ones, is getting easier for me maybe if only because it's a MUST. My mantra is that I just don't have that option of losing my patience in spite of patience-losing situations when it's only one parent and two young ones. Of course I do (lose my patience) but I'm able to remain calm if I tell myself "You don't have an option here, Lib."

This month feels un-holiday-ish, or un-holy or call it what you will. Moving to India has forced me to embrace holidays and "holy" celebrations for what they are. Meaning, I am forced to dig deep, past emotional and temporary thrills of seasonal smells and sights. The East is catching on to the materialism of the West, especially during Christmas, although I have yet to see an Easter bunny or hear of local friends doing an Easter Egg hunt. And you gotta admit that even though you know it's not about the Easter Bunny or Santa Clause one does "feel" holiday-ish as you can't escape the "materialism of the season" in the West. It's amazing, isn't it, that the media even got a hold of Easter to make it a market-selling holiday, when in fact it's the most sacred day of the year.

I'll be at home this Easter Sunday remembering The Risen One. Maybe at first glance you won't see evidence of my own sacred choice for Him as I run around wiping crumbs and bathing two sleepy boys. Maybe the outsider will see my car parked in the driveway this weekend and notice my seat in a place of worship vacant. Maybe, this year, His Risen Nailed Hands and Pierced Side is a quiet and contrite heart. I don't necessary think this is the best way to celebrate my Risen Savior away from community. A quiet heart can be a mistaken for apathy from the outsider but from the insider as well.

But listen.. I hear the baby waking. I go to his side and pick up his giggly self and kiss him with a love so deep it can't possibly come from me alone.

My Risen Savior conquered the grave for these such things, things in life way too far out of human, tangible reach.