Easter Sunday, 1956
This morning I wore my Easter dress—the one with the tiny rosebuds—and Sister Mary Claire tied my bonnet just right beneath my chin. We waited out by the mailbox for Robert to come pick us up for 10:30 Mass. It was already 50 degrees by then, and a soft spring breeze was brushing my cheeks and stirring the grass. Robert waved when he pulled up, and I could tell he was just as glad to see Easter morning as we were.
Church was filled to the brim, even the side pews. Father LeRoy looked so happy—his vestments were white with gold trim, and his face was bright with joy. His homily was all about the glory of the Risen Savior. He said that Easter morning was the answer to all the sorrow of Holy Week. That the empty tomb is the proof of God’s promise—that Jesus conquered death not only for Himself, but for all of us. He spoke gently, but his voice filled the whole church. He said, “This is not just a story from long ago—it is the beginning of forever.” That part gave me goosebumps.
Sister Mary Claire followed along in her meditation book, underlining things softly with her pencil. I saw she circled the line that said, “Rejoice, O my soul, in the glorious victory of your risen Savior.” I smiled because I felt it, too. I could just picture Jesus stepping out into the morning light, His wounds shining with love, the stone rolled away, and the world never the same again.
After Mass, we all went down to the church basement. The Breakfast Club had laid out such a nice reception—eggs, rolls, cakes, and lots of good strong coffee for the grown-ups. Mini came with us and made fast friends with two other farm dogs. She sniffed everything, wagged like mad, and even got a little piece of sausage from one of the ladies. I think she was just as joyful as the rest of us.
There was so much to eat and so many happy voices that Sister Mary Claire and I decided to save the ham we had planned for dinner. We came home full and a little sleepy from all the sunshine and celebration.
Now I’m tucked in bed, writing by lamplight while Mini snores on the rug beside the bed. We each had a little slice of that ham on Sister’s homemade bread—just enough—and I think we’ll have the rest tomorrow.
Dear Jesus, Risen and Glorious, thank You for this day of light and joy. Let me never forget that You are alive, and that You love me forever. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
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