There are very few "Easter" pictures of my children on my camera. Since the week of Ash Wednesday, we having been waging war with adenovirus. And I'm telling you with all sincerity, it's one formidable foe. I have never encountered a childhood illness that lingers so long with such fierce intensity. There have been all the usual things: croup, bronchitis, vomiting, body aches, fever. And then, we have been visited by the more extreme manifestations, particularly swollen, oozy, eyes that drip blood for weeks on end. Every morning, I keep hoping that everyone will awaken and no one will require assistance just getting his or her eyes to open.
We had one bluebell day all together. And we had one bluebell day where several children stayed home and I went with the others to meet some ladies from the Restore Workshop. And that is all. Usually, we take a week and go every day. This year, we'd planned to camp there overnight. There are amazing flowers blooming on perfectly gorgeous spring days! And my children are so light sensitive that hardly anyone wants to be there. So we stay home.
So, in these days, I am particularly grateful for the tree blooming outside my front window. I'm inhaling its loveliness. (Well, actually, I hold my breath and just look at it because Bradford pear blooms are pretty stinky.) I am beyond grateful (what is the word for that?), that 90 tulip bulbs planted when Granddad died are showing up in all kinds of glory this week. Could it be that they heard that a baby is on her way and they've all come out to greet her?
And that baby... we are eagerly awaiting her arrival. Every day, Kristin comes to pass the time here. A tiny bit of sewing, some time in the garden, a daily walk where we just talk and talk. These are the tender mericies, the glimpses of Easter.
The Church has sung its Alleluia. I sort of feel like I missed it. Then I remember: Easter is a season.
New life. Happening soon.
If you have a moment, would you ask St. Lucy to say a prayer for us?