My Easter day was fine. Church was a combination of trumpet music, friendly faces, an inspiring message, and half a dozen relatives joining us for lunch.
But there were no children at our house.
I asked Ben the day before if he was too old for a basket and he emphatically assured me that he was not. So it was my
pleasure to fill one with jelly beans, and daffodils, and chocolate pretzels. I even had some egg shaped candles. He has opinions about the difficulty in finding it. Not too easy, not too hard. A bottom drawer was the Goldilocks spot.
But as much as I love him, it was not the same as those years when I sewed matching dressed for my daughters, and hid surprises in the bushes. Who has more fun anyway, the mother sneaking around before kids wake up or the squealing
hunters opening cupboard doors?
I guess it's a tie.
My days of driving with young children are long gone, but I recall what it was like to come across a field of horses, or a parade, and be disappointed that no one was in the back seat to share it with. Sometimes the excited words would be halfway off my tongue when I remembered that they were at home. Seeing the bright colors without them felt
flat.
The other day, someone mentioned that we indeed need God, but He does not need us. I wonder.
While I hesitate to compare myself with that Divine Parent, I think there is a parallel. My stance is that God can be understood from three things. He wants to create others outside of Himself, wants to be connected to them, and desires to make them happy. Any mother can testify to the fire hose of adoration that pours out of her
toward her baby, and her tigress tendency to keep that child close. The drive to make our children happy is what gave color to my life for four decades.
While it is reasonable to say that my children needed me... for sandwiches and taxi service at the very least... I also believe I needed them. The gradual retreat from that connection has been confusing for me.
But the miracle is that I will not outgrow my need for
God, nor He for me.