When we were growing up, Christmas and Easter were my mother's favorite times of the year. And as much as she "crafted" our house for Christmas, she wasn't about to snub the Passion weekend. She "recruited" the assistance of my father, who over they years learned to just go along for the ride and admittedly missed it with a vengeance in her absence. For as long as I can remember they placed a cross as tall as I am in our side yard on Good Friday, simply draped with red cloth and a crown of thorns painfully made from branches she harvested from a field somewhere. On Saturday morning she would replace the red material with black and wait. It wasn't until her visitation years later we learned how many random people had been ministered to as they drove by their house year after year in anticipation of Sunday morning. Our "anticipation" was polluted by the fatigue we endured as she cheerfully "raised us" from our sleep in the pre-dawn hours to participate in her expression of worship. I've never been a fan of waking with the robins and unless I become an old person in the purest fashion of rising early and dinner at 4:30, don't see it happening in the near future. Relentlessly, she'd rouse us and drag us out into the chilly temperatures to place lilies around the foot of the cross, a white plastic lamb in their midst and then perfectly arrange the white chiffon draping that would lightly wave over the cross with the breeze. All the while singing in her low alto voice, "Up from the grave He arose...like a mighty triumph o'er His foes...He arose a Victor from the dark domain, and He lives forever, with His saints to reign." And if you're at all familiar with this classic hymn, you already feel it building as it nears the end of the refrain, where she'd bust it out with everything she was made of, "He arose! He arose! Hallelujah, Christ Arose!!"
By the time the yard was transformed, we were awake and well into our annual routine of getting ready for the Sunrise service, fellowship breakfast at church and services. I remember her singing that song all day long. And remember it still. Not an Easter passes without at least humming it. Present year included. I bought a small garden flag that reads "He Is Risen!" last week. Instead of placing it on the lamppost in the front yard that evening, I decided to wait until...Easter morning. Better yet, Kevin volunteered to do it for me when he retrieved the morning paper in the early morning darkness. I'm sure mom smiled.
*As Kevin and I discussed this Saturday afternoon, I made him promise to sing the song. After planting it securely in his head, I hear him whistle it across the kitchen. He had a strong start but I had to laugh as he veered to the left: it went something like this if you hum along. "Up from the grave He arose. With a mighty triumph o'er His foes. With a corn-cob pipe and a button nose, and two eyes made out of coal...” I'm sure mom peed her robe.
