Brighter than the Darkest Night
We could not wait for dawn to break through.
But as it is , the night was still blanketed with stars. But we were excited and could not sleep because of the excitement. We have just painted our Easter eggs, my brothers and I, just a few hours ago. We had 2 eggs each. One of mine had waves of red and blue, the other had a wash of light red, just hint of blush, and I thought it was beautiful. My brothers were equally focused on the task at hand (but their eggs were not as pretty as mine). I almost felt sad when we finished and handed it to our mother so she can paint, with her harsh black tipped pen, an amount on it. She then sent us outside, to the “adults”, so we can hand to them our works of art so they can hide it at the empty lot beside our house. I still remember scouring the wall, silently, with my brothers, tiptoeing so we can see where the eggs were being hidden. But there was only darkness.
At last, the first ray of sunshine broke through and with it, we let out an outburst of delight. We could not eat, or take a bath, or dress, fast enough.
Our playmates were waiting, as anxious and as giddy as we were, for the whistle that would signal the deliverance of the eggs from their hiding place to our hungry hands. And then we heard it, and we darted here and there, and here and there, ignoring the grass that would sometimes scrape our hands and faces and knees. I do not remember who got the most eggs or the most money (I think it was one of my brothers), but I am sure that in that point in time, we knew only wonder and joy. We would then celebrate the most glorious Easter mass, colored by our experience and the collective euphoria – He is risen.
My children’s Easters were also steeped in tradition and eggs and laughter. My daughter celebrated her baptism on an Easter Sunday, and although she was too young to participate (or remember), we had an egg hunt during her party (I showed her pictures). Sometimes, we just celebrate in some hotel, or with my sister-in-law’s kids. But there were special times, when she was old enough to read, when I hid candies in plastic eggs and gave her poems (poems!) as clues to their location.
But none could recapture the fun of that Easter of long ago. The kid in me still remember the longing for the dawn, and the laughter that would puncture the gray and cold of the morning. In some ways, I think, I long for the me who was just focused on painting the eggs, handing them after to some adult, wanting that adult to be the power who plans where the eggs go.
Happy Easter. May you remember. May you celebrate because you live, because He lives.
Article by Issa. Painting by Danvic Briones. Copyright 2011.
Website: www.YouWantToBeRich.com
Email: issa@youwanttoberich.com
P.S. This Holy Week, we went to a retreat given by Bo Sanchez and his team of preachers. We felt truly blessed. Thank you, brother Bo and to everyone who were there who made us experience Him. He is indeed brighter than our darkest night, stronger than our toughest fight. Again, thank you.
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