You know what I miss? I miss Sunrise Service.
And the funny thing was, it wasn't ever about the resurrection. I know that Easter Sunday was ALL about the resurrection (as I was taught growing up), but that's not what I miss.
I miss being woken up early (3-4am) and cuddling with dad, and allowing us to have coffee the one day out of the year. I miss having waffles and huckleberry sauce. I miss mom tugging at my foam curlers, and the afro that we made on purpose as the end result. I miss all my frilly Easter dresses and the "big" heels (1") that I got to wear on Easter Sunday. And we would always have new nylons. I always remember the joy of putting on a fresh pair of nylons. (#itsthelittlethings?) And then we would put layer upon layer upon LAYER of clothing on to stay warm.
All while it was still pitch black.
Mom would give us girls a new Bible, one without pictures, a "grown up bible", and one chocolate bunny; which of course we ate in ten seconds flat.
Then we would pack everyone up in the car, like little marsh mellows, and drive up the mountain to watch the sunrise and sing hymns. And it was always kind of magical, seeing the purple and orange sunrise come over the mountains.
Maybe it's not the resurrection or even the formality and repetitiveness of our actions that I miss, maybe it's the magical sunrise. Hmm. I feel like the sunrise is God's way of letting me feel His Grace and Abundance and Presence one more time.
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