Predictably Wonderful

I love when holidays are predictable.

                    I guess that'd be called tradition.

Easter:

1. Dress fancy.
2. Find Easter baskets hidden by the bunny.
3. Easter Worship Service
4. Church Easter Egg Hunt
5. Brunch
6. Rest
7. Easter Dinner
8. Backyard Easter egg hunt at Grammie's

   Don't forget the jellybeans.


There are always slight variations . . . the order can shift or switch, brunch may be at church or out . . . but the traditions of the day are strong and cherished and unmissable.


Some traditions pass away . . . but are still fondly remembered:

Childhood memories of Easter sunrise services on Cemetery Hill, breakfast at the Methodist church, and the flower cross at church.

And sometimes unique events are included in the celebration -- like two years ago when we passed out plastic eggs to our whole family each holding a little message about the new little Luiten hopping our way. . . that was a good one.  Or the two Easters our boys each wore Grandpa Doug's little blue wool coat and hat from when he was a small child.


I love holidays.

I love the predictableness . . . the traditions . . . the ebb and flow and certainty of it all.

I don't need change to make them special . . . I find the specialness in the sameness.

And I relish every fragile minute of these precious holidays with my young children . . . because I know, too soon, they will be wisps of memory in the wind.


And then we'll just have to hide more Easter eggs.