march 27, 2016

“Don’t let yesterday use up too much of today.” ~ Cherokee Proverb

I decided to do something different for Easter. My friend Gail Kennedy told me about the Easter sunrise services held at Lexington Cemetery. Years ago it was a single, non-denominational service. This morning, there were four separate services, at three times, in four locations. I managed to go to three of the services (only because two were held at the same time or I would have done all four). The first service was in the Floral Garden held by Main Street Baptist. It was fantastically beautiful. It was six a.m. and the sun wasn’t even close to coming up. The tiki torches were lit. Everyone was silent save for the preachers. It was moving.

The second service was with the Salvation Army at the Sunken Garden. It was seven a.m. The sun began to rise during the service. The crowd was larger. The classic Salvation Army brass was on hand, off key, but well meaning. If I had to do it over again, I would have made a break halfway through their service and gone to the Lower Lake where First Baptist Church was holding their sunrise service. I’m sure the light was lovely in the pool’s reflection.

The third and final sunrise service was at the mausoleum with Maxwell Street Presbyterian Church. It was eight a.m. The sun was fully up. It was a stone’s throw from the graves of my uncles Galen Wilson and Roger Vest. The latter, you may recall, just died in January. To be honest, I spent most of the service at their graves instead; considering their gifts in this life.

At the end of the third and final service, when we headed back to our cars, back to our lives, the Lenten season at a close, a ray of sun shone on this little patch of Daffodils. Mamaw called them Easter Lilies (though she knew exactly what they were called). There was one significant Easter I recall when I was young. There was a house at Index where Bank of the Mountains now sits. It was surrounded by so many Daffodils that on this extraordinarily sunny Easter morning, as mom drove us to church, I was completely spellbound by the sight. The house looked as if it had been dropped in the middle of a daffodil field. The sun lit the delicate blooms afire casting a deep golden hue over everything. Daffodils will always remind me of the Easter when time stood still as Heaven sat at the forks of a country road. And they will always be Easter Lilies to me.

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