I have never been a fan of Easter or any of the overly wrought religious holidays, in all honesty. As a child, I recall enjoying my new fluffy pink dress, and DESPISING sitting in church all day, only to be semi-placated by my mothers horrific cooking (no it is NOT okay to replace ricotta with cottage cheese in lasagna, ever.) Despite that there was this idea of family that surrounded Easter. I may not have liked the set, or the script, but I loved the actors. I miss that now, living 3,600 miles away from any semblance of (related) family.
However, over the years I have developed a surrogate family of my own. We don’t share blood; we share love. We are not related; we are relational. And we do not go to church; we preach from experience and exploration.
On this Good Friday, I recognize the religious significance of sacrifice…not between the pages of the bible…rather in the passages of my life.
And this Easter, as with so many in my more recent past, I appreciate both sacrifice and resurrection…of family, as a feeling and not simply a surname.
Love, xxx c.
(all images courtesy of M.Wild Photography)
