Easter is a special time for our family. It was 4 years ago on Easter Sunday that the twins were born, and every year it’s sort of a “birthday” for them, even if it’s not on the same exact date as their birthday. There’s been so much going on with us these past few months, and especially the past few weeks, that we left the Easter prep until the last minute but we managed to do church, baskets, an indoor egg hunt (the weather was supposed to be rainy), and have a huge family/friend gathering for Easter dinner.
At church this morning, Dean Baker talked about how the Resurrection of Jesus is about more than the story of a man who rises from the dead, but about how Jesus represents hope for humanity as a whole, and his Resurrection is the rebirth of that hope in and for humanity. That started me down a path of how for me it sort of represents a new year. How every Easter is the chance to relive the day my children were born and changed everything, and how every year I have the chance to look at all the ways in which I feel like I’m not cutting it as a wife, as a mother, and in my job, and choose to start again. How I can choose to resurrect the ideals of the person I want to be and make choices to try harder, to be better, and to live up to the life I want to lead.
I know that the story of Jesus’ Resurrection is not necessarily intended to be one that creates thoughts of New Year’s resolutions. But in many ways there’s a shallowness in making promises because the year changes from 2009 to 2010. Easter makes much more sense to me, for me. And it’s not so much a resolution as it is a recognition of the ways in which I have failed to attain the ideal that I hold for myself, even if I acknowledge that the ideal is likely never truly attainable. Yet if I can listen to the Easter sermon, and have someone say that this is the chance to walk in that hope for humanity that Jesus represents, then I sure as heck should be able to walk in the hope for the woman that I believe in as well.
It’s hard, because every year I feel like I say the same things: I want to be a better mother – to yell less and take more time; to listen more and play more with them; to not lose my patience; to take more joy in watching them try then doing for them; to worry less; to laugh more. I want to be a better wife – to listen more; to make more time; to show my love more; to honor us. I want to be a better friend, a better employee, a better boss. I want to give more of myself and be less afraid to trust. I want to take more joy in what is rather than worry about what isn’t or what might be.
It’s not that I can’t take stock in all of these things any time of the year. Sure, I should be thinking about being a better person every chance I get. But it’s so easy to get stuck in a rut, in a routine. To be THAT person – the mom who hovers, the wife who nags, the one who stresses about being good enough. It’s easy to be defined by those things, and sometimes it takes an event or a person to remind me to look at myself and say, “Those things aren’t ME. They are things I do, or feelings I have, but they aren’t who am. Not if I don’t want them to be.” So why not Easter? If I can have hope for all humanity, why not hope for myself too?